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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:36:21 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:36:21 -0700 |
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diff --git a/44155-h/44155-h.htm b/44155-h/44155-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..263e1ed --- /dev/null +++ b/44155-h/44155-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,488 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + How It Feels to Be Fifty, by Ellis Parker Butler + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:15%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 100%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44155 ***</div> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + HOW IT FEELS TO BE FIFTY + </h1> + <h2> + By Ellis Parker Butler + </h2> + <h4> + COPYRIGHT, 1919, <br /> <br /> BY THE CROWELL PUBLISHING COMPANY + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + To tell you the honest truth, + </p> + <p> + I am obliged to say that, if I had not been asked to write these few lines + on "How it Feels to be Fifty," being fifty would n't have meant anything + in my young life. + </p> + <p> + Of course this will be a terrible disappointment to the thousands of + people who, for twenty-five years, have been counting off the months and + days and hours and minutes, saying: + </p> + <p> + "In twenty-one years more he will be fifty; in ten months more he will be + fifty; in eight minutes more he will be fifty! And <i>then</i> he will + tell us how it feels, and we can absorb the knowledge from his wise old + lips and get ready to feel as we ought to feel when we, too, are fifty." + </p> + <p> + It is a shame to disappoint such a large and intelligent audience, but I + am compelled to state that I do not feel like a doddering old wreck + teetering on the edge of the grave. + </p> + <p> + I remember a lovely underwear advertisement that depicted a sort of + "cradle to grave" scene, with a toddling youngster at one end of the + bridge of life and an aged man at the other end, and men of various + progressive underwear ages scattered between. They were all arrayed in + nice comfy underwear, and the bridge over which they were ambling was + highest in the middle. It suggested that a man climbs up the bridge of + life half his years and then goes down grade until he does n't need any + more underwear, because of circumstances over which he has no control. + </p> + <p> + This bridge-of-life or hill-of-life idea, with its forty years up-hill and + then forty years down-hill, is pure fake. If life were like that I would + now be writing a sadly introspective farewell ode, telling how I had + reached the apex of life's hill and now saw before me the long slope down + into the valley, toward the river all must cross. + </p> + <p> + I would ring in something about the setting sun and the cooing of the + turtle doves in the neat little cemetery at the foot of the hill, and then + say I was shouldering my heavy pack with hope and resignation for the + final weary down-hill hike. I would add something about being footsore, + about spent talents and honorable gray hairs, and everybody would weep and + begin to save up money for a floral funeral wreath for me. + </p> + <p> + The fact is that, except for the almanac, I don't know whether I am fifty + or twenty. Judged by the way I feel to-day, I shall keep right on going + up-hill, until—it may be a thousand years from now—I come to a + jumping-off place. + </p> + <p> + At fifty I have no feeling of starting down-hill, or of having reached the + top of any hill. If you want to call my life a hill, I 'll say I see the + road rising just as steadily and regularly and pleasantly ahead of me now + as when I was twenty. And the top of it is so far from where I am now, and + so much higher, that I can't even see it. Life is just beginning to be + interesting. + </p> + <p> + At fifty I feel like a young teamster who has just got his skittish colts + broken in and is now ready to start out on the real job. Until now I have + been a raw hand, stopping to adjust the harness, talking about what I + meant to do, studying the guide books, getting the stiff wagon greased, + laying in provisions, fussing around one way and another trying to find + out where I wanted to go, and why I wanted to go there, and how to get + there when I started. + </p> + <p> + At fifty a man should feel younger and stronger and more fit than he ever + felt before. I do. Most men do, I believe. Younger fellows do not even + play properly. They make a sort of work of it. It is not until a man is + fifty that he knows that golf and fishing and poker and pinochle are play, + and that work is play, and that life itself is kind of an interesting big + game, too. + </p> + <p> + I took out an old photograph of mine the other day—one I had taken + away back in 1887, when I was eighteen—and I remembered how full of + cares and worries I was at that time. I used to stay awake night after + night and worry over getting married, for instance. I used to wonder how I + could ever get up enough courage to go up to a girl and ask her to marry + me. + </p> + <p> + That awful necessity loomed up before me and filled me with woe and agony, + gave me cold chills and hot flushes, and made me absolutely miserable for + years. + </p> + <p> + I remember that when I was about twenty I saw an item in a newspaper, away + inside somewheres and tucked in a corner. It said statistics showed that + bashful men were usually the first to marry. That item was a wonderful + source of relief to me. I cut it out and carried it in my pocket, and + whenever I felt the cold chill of fear come over me and I began to sweat + at the thought that some day I must ask a girl to marry me, I got out that + clipping and read it, and tried to brace up and be brave. To-day I have a + wife and four children and <i>that</i> worry is gone. + </p> + <p> + My hair was another great worry in those days. My father is quite bald, + and he had become bald when he was a very young man; when he was + twenty-one or twenty-two, I believe. + </p> + <p> + I don't know why a young man should think a heavy head of hair is such an + imperative necessity, when hats are so cheap, but I was haunted by a dire + fear that I might grow bald while still young. I was in continual distress + lest the Butler baldness might be hereditary. I had just one great hope—that + at least some of my hair might stay on my head until I was married, + anyway. + </p> + <p> + When I became engaged, this hair-fear took the place of the + afraid-to-propose fear. It was with me night and day. It was a keen, + personal agony. The thought that I might have to walk up the church aisle + to the music of the wedding march, with my bald head shining like a white + watermelon, almost made me collapse with shame. And the worst of it was + that my hair did begin to come out by handfuls. I shed hair like a cat in + the springtime. Those were awful days! I saw myself doomed to a life of + hairless disgrace and degradation. + </p> + <p> + At fifty I have more hair than a man of that age is expected to have; and + I don't care a continental whether it stays or goes. It has worn well. If + it goes to-morrow I can say, "No matter; it was a good crop while it + lasted, and it lasted well." If I become absolutely bald it will be a good + publicity feature, like the late Bill Nye's baldness. I should worry! + </p> + <p> + At fifty the few pains and aches I have are, so to speak, standardized. + They are old friends; if they went away I should miss them. I should not + be myself without them. + </p> + <p> + There is one I am especially fond of, because I have had it so long. It + resides in my tummy. I have had that pain so many years that I have, so to + speak, built my character around it, as an oyster builds the beautiful, + lustrous pearl around the intruding grain of sand. + </p> + <p> + Forty years ago I used to howl when that pain came. I used to lie across a + chair, or a log, or a hummock of ground, and howl when it made remarks. + Twenty years ago, when that pain gripped me I used to imagine death was + about to end my promising career. To-day I treat it like an old friend + when it makes itself felt. It can't fool me. I know its tricks and its + manners. I say "'Ullo! 'Ullo! 'Ere you are again, are you? Welcome 'ome, + old top! Sorry I can't give you more attention, but I 've got such a lot + to do; just 'ang around until you get ready to go, old sport, and make + yourself comfortable." + </p> + <p> + At fifty my general health is better than it ever was. I have shaken off a + bilious headache that was the curse of my youthful days. Proper eyeglasses + have corrected an astigmatism that gave me other headaches twenty years + ago. With the same glasses I can see as well now as I ever did. My + appetite is as good as it ever was. I enjoy everything in life more than I + ever did. I am more sure of myself. I know what I can do, and I am not + afraid to do it. + </p> + <p> + At fifty a young man should have just about completed his preparations to + begin to live his real life. There are some precocious young fellows who + "get their growth" by the time they are forty-five, but I am not one of + them. There are some few prodigies who do worthwhile living before forty, + but there are not many of them. + </p> + <p> + At fifty a man begins to live the worth-while life of a man, as + distinguished from his life as a mere animal. At fifty he should have his + family pretty well built up and complete, his experimental crops sown, and + be ready to do his work and to enjoy his life in a hearty, unafraid, + efficient manner. + </p> + <p> + Without checking up the items carefully, and without claiming that some + things done by the youngsters are not worth keeping, I venture to say the + world would be surprised to find how much of its best in literature, art, + the drama, mechanical inventions and so on would remain if everything done + by men and women under fifty were eliminated. + </p> + <p> + At fifty a man is just about mature, in this climate. And he is not a + tomato; he does not decay as soon as he is ripe. He stays ripe and sound + for many years, and each of his years beyond fifty should be worth five or + ten of his earlier unripe years. + </p> + <p> + To the young fellow of twenty-five it may seem that the man of fifty is an + aged and doddering wreck who must have the thought of death constantly in + mind. I'll venture to say, judging by myself, that—except when the + life-insurance man comes around with his propaganda—the man of fifty + never thinks of death at all. Why should he? + </p> + <p> + Personally, I worried a great deal more about life insurance and what + style of coffin I'd like when I was twenty-one than I do now. Now I carry + all the life insurance I can afford, as a plain business proposition, and + let it go at that. When I was twenty-one I worried about dying at some + untimely age and leaving someone or other to starve to death, as per the + prospectus. Well, I have become skeptical about people starving to death. + I've never yet seen any one do it. + </p> + <p> + I mention this death business because I am trying to imagine what a young + fellow believes a man of fifty thinks of. I know some of them think we + fifty-year-olders are decrepit old ruins, dwelling in the past and looking + fearfully forward to an early dissolution. + </p> + <p> + Take my word for it, sonny, no man of fifty, unless he be suffering from + some dire disease, thinks of death at all, as applicable to himself. As + for myself, seeing how things are going nowadays, I don't give death a + thought. For all I know, and all <i>you</i> know, before I am ten years + older the Great Manager of Things may decide it is time to go back to the + old rĂ©gime, and make men live five hundred or six hundred or nine hundred + and sixty-nine years, as they did in the days of Methuselah and Noah. So + why should I worry? + </p> + <p> + At eighty or ninety, I imagine, some men do get a little weary of life and + begin to be indifferent to its continuance; but at fifty many things are + just beginning to be interesting. Until lately I have been so busy raising + a family, and getting a home, and one thing and another, that I have not + had time to give proper attention to my golf. I am planning to put in + thirty or forty good years improving my game. I have discovered that you + cannot avoid faults in your golf unless you know what they are, and you + cannot thoroughly know a golf fault until you acquire it. I think I have + now acquired all the golf faults there are, and from now on I mean to have + a lot of fun getting rid of them. + </p> + <p> + Another thing I need a lot of time for now is my postage stamp collection. + For forty years or so I have sort of fooled along with it, getting + acquainted with the general methods and outlines of the sport, and + deciding just what to specialize in. + </p> + <p> + I have now a pretty fair working knowledge, and know what I want to do in + that line. I need a lot of time for that; I don't expect to do any very + great things at it until I really get some leisure—say when I am + eighty or ninety years old—but in the meanwhile I want to pick up a + few rarities now and then. To do that I'll have to make a little more + money than I have been making, because I have reached a point where the + stamps I need run into money rapidly. + </p> + <p> + And I expect, in the next twenty or thirty years, to spend quite a little + on my fishing. After forty years of it I am just beginning to learn how to + fish properly. And I want to grow some real flowers. I want to have a + tulip bed that will draw people from a hundred miles and make them beg for + bulbs. But I have n't been able to get at the tulip affair this year + because I have been out touring the country as a platform humorist. There + are a half-dozen other things I am planning to do; but all these are + subsidiary to my writing, of course. + </p> + <p> + At fifty I feel that I am about ready to begin my life work as a writer. + For the past few years, thirty or forty of them, I have been experimenting + around and trying to get my bearings and learn what life really is. I have + done some pretty raw, inexperienced stuff, but it has been worth while + because a young fellow has to go through the experimental stage. It takes + time to decide what one really wants to do, and how he wants to do it. But + when a man is fifty, with a long life ahead of him and a fair notion of + what he wants to do, he begins to be hopeful. + </p> + <p> + At fifty, I feel that I am about ready to begin writing the eight or ten + novels I have been wanting to write. Amelia E. Barr was about fifty years + old when she began writing novels, and she wrote about seventy of them + after that. Richardson wrote "Pamela"—some call it the first modern + novel—when he was fifty. Daniel De Foe turned to fiction only when + he was fifty-five. + </p> + <p> + There are hundreds of writers who did all their work, or most of their + best work, after fifty. Oliver Wendell Holmes was forty-eight when he + wrote the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," his first great work. + Longfellow wrote "Hiawatha" when he was forty-eight, and much of his best + work followed. Whittier wrote "Snow-Bound" and "Maud Muller" at + fifty-nine, and continued writing until he was seventy-nine. Tennyson was + still writing at eighty-three. "Trilby" was written when Du Maurier was + sixty; "Les Miserables" when Victor Hugo was sixty; "Kenilworth" when + Scott was sixty, with sixteen novels following it. Reckoning a man's life + by years is the biggest sort of flapdoodle. All of a man's worth-while + living may come after he is fifty. Between fifty and fifty-one I may catch + my biggest trout, and I expect to do it. After fifty I may write my best + stories, and I mean to do it. + </p> + <p> + In my back yard is a huge white-oak tree. Some tree experts say it is + three hundred and fifty years old, some say six hundred, and one has + estimated it at eight hundred. It does not make a bit of difference to the + tree. It is as young and enthusiastic when spring comes as it was when it + was two years old. It puts forth leaves, grows new and tender twigs, bears + sound acorns, shelters its colony of bird families, and holds one end of + the clothesline just as well as it ever did. + </p> + <p> + It is a healthier, happier tree at six hundred years of age than thousands + of pert young ten-year-olds, and is producing more and better oak leaves. + If you went and asked it how it feels to be six hundred years old, it + would say, "What do you mean, six hundred years old? What has that got to + do with it?" A few hundred years one way or the other mean nothing to a + sound, healthy white-oak tree. A few tens of years one way or the other + mean nothing to a sound, healthy man. + </p> + <p> + We know that Homer and Socrates were aged men because certain famous + portrait busts have advertised it. But how many know whether Cicero, + Plato, Marcus Aurelius, or Pythagoras did their best work before or after + fifty? We don't know and we don't care. + </p> + <p> + Take Noah, for example. At fifty Noah was a comparatively unknown citizen, + with a neighborhood reputation for homely virtues, and a nice growing + family; but he had cut no very great figure in the world. Some of the + younger fellows thought of him now and then as a sort of aged gentleman + who was about ready to drop into the grave. Probably they thought it was + quite a feather in Noah's cap when one of them stopped him and asked him + to write a short paper on the subject, "How it Feels to be Fifty." + </p> + <p> + "There is a chance for you to produce a wonder," the young fellow said to + Noah. "Make the essay just as personal and real and funny as you possibly + can. Age is one of the most interesting subjects in the world. Everybody + either looks forward to being fifty or back to having been fifty. There is + no subject about which human beings think more." + </p> + <p> + "All right," Noah said. "I 'll do it; but you must expect to be + disappointed, because I don't <i>feel</i> old, or aged, or anything of + that sort. I feel young and lively, as if I were just beginning to live—" + </p> + <p> + "Slush!" said the young fellow. "You 're <i>old</i>. At fifty you have one + foot in the grave. That stands to reason. Now be a nice old fellow and + write something that will please the Neighborhood Society. Something about + standing on the apex of the hill of life, looking down the farther side, + and that sort of thing." So Noah did. He aimed to please. He wrote the + essay and said he was now fifty and had but a few years to live, and that + he did hate to think of so soon having to part from one and all. The paper + made a great hit. It was loudly applauded. + </p> + <p> + And fifty years after that, Noah was still alive. + </p> + <p> + And fifty years after <i>that</i>, Noah was still alive. + </p> + <p> + And then another fifty years passed, and Noah was still alive. + </p> + <p> + And then a hundred years passed, and Noah was still alive. + </p> + <p> + And two hundred years after <i>that</i>, Noah was still alive and going + strong. + </p> + <p> + And it was n't until one hundred years after <i>that</i>, that Noah made + the big hit of his life by gathering his folks and his live stock into the + ark. He was six hundred years two months and seventeen days old when the + big rain began that was to make him famous. You can read that in Genesis, + 7th chapter, 11th verse. That was just five hundred and fifty years two + months and seventeen days after the young fellow asked Noah to write how + it felt to be an old man of fifty starting on the downward path. + </p> + <p> + I think we should all take Noah as a model, and keep a young heart and an + eager, forward-looking spirit until we are at least six hundred years two + months and seventeen days old. <i>Our</i> forty days of glory and + greatness and good service may come long after we are fifty—five + hundred and fifty years after, for all we know. + </p> + <p> + I like Noah. He had no surrender in him. Old at fifty? He considered + himself a mere baby at fifty! At six hundred he was just getting into his + proper stride. He was just ripe to tackle a big job like the flood. + </p> + <p> + <i>Chapter 9, verse 28:</i> And Noah lived after the flood three hundred + and fifty years. + </p> + <p> + <i>Verse 29:</i> And all the days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty + years; and he died. + </p> + <p> + It was about time he died. Nine hundred and fifty years ought to satisfy + any man. In my family, barring accidents and diseases, we live to be + ninety or ninety-six, and I ask you, frankly, how you can expect me to + fret and worry and be agedly philosophical when I am still only a young + tart of fifty. It is too much to ask of me. + </p> + <p> + At fifty, I feel myself just reaching my full powers, mentally and + physically; capable of more work and better work, more play and better + play, and with so many years of work and play ahead of me that I never so + much as think of my age or of being any age. I am keen and eager to get + right at the next job I have on hand, and to make it a better piece of + work than any I have ever done. + </p> + <p> + The great expectations are not all on the younger side of fifty. But the + great satisfactions are nearly all on the onward side of it. Life is not + an up-one-side, down-the-other-side hill. It is a long, winding road, good + all the way, and the freshest, brightest flowers and the sweetest, + solidest fruit usually grow beyond the fifty-year mile-post. + </p> + <p> + At twenty my life was a feverish adventure, at thirty it was a problem, at + forty it was a labor, at fifty it is a joyful journey well begun. + </p> + <p> + THE END + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44155 ***</div> + </body> +</html> |