The Future

I went out tonight for the first time since my back pain started to disrupt my routine a couple of weeks ago.  It was nice to get out of my pad, into the sunshine and fair weather.

I sat with a budding journalism student on the patio of a nearby bar--conveniently about as far from home as I'm able to walk these days.

I learned the kid is going through a divorce, poor guy.

Making small talk, I mentioned to him that I was once a journalism student at Oregon, and he wanted to hear my memories of that experience.

I told him about the time John Kenneth Galbraith lectured in my class and everybody subsequently greeted him.  A highlight for me, right?

The kid had never heard of JKG, which sparked my curiosity.  I ticked off the names of a dozen other writers that I imagined a modern student of journalism might know.

He didn't know them.

He was enamored with the New York Times however, so I went there. He knew David Brooks.  But Maureen Dowd drew a blank.

Before hobbling home, I told the kid to forget journalism and read history.

I should demand payment for such wisdom.


TS