ODE TO 91
I turned 91 last month. It was, no question, a worthwhile landing place to have attained in one piece, but I had a hard time attaching any significance to the big number.
At some point in my musings, I was reminded of Shakespeare’s famed “Seven Ages of Man” monologue, voiced by the character Jacques in “As You Like It”, which starts out like this:
“All the world’s a stage
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.”
All of a sudden, in a flash of arithmetic agility dating back to grade school, I realized that 91 years contains exactly seven “ages” of 13 years each. Get it? Seven times thirteen equals 91! Voila!
At which point, without any pause for lawyerly indecision, I decided to create my own “seven ages of man” (or at least of yours truly), each 13 years in duration, topping out at 91. Here’s what it looked like numerically:
Ages
First: 1-13
Second: 14-26
Third: 27-39
Fourth: 40-52
Fifth: 53-65
Sixth: 66-78
Seventh: 79-91
I did realize, of course, that each of my even “ages” have quite different content than Jacques’ seven – perhaps having something to do with the passage of over 500 years since Shakespeare penned his subdivisions – but let me take you through a comparison of his and mine.
First Age (per Freund), years 1 to 13
Jacques’ first age began appropriately with “the infant, mewling and pewking in the nurse’s arms.” – but it turns out that this was all Shakespeare had to offer for the entire age. Well, it may have started out much that way with me, but I eventually managed to escape infancy, trade diapers in for short pants and knickers, and pick up the language and other smarts needed to get me through the 7th grade.
FDR was our president during most of my first decade of life, taking on the Depression fearlessly, while during the second half of my first “age”, our country fought and won World War II against the German and Japanese.
I attended Hunter College Elementary School, played six-man touch football games in Central Park, and even approached puberty toward the end of that first period – discovering girls and playing the then popular game of Spin the Bottle (with the winners huddling in a closet for an awkward kiss behind the closed door).
Second Age, years 14-26
Shakespeare does catch up at least a little here, featuring “. . . the whining schoolboy, with his satchel and shining morning face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school.” But meanwhile I skipped out ahead – this second age embracing high school, college, a plethora of adorable females, a three-year stint in the Navy, and even the beginning of law school. By the age’s end, many of my buddies (who avoided that military stint or skipped graduate school) were already ensconced in business, and a good number were married – but even I had at least far outstripped the whining schoolboy.
Third Age, years 27-39
For Shakespeare, this third age belongs to “. . . the lover, sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad made to his mistress’ eyebrows.” For me, it actually started out that way – I met, courted and married my first wife as the age began. She then proceeded to give birth to two terrific boys, who proved to be the age’s real highlights. This third age also saw me through law school and into two law firms, including my partnership at the second one, Skadden Arps. It was the beginning of a worthwhile career, and I finally became able to earn some money (although not a whole lot as yet).
Fourth Age, years 40-52
Shakespeare took a byway here, awarding the fourth age to “. . . a soldier, full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon’s mouth.” That description definitely moves me, although it certainly didn’t describe my own military service in the Arctic and Antarctic on a Navy icebreaker back at the end of the second age.
For me, this fourth age was very significant – authoring Anatomy of a Merger at the period’s start, which kicked off a successful M&A career in the succeeding years (including handling my most notable case, defending TWA against Carl Icahn). On the personal front, there was a sad ending to my first marriage midway through the age, but a joyous beginning of my second marriage at the period’s end, plus the thrill of seeing the boys come to maturity as adults.
Fifth Age, years 53-65
For Shakespeare, this fifth age was “the justice, in fair round belly with good capon lined, with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances.” He and I actually came pretty close in this period – my fair round belly was lined with good capon, and I prided myself on being chock full of “wise saws”. Still, my retirement took place toward the end of this age – quite a comedown for a senior law firm partner. The years to come were a big adjustment for me – is that what modern instances is all about? – but I was fortunate to have had a wonderful marital partner to help me make a mostly smooth adjustment.
Sixth Age, years 66-78
Shakespeare was not kind here. “The sixth age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon, with spectacles on nose and pouch on side; his youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide for his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, turning again toward childish treble, pipes and whistles in his sound.”
Ouch! – and all of this before I even became an octogenarian! But I coped – no pantaloon for me. I discovered a professional life as a mediator, wrote and had published a well-received book on mediation – also a novel, and a collection of short stories. Perhaps the most troublesome comparison for me was that line about youthful hose being “too wide for his shrunk shank” – but by avidly consuming voluminous amounts of tasty food, I largely staved this off. And I’m still working on retention of that big manly voice.
Seventh Age, years 79-91
This is where Shakespeare really hurts a guy – by evoking second childishness and mere oblivion, sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! To be sure, I have slowed down my pace afoot and begun using a cane; I take a half-hour nap after lunch almost every day; and I ignore the mirror when emerging from the shower. But I’ve created a blog to which I’ve contributed each month for the past 4 ½ years a trio of offerings from the written, musical and photographic worlds, plus a novella and both musical and photo albums that I send out every year-end, all of which definitely keeps me on my toes.
So, thanks, Mom, for living to 105. If and when I get there, I’ll deal with that second childishness stuff – but not now at ninety one!
RHYMING
In a number of past birthday years, I’ve experimented with finding other words that rhyme with my new age. Three years ago was the peak, when I came up with 88 words that rhymed with my new age.
Well, ninety-one is no bargain – it requires a lot of reaching. But here’s the meager stuff I’ve come up with –
There are definitely some contradictory messages:
For instance, on the negative side, we’ve got:
91 – A SIGN TO SHUN
But that’s balanced with this positive message:
91 – A SIGN WE WON
Still, in terms of rhymes, I have to report that the negatives prevail.
For instance (and this one hurts):
YOUR DECLINE’S BEGUN AT 91
And here’s the worst message of all
AT 91, RESIGN – IT’S DONE.
There are, to be sure, some helpful rhyming suggestions for those of
us attaining these years –
For instance, regarding vigorous exercise, here’s an apt warning:
CONFINE YOUR RUN AT 91
And if, during your exercise, you start to get some actual pains in the ass:
AT 91, RECLINE YOUR BUN
Anyway, I’ve decided to just look at the bright side of things, as for instance:
GOOD WINE’S STILL FUN AT 91
And here’s the best advice of all, especially if you happen to have someone like a Barbara Fox around:
AT 91, ENTWINE YOUR HUN.
AGE AND THE CALENDAR
When I turned 50, I decided to compare the ages of man to the calendar years, as follows:
Month Age
January 0-5
February 6-12
March 13-19
April 20-29
May 25-29
June 30’s
July 40’s
August 50’s
September 60-64
October 65-69
November 70-74
December 75-?
And here, verbatim, is how I described my choices (in a postscript to my 1992 book, Advise and Invent):
“The preschool years are like January, the beginning of the new year, with only tentative indications of where you (and the year) may be heading. The formative years from 6 to 12, when you’re forged in the twin crucibles of home and school, remind me of February’s crunch. Then comes the sense of excitement, of promise, in March – the bustin’ loose in your teenage years.
“As the poet says, April is the cruelest month. As you cross into your twenties, there’s that sense of alarm, of enormity, about entering the real world. Things bloom in May, your late twenties; you can just feel the good things coming. And when they arrive in June, it’s lovely. Your thirties are like that. By the end of the decade, you know what you’re all about.
“Then there are those great summer months – July for the forties, August for the fifties – the real prime time, when it all comes together. It’s true that August can get a little too hot, but there are compensations – the ocean temperature, for instance, is even more inviting than in July . . .
“At 60, the summer’s over. Some great days still lie ahead, but I think of tunes like “September Song,” “The September of My Years,” and such. When you’re 65, it’s October – clear, crisp days, falling leaves, beautiful but sad. There’s a penultimate feeling about November (“The days dwindle down, to a precious few . . . .”), which I’d anticipate feeling around 70. December and 75 go together; you’re into the final chapter, though there may be plenty of good times to come.”
Here’s how I reacted to this at 75:
“I don’t feel even a little bit penultimate today – let alone mired in a final chapter. If I could go back I’d renegotiate the month allocation with my younger self – asking for September, although perhaps accepting October by way of compromise.”
Now, six years later and going pretty strong, I’d still make a fuss about those final four months. My change would be September for all of the 60’s; October for the 70’s; November for the 80’s; and December for the 90’s (although I’d probably settle for the second half of December in a pinch).
THE 91st PSALM
Finally, I want to call attention to some biblical support for the big 9-1. I’m not as religious as I’d like to be, but I have a strong recollection from my childhood that’s worth mentioning here.
Almost everyone’s favorite psalm in my youthful days was the 23rd (“The Lord is my Shepherd”), while a few cited the 121st (“I will lift up my eyes unto the hills”). In our household, however, the undisputed champ was the 91st psalm, which was said to be “a powerful expression of trust in God’s protection, assuring the faithful of His steadfast presence and deliverance, especially during time of trouble and danger.”
Here are several of the lines from the 91st psalm that still resonate with me.
“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust . . .
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;
Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday . . .
For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways . . .
He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.
With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.”
All I can say is that whatever trepidation I might feel about facing some potentially tough days ahead is noticeably lowered whenever I re-absorb this text.
So there it is – just happening to bear the magical number 91 . . . .