Year of the Rat
Somehow it seems appropriate that
members of the baby-boom
generation would finally make
peace with their parents the
same year that Dr. Spock cashed
his last royalty check.
As leading-edge boomers enter
their 50s en masse and resign
themselves to the arduous task
of clipping Depends coupons,
they have largely forgotten the
words to their one-time anthem,
"The Times They Are A-Changin',"
and its defiant invocation of a
generational Death Race 2000
scenario: "Come mothers and
fathers throughout the land / and
don't criticize what you can't
understand / Your sons and your
daughters are beyond your
command / your old road is rapidly
aging / please get out of the new
one if you can't lend your
hand / for the times they are
a-changin'." These days, the
boomers are whistling a new
tune, one of gushing admiration
and respect for old people. It's
summed up in the title of a new
book about people lucky enough
to live through the two great,
character-building historical
episodes of the 20th century,
the Great Depression and World
War II. The book, "written" by
NBC news animatron Tom Brokaw,
is simply titled The Greatest
Generation.
Given that the Vietnam War had
been one of the major sources of
generational friction, it is
particularly ironic that the war
movie Saving Private Ryan has
been a prime factor in sewing up
the generation gap. (Well, that
and the fact that the "greatest
generation" has one foot firmly
in the grave: Whether it's
mountain lions, American
Indians, or nagging parents who
tell you that they never had
half the opportunities you've
had, there's nothing like
imminent extinction to prime the
nostalgia pump.)
The ultra-violent battle
scenes of Saving Private Ryan did more
than erase the memory of Steven
Spielberg's first attempt at a
World War II movie, the
hilarious yuk fest 1941 (which
in its own small way added to
the horrors of this bloody
century and doubtlessly fueled
co-star John Belushi's desire to
destroy himself). Through the
ritual sacrifice of America's
sweetheart, Tom Hanks, Saving
Private Ryan helped create a
newfound appreciation for the
almost casual heroism of
American combatants during World
War II. (Whether Hanks' latest -
You've Got Mail - will similarly
legitimatize cyber sex remains to
be seen). Another of the year's
most-anticipated releases,
Terence Malick's Guadalcanal
drama The Thin Red Line, is
likely to deepen those feelings
in a generation that derided John
Wayne as a camp icon - though
the casting of hemp pitchman
Woody Harrelson in a heroic role
plainly reflects vestigial
ambivalence on the part of
boomers.
Of course, however long overdue
the boomers' gratitude and
empathy may be for the folks who
suffered through bread lines,
survived the Axis powers, and
then raised the generation Spiro
Agnew accused of throwing the
"longest panty raid in American
history," there remains
something characteristically
self-absorbed it all. Hence, in
an interview with film critic
Roger Ebert, Saving Private
Ryan director Steven Spielberg
referred to World War II as the
"key, the turning point of the
whole century … It was as
simple as this: The century
either was going to produce the
baby boomers or it was not going
to produce the baby boomers.
World War II allowed my
generation to exist." If nothing
else, such a novel
interpretation of a conflict
that left tens of millions dead
drains the humor out of Hogan's
Heroes even more than Bob
Crane's brutal murder or Richard
Dawson's battle-fatigued hosting
of Family Feud.
There is something similarly
disquieting about the lessons
the boomers are learning from the
"greatest generation." Seemingly
drawing largely on such primary
historical sources as The
Waltons and the Bowery Boys
movies, marble-mouthed TV
personality Tom Brokaw wrote in
Newsweek that during World War
II, "ordinary people found
common cause, made extraordinary
sacrifices, and never whined or
whimpered. Their offspring, the
baby boomers, seem to have
forgotten the example of their
parents. We should be reflecting
more on what we can learn from
the men and women who … were
called to duty at home and
abroad…. We must restore the
World War II generation's sense
of national purpose, not merely
of individual needs. They saw so
much horror and deprivation in
their formative years that they
rarely engage in self-pity. No
one could ever say that of the
Me Generation." Apparently never
having attended a Who concert
during the 1970s, Brokaw zeroed
in on what he took to be the unique
character of the period: "The
one time we got together was
during World War II," he quotes
Hawaiian Sen. Daniel Inouye,
who lost an arm during the war.
"We stood as one, we clenched
our fists as one."
Brokaw grants that
there's "no overarching
national crisis" today (other,
perhaps, than the broadcast
networks' declining ratings),
and he's a bit vague on spelling out
exactly who will be called upon
to make what "extraordinary
sacrifices" without complaint.
But the chances are better that
Willard Scott will dress up as
Ben Franklin or Carmen Miranda
for a weathercast than he, Dan
Rather, Peter Jennings, or
the honchos at Dreamworks SKG
will scrub toilets at the local
grammar school or work for scale
and use the extra shekels to
retire the national debt, to buy
up all extant copies of 1941, or
to make some other gesture that
would bring some small measure
of joy to the world.
Indeed, when you hear a
zillionaire utter phrases like
"national purpose" and
"extraordinary sacrifice,"
citizenship in the Republic of
Texas starts sounding better and
better all the time. The costs
of "national crises" are always
paid by the relatively young.
Those of us who were
born at the tail end of the baby
boom or later lived through
the shift from the Me
Generation to the We Generation,
a stroke of luck that
inspired maximum
cynicism. The sudden reverence
for the elderly, as with all
things related to the boomers,
seems overly self-interested and
sanctimonious. Things were fishy
enough when the same folks who
exclaimed, "Don't trust anyone
over 30" in the '60s only a few
years later offered up Logan's
Run, with its revisionist
message that even actor Michael
York should be allowed to live
into a fourth decade.
Can anyone seriously doubt that -
given the boomers' penchant for
sucking up all the shrimp and
steak in the buffet line of life
- they are setting up the rest
of us not merely to fork over
ever more generous portions of
our wages to fund their Social
Security and Medicare (hey, why
shouldn't face lifts and Viagra
prescriptions be covered?) but
to deny us any last crumb of joy
that comes simply from being
younger than them? We have,
after all, spent a lifetime
being castigated for following
in the boomers' footsteps and
being found wanting: They were
idealistic, we were cynical;
they did drugs to open the doors
of perception, we did them just
to get high; they dodged the
draft out of high moral purpose,
we simply forgot to register for
selective service at the post
office; they had the Manson
Family, we had the Menendez
Brothers; their congressional
impeachment hearing was about a
president fucking the country
over, ours is about blowjobs;
and on and on. And now, in a
stunning, cunning gambit, they
are laying the groundwork to rob
us of our last remaining
generational birthright: the
simple, unfettered pleasure of
some day dancing on their graves.
Nick Gillespie is editor-in-chief of reason. This story originally appeared in Suck, and can be viewed in that format here.
