Distinguished Gentleman

Today I was standing in line at a restaurant behind an older gentleman and I noticed his crisp, white shirt had a little black detailing around the collar and cuffs. Then, as he moved to fill his cup up with ice from the dispenser, I noticed a flash of the cuff links and a monogram on his sleeve. His slacks were pressed, shoes were polished, every hair was sprayed in place and he walked with an air of authority.

My mind suddenly wandered and I wondered if this fine man had a lovely wife at home who pressed his shirt and slacks. I wondered if she wore an apron and a string of pearls and had a nicely arranged dinner table set each evening when her hubby came home. I'll even bet she and he loved ballroom dancing.

I was haunted by the fact that this man represented a day and age that is almost completely gone now. He comes from a time when getting dressed well was a privilege and a duty and it was unthinkable to appear in public unkempt. Doors were held open for women, chairs pulled out to be seated at the table, manners and decorum. All I could think of is that this man who appeared in the middle of a room full of T-shirt and torn-jeans-clad people took me back to the place where life was a dance of dignity. He reminded me of my father.

I know that there was a flaw or two in that 1950's life. Life then was about appearances, having the model family, job and home and things did not always play out behind closed doors as portrayed in public. Those things, done in private, were kept secret, for fear of the shame it would bring to have the neighborhood know the dirty laundry. Some things were better left unsaid... and while I know that might not have been the healthiest approach, there is something to be said about having the airwaves clutter-free of chatter centering on the sordid details of dysfunctional life.

I wanted to ask that man if someone was looking after him. I wanted to know how it felt to be the last of a breed, to unclench the grip of gracious life and live among the culture that tossed those values into a dumpster. He seemed to be unfazed by the slackness, the looseness of the paper-cup sipping, disposable room he was in. Instead of paying the cashier in a fast food establishment, he might have just as well handed his crisp dollar bill to a maitre d' at a fine restaurant. To him it was all the same, this realm in which you operate when you dance the dance of dignity.

I just couldn't tear myself away from that room. I had such a pang in my soul, missing my father, missing my mother, missing the niceness of the world they choreographed so perfectly. I longed to reach out to touch the cuff-linked sleeve or grab hold of the weathered hand of the aged gentleman who reminded me so much of my father. Today, if he was still with me, my father would have turned 74. He would have kept a little of that wonderful long-ago world still in my view. But I am grateful to have had a little peek of it again today.