Dispatch Number One
So Much Fun
In London Town.
DATELINE:
Wednesday, September 27, 2000, at 1200 hours CDT.
London, England.
By Mickey Miles
SPECIAL to CornDancer.com
EDITOR'S NOTE: Mr. Miles is a professional journalist and political operative who moved to London in summer, 2000, to explore a new line of endeavour. Here is the first of his special Dispatches from London.
Some would say, I am living the dream.
"Wow! You're gonna live in London. That'll be so much fun!" As if....
I keep thinking back to what a retired welder told me in 1975.
He and I and another mutual friend were sitting on the porch of the welder's cabin, high above a bend in the Little Missouri River. It was a warm fall day and the river looked so enticing, a light green caused by a rain the night before. I wanted to strip and swim, but I didn't. Instead, I sat back and listened to the man muse upon his life.
As I said, he was a welder, but not just any welder. He had worked with Red Adair, the legendary oil well firefighter. It was said that this old man was so good that he could weld aluminium.
Turn 55, Work 'Till You Die.
"Son, we have the system all wrong. What we ought to do is have the government give you a monthly check when you pass age 18. And you don't have to do any work. Nothing. Just cash your check and have fun, or do what you want. And when you turn 55, you ought to have to go to work and work until you die."
We all laughed, but he was serious.
"This way when you are young and have your health, you can have fun. I'm at the precise place I have wanted to be all of my life. I always wanted to have a quiet, secluded place on a river and now I have it. Deer, squirrels, rabbits, fish, you name it. I have it all and I have worked my ass off all of my life to get here.
"And now...."
He sighed and caught his breath.
"I'm recovering from my third heart attack and I can't even go down there and wet a hook. My wife left me three months ago. She couldn't stand the seclusion that I promised her all of her life we would love."
Soon Mickey Will Turn 55.
Sometimes I think about the old welder and what he said. His words were in my head when I crossed the pond and started working in London. I'm 53 now and I work my ass off. Sometimes I get so tired, my teeth and jaw ache. That is when I know I have had enough -- when my jaw starts aching.
I get up at 6 a.m. and catch the Piccadilly Line at Knightsbridge, usually about ten until seven. I pass the time reading the London Times. At Holborn, I switch to the Central Line. I emerge at the Liverpool Street Station in the heart of the City, about 7:30.
At night I head home about 6:15. For some reason it takes longer to get home and the subways are much more crowded. I walk in the frequent rains, not speaking to anyone -- and no one speaks to me. I get home and my brave wife, homesick but putting on a good front, has a light supper ready. I eat, gulp down a couple of beers, read my mail and E-mail, and go to sleep, exhausted.
My work is so, so hard. A younger person might call my job "challenging."
Other people have hard jobs and their own private turmoil, so I shouldn't complain. I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself.
The Root of All Evil.
My real complaint is that I swallowed a myth years ago, the one that claimed money can't buy you happiness, or that the love of money is the root of all evil (I think it was really the pursuit of money). As you get older, you realise that it is an outright lie, a lie perpetrated by people with their hands out for this charity, or that church, or that government.
What a man should do is take care of himself first, then take care of his family.
Yes, I got my high school diploma because you said I should.
I served in the military because you said I should. I went to Viet Nam because you said it was right.
I got my college degree because you said I should.
I work hard because you said it would take me somewhere.
Money, Gumption, and Guts.
So now I'm in London, England. I like its people, mostly, and I like this country, but the next American who says to me: "Oh, that will be so much fun!" Well, I hope they duck.
It was my choice to move to England. I could have stayed in the States, but I chose to experience a bit more of life. My life had become too comfortable, too routine. I wanted to stretch my legs before whatever health and vigour I had left was exhausted.
My work takes me to France, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Belgium, The Netherlands. The truth of it is, I never had the money nor the gumption to travel to all of these places. Now my company supplies the money and I furnish the guts.
But now that I'm here, I really wish the government would give me a monthly check so I could really spend some time, and "Gosh, have so much fun!."
EDITOR'S NOTE:
WATCH FOR DISPATCH NUMBER TWO
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