Chris Jepson: Hanging with old white boys

"Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made."

— Robert Browning

I’m old. It’s a fact. I’m soon to be 66 years old. Aging doesn’t bother me so much. It simply is. If family history is any indication, I’ll be physically strong (like ox, smart like truck) for another 15 or so years and then abruptly drop dead. I’m okay with that, too. I sometimes grouse over the shortness of it all, of life, but as has been noted, “Die if you worry, die if you don’t.”

I’ve been fortunate all my life to be good friends with old men. Raymond Q. Smith of Gainesville, Mo., introduced me to electrical wiring with the juice on. He also turned me on to beekeeping. David Duniway of Salem, Ore., was the Oregon State archivist and historian and a smart gentle soul who invited me to join his club of old men – The Flat Earth Society. Great conversations. For 17 years I lunched weekly — until his death — with John Fisher of Winter Park. If appearances are deceiving, knowing Fisher up close and personal validated that assumption.

Some find the old tedious, and I suppose many are. I tend to avoid negative naysayers; old men pinched by circumstances, by life. I’m not suggesting that if you’ve been handed lemons not to make lemonade, just keep an edge and see the irony. Appreciate the human experience for what it is. Being able to laugh uproariously at the foibles of mankind, at one’s self specifically, is a quality I seek in relationships. And kindness.

In 1986 I moved to Central Florida and went to work for Winter Park Memorial Hospital. My boss and the man who hired me was Louis Hughes. That was 29 years ago. Feb. 26 is his 93rd birthday. We get together, typically on Thursdays for lunch. We both agree Bubbalou’s on Lee Road is great Bar-B-Que. Dexter’s pressed sandwiches are some of the best in Central Florida. We like Hawkers, Antonio’s and Little Saigon. I’m taking Louis to the Alfond Inn for lunch and cocktails for his birthday.

Louis Hughes looks like a New England patrician; he simply has that demeanor. It is probably hard to imagine for some, but he grew-up on a west Texas ranch. His father was one of the last to own a tractor, horses were more his style. Hughes is heading out to Texas this summer for a family reunion.

Qualities I like and admire about the man are numerous. He is loving and generous to his children. I respect that. Critically important, Hughes is engaged in life, intellectually curious, well read, funny and self-deprecating. He doesn’t take himself or me too seriously. We laugh a lot. Hughes volunteers twice a week in the Winter Park Memorial emergency room. Hughes practices what he believes.

We talk about what “old” men often talk about. Life. Human relationships. Politics. Beauty. Art. Literature. Women. And aging.

He laughs at me when I say I’m old. He does have 27 years on me. I like to listen to his perspective. I’m not convinced that age necessarily bestows wisdom, but Hughes wears the glow of a life well lived, with gratitude that we’re damn lucky to be partaking of it.

I love the man and am so very fortunate to have made his acquaintance. He’s enriched my life immeasurably. To many more, old man. Ha!