Rusty Saber: Age, experience deliver magnificent memories

Joe McAdoo is former chairman of the communication department at Drury University.

America is such a youth-oriented society that it may seem odd to point out advantages of being old. I may not be older than dirt, but I'm close to it.

Over a lifetime, I have accumulated a multitude of memories. An advantage of being old is the ability to compare many memories and ultimately harvest the delicious ones nuggets of pure gold sprinkled along the pathway of 1ife. Regardless of age, the holiday season is a perfect time to look back on golden memories.

I remember my parents when they were young, and that memory is golden. They were young, with most of their lives ahead of them; yet they devoted themselves to supplying my needs and those of my sister. As moms and dads do, they put most of their personal aspirations on hold until we were grown. My parents as young people. Golden memories, indeed.

I remember the exact moment my wife and I were married. My recollection of the rest of our wedding ceremony is hazy, but the precise moment the minister said, "I pronounce you man and wife," is indelibly etched in my soul. It is the most profound memory of my life; nothing can nor ever will replace it.

Our children are grown and have children of their own, but my memories of the moments both were born are as vivid as if they had been born yesterday. Until my first sight of them, I recall that I felt fairly useless; my wife had done all the work. Ah, but when I laid eyes on both children, feelings of intense pride and happiness were released in me that I will treasure forever.

Another durable memory is the exact moment I realized I was actually in the Navy. Oh, I had taken a physical, enlisted, and had been sworn in, but the train ride from Kansas City to San Diego had seemed like a school field trip. As we sailors-to-be stepped off the bus at the San Diego Naval Training Center, I saw a sign reading "Welcome Aboard, You Are Now A Member Of The United States Navy, The Greatest Navy In The World." I knew this was no field trip, it was the real thing! Boot camp was to come.

The memory is golden because of the maturation process I experienced during my four years in the Navy. I entered as a silly kid with no interest in anything as boring as school; I came out intent on becoming an educated man. I owe a lot to those life-altering military experiences.

It should come as no surprise that another golden memory came four years later when, with my sea bag on my shoulder, I walked away from the Navy, a civilian once more. My life lay before me, and I was ready to begin living it.

As a now retired teacher, I have no idea how many classes I taught over the years, but the first one stands out above all the rest. The memory of my first high school class is graphic. I remember the decor of the hallway on the second floor of the school building, I remember what I was wearing. The faces of the sophomore English students awaiting me are as familiar as they were on that September morning.

Six years later I left high school teaching to pursue my goal of being a college professor. But on that morning, I was at the threshold of a lifetime's work. I treasure the memory of the moment I crossed over into it.

All cherished memories aren't necessarily life-altering. I consider memories of music from the past to be golden. I believe I'm lucky to be old enough to remember the great pre-Rock-and-Roll-era ballad singers.

So many talented men and women singers turned out hit after hit as they vied for the top spots on the record charts performing the songs of equally gifted composers.

Some singers have retired; some have passed away. Frank Sinatra, Nat "King" Cole and Rosemary Clooney are among the greats who have died.

Some still perform: Andy Williams consistently plays to packed houses in Branson. Tony Bennett recently sang to a sold-out Hammons Hall For the Performing Arts in Springfield. Will Eminem play to standing-room-only audiences 50 years from now?

As a longtime jazz fan, I count as golden my memories of the 1950s jazz's finest hour when East Coast hard bop vied with West Coast cool jazz for the attention of jazz concert goers and record buyers. It was a magnificent time for jazz, America's true art form, and for me.

So many memories. The good ones are pure gold.