Feeling Old

I’m at work today and one of the college kids I work with made a comment—don’t remember what the comment was now—but I responded with a line from Cool Hand Luke. It was the classic line from Strother Martin: “What we have here is failure to communicate.” I even said it in my crummy Southern drawl--my crummy, not Strother's--because that’s how I hear it in my head. The kid gave me a blank look. I added that it was from a Paul Newman movie. He asked me if that was the singer who played in Las Vegas all the time. I felt so old at that moment.

I realize that I know a lot about movies. I’m not an expert by any means but I love the movies. I can hold a conversation on about any genre of motion pictures. I can recite favorite lines of dialogue or talk about the classics or about blockbusters or the B’s. Heck, I can even hold my own talking about silent films or foreign movies. I know the stars and characters actors. I write stories, novels, and screenplays. I need to know what has come before.

How could he not know Paul Newman? I could understand if I’d said James Cagney or Errol Flynn or Bette Davis or even James Dean. They had passed along before he was born. Newman was in his prime when I was in junior high. He’s still making films. He starred in The Hustler, Hud, The Verdict, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Sting, Harper, The Color of Money, Hombre, Road to Perdition, and others along with Cool Hand Luke. How?

I’m done with my rant. Does this matter in the long run? No, I guess not. It’s all relative. And it wasn't to him.

Now I’m taking my old, tired body to bed. Good night.

“Shaking it up here, boss.”