July 4th & a Medicare Birthday

    Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.

Death closes all; but something ere the end, 

Some work of noble note, may yet be done.

Lord Alfred Tennyson—Ulysses

* * *

    Barring foul weather or an unforeseen circumstance, on July 4^th I’ll once again be standing next to the reviewing stand in Downtown Fowlerville with camera in hand. And as I’ve done numerous times before, I’ll look down Grand River at the approaching parade—the police car with its flashing lights will be leading the procession, followed by the Honor Guard marching in unison, the car with the Grand Marshals  waving to the crowd, and the rest of the line-up of participants.

    With this event, the fireworks show later that evening, and other activities, the community of Fowlerville will once again celebrate the nation’s founding.

    July 4^th has been observed in some fashion—privately, amongst family and friends, or with a public celebration—in this part of Michigan since Calvin and Patience Handy arrived in 1836, riding in their wagon drawn by a team of oxen, followed shortly thereafter with the appearance of John and Ralph Fowler to inspect their recently-purchased land.

     The nation had declared its independence only 60 years prior to the arrival of these first white settlers. Two of the founding fathers and former presidents—John Adams and Thomas Jefferson—had passed away within hours of each other on July 4, 1826—only 10 years  before the settling of what became Handy Township and later Fowlerville.

    Ralph Fowler would die in September 1887, 51 years after he and his brother first came here. My great-grandfather, Rollin Horton, who I knew intimately for my first 23 years, was eight  years old when the town’s founder drew his last breath.

   This local 4^th of July celebration dates back to 1976 when a few people in the community decided Fowlerville ought to join in the festivities marking the nation’s 200^th birthday—its bicentennial. I was nearly 25 and had just been hired as a part-time reporter (my first paying job in this profession) and covered the three days of activities, highlighted by a parade and the fireworks. I haven’t missed too many of the 40 years that have followed; and I can’t recall any that we haven’t witnessed since starting the News & Views in 1985.

  Little has changed in how the event is covered. We take numerous photographs of our fellow citizens participating in or enjoying the various activities. The pictures are then published in the next week’s edition. This July 4^th our intent will be to continue that tradition.

     A few days after this holiday, on July 10, I’ll turn 65. The Medicare birthday is how it’s now characterized, acknowledging that this is the moment when a person of that age becomes eligible to receive this government health coverage; the reward for all of those years of paying a portion of one’s taxes into the program.

    One by one my fellow classmates from Fowlerville High’s Class of 1969, who are on Facebook, have been congratulating those who have reached this milestone birthday. My turn will soon be at hand. Other than another card to carry in the wallet and a new, less expensive health insurance, little should change in my day-to-day routine.

     Yet, it’s another milestone moment in the passage from the middle years towards the senior ones. One of those milestone moments came at age 62 when I could have begun receiving a monthly Social Security payment. The caveat, though, was that I could only earn up to around $13,000. Any earnings above that threshold amount, and the Social Security payment would correspondingly reduced. Fortunately, I was making more than that maximum amount and let the cup pass.

    In another landmark birthday in this passage comes next year at age 66 when I reach full retirement age. I can start taking my Social Security without any worry about how much extra income I earn, other than having to pay the taxes, but if I pull the trigger, I’m leaving money on the table. By waiting until age 70 and getting the full amount that I’m entitled to, retirement might be more financially secure and enjoyable. A delayed gratification.

     Still, there’s the risk that if I wait too long, the Grim Reaper might rob me of just dues. Plus, any consideration on whether to go early or wait includes your spouse since whoever survives has to live with the single payment rather than a larger, combined one.

    At the Medicare birthday, there’s much to consider.

    I read recently that the white male (of which I am one) lives on average another 18 years after reaching age of 65. While each of us is unique, there’s nothing particularly special about me that would upset this actuarial estimation. I might go before that date and be below the average, or I might still be around after blowing out the candles at 93, meaning that I’ve outlasted a lot of my contemporaries.

     Social Security, dating back to 1935, and Medicare, established in 1965, are of course financed on a ‘pay as you go’ system—the benefits recipients receive are paid by the taxes of current wage earners. For me and my contemporaries to get what we’ve been told we’re entitled to, based on the credits we’ve earned, is dependent on what younger and future workers  are able  or required to contribute and what, if any changes are made to the financing of the program.

     As is well publicized, my Baby Boomer generation—that spike 

in the demographic chart—is upsetting the situation. As has been the case since our arrival in the post World War II years, there’s too many of us for the available resources.     A newspaper article I saw last week stated that unless Congress fixes the situation, the Social Security Trust Fund will not be able to fully fund the anticipated payments to recipients after 2037. A reduced payment could occur.

  

  I would be 86 years old if this scenario were to unfold without any intervening action.

   The numbers game of impending old age.

* * *

  

    When I was 17, I came across this quote from a speech that Senator Robert F. Kennedy gave. I’ve used it in previous writings, in other contexts.

   “Few will have the greatness to bend history itself, but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation. It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”

    In the years since then I have not sent forth as many ripples of hope as I could have or should have. Or as I imagined I would at that youthful age. In the venue of a small-town weekly newspaper, the focus has been mainly on local matters of concern along with chronicling the life and unfolding events of the community.

  

  In these pages, over the past 30-plus years, we’ve reported on a host of activities, special occasions, personal accomplishments, and unusual events—the minutia of life and living in a community.

  We’ve celebrated the successes of young people in academics, athletics, 4-H, dance, and other activities and endeavors. We’ve sought to assist new and existing businesses in attracting customers and sustaining themselves by promoting their products or services. We’ve profiled our older residents for assorted reasons, including honors that they’ve been given or milestones that they’ve reached. These range from being named as a parade Grand Marshal, reaching the age of 90, being named Citizen of the Year,  observing a golden anniversary, or deciding to sell the dairy herd. 

   We’ve printed the obituaries and on occasion offered a eulogy for those who have passed away—the previous generation of familiar faces who served as mentors and examples.

  We’ll continue to do what we do for as long as time  and opportunity allow—“serving the local communities with news and information.”

   

   Our readers, the residents who populate this area, are certainly not removed from or uninterested in such momentous issues as war and peace, hunger, discrimination, repression, racism or terrorism or the great debates over matters of state, national, or international concern. Nor were they in the past. But the appropriateness of including that content alongside the local stuff has not always seemed evident or urgent.

   I’m not sure if that was good judgment on my part or an easy out. Certainly, I’ve had other options besides this publication to express my views on matters of great import; or to take other actions that might send forth those ripples of hope.

   Kennedy, in that same speech, said: Few are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of their society. Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality for those who seek to change a world that yields most painfully to change. 

  

   The reality is that, although no community is not immune from the consequences and ill effects of events occurring on the larger stage, a small town and rural setting generally offers a safer and more secure haven--not always, but as a rule. While newspapers, TV, radio and now the internet and other social media bring the world with all of its troubles, worries, and fears to our doorstep, the physical distance does offer refuge and protection.

    Still, residing in this safer haven does mean we should or ought to ignore the plight and sufferings of others less fortunate or not pay attention of the discussions and debates on proposed policies and courses of action.

   “Old age hath yet his honor and his toil” wrote the poet Tennyson. And, I might add, his uses.

     As I move along my passage from past to ever present to what’s left of the future—ever shortening, ever dwindling—perhaps time enough for “some work of noble note.” And the courage and resolve to pursue it.

  

   On July 4^th, as the parade in Fowlerville approaches with its various sounds, accompanied by the multitude of conversations and laughter of the many spectators lined along the sidewalks, I (we) will be hearing the music of freedom; the melody of that proposition from 240 years ago that “We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”

  

  This music of freedom reminds us, as Lincoln said, that as American "we are not enemies, but friends" despite our differences; that we must not let the passions of our opinions "break our “bonds of affection” and that we need to listen to “The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”

    I’ve reached an age where I can more clearly hear the “better angels of our nature” and hear as well the darker impulses that too often impact and sway us. It is the chorus of those angels that I wish to lend my voice.