Last week “Big Brother” was featured in a headline in our local newspaper and I wondered if I mentioned it to a younger person, would I receive anything but a blank stare. Probably not. After all, it was over 30 years ago when cartoons, comedians, politicians and we ourselves were jokingly forewarning each other that the year 1984 was just around the corner. Confused? Ask a senior, Google it or even better, read George Orwell’s compelling 1949 classic about the then future “1984.”
Looking at today’s headlines, I fear his society wasn’t such a fantasy. In the opinion of many it was just 100 years off and things look grim for the world of 2084. Think about it. Cameras are watching us everywhere especially in the big cities, soon police (and others?) will have them in their lapels; spy-drones are even now swooping and snooping overhead; everyone has a phone/camera with microphone and video capabilities; the Internet has made privacy a joke. And this is just 2015.
In 70 years, the future might be frighteningly similar to the fantasy. Big Brother hasn’t appeared, but Hitler and Stalin did and Glorious Leader pulls all the strings in North Korea; so we are not talking absurdity here. Could such a controlled society ever occur in the U S of A? I want to say, “How preposterous,” but the conviction in my voice is getting weaker year by year.
The young people of today should read and older people re-read Orwell’s masterpiece and compare its world to the growing realities of today. Doing so might lead to an increased participation in voting, community service and, in general, speaking up to keep Big Brother within the pages of a book.
Nicknames
As I was reading a novel set in an English boarding school, I noted everyone had a nickname. That reminded me of some favorites from my school days. We were not so prone to labeling our classmates as they did in the book, but a few lucky, or unlucky, kids ended up with them. For example, I was in a play with the nickname Wormy. The director and everyone in the production called me that. Unfortunately, after the show ended they continued to taunt me with that alias for years.
Gordon Jones, 5 feet 5 inches and his best friend Phil, 6 feet 3 inches soon became Mutt and Jeff (ask a senior). Ian Kerr was from Scotland and so automatically became Scottie. Nicknames for the short, slim or fat were obvious, unless, to be oh so clever, the opposite. Bullying, as we hear about it today, was unknown. We were never really unkind as etiquette ruled, so hurtful, hateful and obscene names were used strictly behind someone’s back.
Red and Blondie were standard to match hair color. However, until I left Maine for college in New York, such labeling led me to think the song about Old Black Joe was about a man with black hair. This resulted in a tense, but now amusing incident in a gay bar in Harlem. My advice: Never refer to a 280 pound drag queen as Old Black Josephine. I’m sure it was the Old that started the kerfuffle, but no one was in a listening mood. Somehow I survived.
Looking back, I confess to feeling sorry for Richard Goodman; the English department, for our edification, put on a morality play and he was assigned the role of the Grim Reaper. Naturally, there was no hope for him. He was known then and forever and at every reunion as the Dick of Death.
