Sullivan UMC—J. Michael Smith
From Yesterday’s Joys and Concerns
- For John Love who has surgery Tuesday
- For Melissa who opens her pre-school program shortly, with appreciation to Bob and Chip for their help
- For patience for the administrative assistants as they are putting up with copy machine troubles again (we had no bulletin yesterday, nor monthly newsletter)
- From Janet and Roger that their son made it safely through the weather on his journey from Florida to California
- Mercy for the family of Cathy Gerould
- For Sandy Stone who has been in the hospital
From my weekend public post:
Will Any of This Matter in 100 Years?
How long can a trouble last?
There were some people in my first pastorate—over 50 years ago—who were causing problems. I was complaining about it to my dad (also a pastor) and he responded by giving me advice. I didn’t like what he was telling me to do—and the two of us got into a heated argument.
Looking back at that whole church situation—and the “conversation” with my dad about it, I note that most everyone but me is now dead: my dad, the people in the church who were causing the problem, and the bishop and district superintendent at the time. Even that church close to closing its doors.
Still looking back, I now can’t remember the precise problem those church people were causing—or what exactly my dad and I argued about.
All I remember—half a century later—is my dad yelling, “If you’re not going to take my advice, then stop asking me for it!” And I yelled back, “Finally, you just gave me some good advice!” It was years before the two of us talked “church talk” again—even though we got along quite well on every other subject.
There is one legacy that remains from that episode. Now, I’m the old man, and I’m the one who doesn’t like it when people don’t take my advice. I keep wanting to yell at people, “If you’re not going to do what I say, stop making me listen to you complain!”
I don’t say that though. Throughout the years, my dad and I both had to learn how to let it go when others ignored our wisdom. Otherwise neither of us would have had anyone left to talk to.
I try to tell myself, “None of this will matter in a hundred years.”
And that’s mostly true. It’s like carbon dating. When it comes to my worries and anxieties, half of them seem to disappear within a week. Then…half of what remains is gone within the month. After that…another half in another six months, etc. etc.
I decided to flip the question around backwards. What things from 100 years ago still matter? Reviewing the history of 1926, what still matters?
On August 23, 1926, the world’s most celebrated heart throb and silent film actor, thirty-one year old Rudolph Valentino, died of sepsis from a perforated ulcer. The public response to his death was marked by mass frenzy—egged on by the press. More than 100,000 people attended his funeral in New York. An all-day riot marked the day of his visitation, as people attacked each other trying to get in the funeral home. Newspapers carried reports of women and girls committing suicide because of his death.
But now that we’ve given it a hundred years, folks have pretty much moved on. In addition to Valentino, Eugene Debs, Annie Oakley, Harry Houdini, Charles Ringling, and Claude Monet also died that year—and the world has pretty much worked through its grief over them all.
On the other hand, Andy Griffith was born a century ago, as was Norma Jeane Mortenson, (Marilyn Monroe,) Fidel Castro, Hugh Hefner, and Don Rickles. Back in 1926, the world little noted their arrivals. Even the birth of Elizabeth Alexandria Mary Windsor made only a tiny splash that year—as no one expected that there would be a scandal in the royal family and that little “Lilibet” would end up becoming the longest reigning monarch in British history.
Ask people in 1926 what was really important, and in addition to Valentino’s death, they might have told you:
· the theft of Pancho Villa’s skull—in February;
· a train derailment in Costa Rica that killed 248 people—in March;
· a U.S. invasion of Nicaragua—in April;
· a claim by Richard Byrd that he had made the first air flight over the North Pole—in May—disputed a day later by evidence that his plane was leaking oil and he had turned back 150 miles short;
· a revolution that overthrew the government of Portugal—in June;
· Calvin Coolidge giving a speech celebrating the 150th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence—in July;
· Gertrude Ederle becoming the first woman to swim across the English Chanel—in August;
· an assassination attempt on Benito Mussolini—in September;
· the St. Louis Cardinals winning their first World Series—in October;
· the marriage of Boston Mayor Malcolm E. Nichols to the twin sister of his late wife—in November;
· and the Frankford Yellowjackets (Philadelphia) winning the NFL championship—in December, beating out such teams as the Chicago Bears, Green Bay Packers, Pottsville Maroons, Kansas City Cowboys, Duluth Eskimos, Detroit Panthers, Milwaukee Badgers, and Providence Steam Rollers.
I think it’s safe to say that the good folks of Pottsville have by now gotten over the sting of their 1926 third place finish in the NFL.
What happened in 1926 that still resonates a hundred years later?
Perhaps we can review the businesses that were established that year: Eastern Airlines, United Airlines, Howard Miller Clock Company (I just had my Howard Miller mantle clock repaired this week), IGA supermarkets, and the National Broadcasting Company (NBC—radio at that time.
Perhaps we can note the words that made their print debut in 1926: algorithm, checkpoint, cosmetologist, cotton candy, dean’s list, field trip, freeway, freezer burn, hash browns, jumper cables, karate, lube, meals on wheels, motor lodge, overdrive, paternity test, quickie, rib eye, televise, throw pillow, and under the counter. The growing popularity of the automobile through the 1920s is likely responsible for the coinage of several of those words.
As for a quickie, I’m pretty sure those were happening prior to 1926, but maybe the back seat of the automobile contributed to the sudden coinage of that word.
There were some inventions and patents that are now 100 years old. 1926 saw the first liquid fueled rocket, the first TV, the first aerosol spray can, and the first chainsaw.
And then there is my historical favorite from 1926—the numbering of highways. Before 1926, every state named or numbered its own highways. Highways that went through more than one state would change number at each state border. Thus, many highways were better known by their names than by their numbers:
· The Lincon Highway—went from New York to San Francisco
· The Bee Line—went from Chicago to New Orleans
· The Cannon Ball—went from Chicago to Hannibal
· The Jefferson Davis—went from D.C. to San Diego
· The Atlantic Yellow Pacific—went from Chicago to Sioux Falls
· The National Road—went from D.C. and Baltimore to Los Angeles
· The Dixie Highway—went from Chicago to Miami
Then in 1926 The American Association of Highway Officials unveiled a numbering system. That was when U.S. Route 66 was named. 2026 is the centennial of that iconic highway. A story for another Sunday Post.
So, back to the title of this essay: Will Any of This Matter in 100 Years?
What happened 100 years ago may not be all that fresh and newsworthy anymore, but you can look carefully and see multiple threads that connect then to now.
Family Systems Theory argues that the anxiety of someone in my family 100 years ago didn’t necessarily die along with that individual.
A careful reading of the political, social, and economic history of 1926 will reveal DNA that shows up in today’s quagmires. We also discover that some thinkers and activists from 100 years ago offer us clues that could be invaluable as we work our way through our own issues.
Of course, we tend to use that phrase—will any of this matter 100 years from now?—for moments of temporary angst that are likely to be irrelevant a decade hence, if not a week from now. Those struggles at last week’s finance committee meeting are probably not going to bother any of us when 2126 rolls around.
As individuals, we shall indeed “rest in peace” someday—from all our fears, embarrassments, and defeats. And if we grow in faith and maturity—we shall likely have peace long before we go to our graves.
But as a human society—as a people who want a world that is more humane and resourceful—as a people who believe in thinking our way into that better world—it is essential for us to see ourselves both 100 years thence and 100 years hence if we are to find our way through our own difficult times.
And so we do history. And so we do faith. And so we do honesty. And so we do hope.
Repertoire 