By 1990 You May Not Need a Job

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE

Of the editorial/opinion page staff

published by the StarTribune 

May 30, 1965

   THE OLD ORDER is changing too rapidly.  Adjustments must be made too fast.  Old truths are voided and old certainties nullified.  I long for the return of the rumble seat, bulk sauerkraut and other charms of yesterday, when man didn't worry about the gross national product, automation or accelerated math.

   A lot of old saws have vanished or are gurgling their last.  To mind come such honored aphorisms as "Early to bed and early to rise...," "Plough deep, while sluggards sleep," "Never leave until tomorrow what  you can do today," "Keep thy shop and thy shop will keep thee," and "He who by the plow would thrive, himself must either hold or drive."  

   IT'S ALWAYS BEEN thought --and the belief endures to this day--that unemployment is a curse and the fellow without a job should make it his first order of business to see the foundry boss about getting on the payroll.  Either that or he must swallow his pride and ask the welfare people to bail him out.

   But a new concept of unemployment is dawning which mocks enterprise.  Unemployment may be the coming thing.  According to a press release quoting the president of an automation engineering firm in Stamford, Conn., it is bound to increase--and this won't necessarily be bad.  This man, Richard S. White, asserts that fewer and fewer workers will be required and finally, along about 1990, we'll reach a point "where holding a job is not critical."  In fact, he says, technological job loss must be "constructive" to the new society as part of the process of increasing the total of goods and services.

   White recognizes that encroaching automation presents a "fearful situation" for the worker who is dislocated, but he maintains that if we can produce more without the requirement that everyone work, "we should start to question the concept that a man must hold a job to share in the productivity of the nation."  He thinks we can give those without jobs adequate support "without destroying our basic free economy" and without destroying incentives.

   I lack sufficient knowledge to argue economic theory but have observed the habits and responses of the human animal for years and fear that if we ever reach a point where a man can get along comfortably and in clear conscience without holding a job what will result will be a surplus of loafers.

   THE GOOF-OFFS ARE in good supply now, and if word gets around that you can eat steady without toil, and without going through any red tape at the welfare office, park benches will be more popular, more men will go fishing, and fewer will care whether they're on daylight or standard time.

   White feels that progress will cause continued temporary dislocation, as automation increases, but to the ultimate benefit of everyone, and "that we should find a way to protect those who suffer from the very change that helps most of us."

   Then, he adds, "we will have made a major stride in the long evolution toward the day when literally all our people can pursue the higher meanings of life free of the fear of poverty."

   These are humane and philosophical words, rich in sympathy and aspiration.  I hope, if we gain leisure time in this predicted abundance, that people will indeed pursue "the higher meanings of life."

   I don't say that they won't.  The new breed may be different.  But, given the opportunity, we old-school indolents would have sought this higher meaning of life in the pool hall.   

Copyright 2014 StarTribune.  Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune.  No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the            StarTribune.

How Are the Resolutions Holding Up?

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE

of the Minneapolis Tribune editorial page staff

published by the StarTribune 

January 2, 1954

   I Am as much concerned with self-improvement as the next man--and have room for more of it than most, but I don't figure the road to attainment to be via the New Year's resolution.  I never kept one for more than a week and probably never shall.

   One Thanksgiving Day a few years back I told my wife that come the new year I was going to give up smoking.  She laughed heartily and I asked her why.  "Because," she said, "if you really intended to quit smoking--if you really wanted to--you'd quit now and not wait until Jan.1."

   She had something there.  She had, in fact, put her finger squarely on the fallacy of New Year's resolutions.  She had shown them for what they are--basically ridiculous.  For if you depend on the calendar to supply a disciplinary crutch, you don't honestly want to quit smoking or drinking or chasing women or picking your teeth in front of the company.  You are simply fanning the breeze..  The  whole  thing  is a gag and  might as  well be  recognized as such.

   SUPPOSE that yesterday you did resolve to quit smoking.  Until Jan 5 it may be easy.  You'll start wallowing in your new nobility and new appetite and tend to sneer at the poor wretches who continue to puff.

   Then you and Myrtle will get an innocent invitation over to Joe's for the evening.  Joe's wife will serve something to slake the thirst and right then you will be looking down the gun-barrel.  You'll recall the pleasure of puffing while you sip--like Joe is doing, the lucky, irresolute bum!  At that point, with temptation riding you whip and spur, you will be at the crossroads.

   But not for long.  Self-pity will set in and you'll be lost.  Why shouldn't' you enjoy a cigarette at a time like this?  Why deny yourself this crumb of pleasure just because of a crazy New Year's resolution?

   Then comes a happy thought.  You'll compromise.  You'll be a special-occasion smoker!  Comes then the death of your noble resolve.  You light up, telling yourself that this, of course, will be your only smoke of the evening.

   Then Joe's wife serves lunch, which provides another special occasion.  You hit Joe up for a second cigarette--to have with the coffee--and decide to ration yourself to four a day.  Next day you buy a pack. Even a light smoker can't go on bumming them forever.

   The four--a-day schedule lasts for some 30 hours, when you run out of cigarettes.  To avert repetition of such a disaster you buy a carton.  Soon the special occasions are running approximately 30 a day.  You are a smudge-pot again.

   I'VE JUST scanned a list of resolutions as compiled by a Gallup poll.  The favorite for the women is to "improve my character."  This one is held in high esteem by the men, also.  Beyond question it is a resolution noble in motive--and not much good.

   High character isn't something you can snap on like a light when people start yelling "Happy New Year!"  To get anywhere in this field you must work at it all the time.  A mere turn of the year won't make you a good boy for long.  If a fellow has been a bum all his life and postponed self-improvement until the dawn of '54, he's a good bet to turn bum again--and soon .

   A FELLOW I know, who limits his church attendance to Easter and Christmas, told me that with the new year he had resolved to go every Sunday.  If he'd started attending in September I might have thought he meant it.  Now I dismiss it as mere New Year guff--an idle resolution prompted merely by the fact that another year was starting.

   No more Jan. 1 resolutions for me.  I'll keep right on snarling at my wife and beating my little son.  I'll turn good when I have an honest urge to--and I won't clock myself by the calendar.  The honest urge probably will come when sonny is big enough to lick me.  

 Copyright 2014 StarTribune.  Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune.  No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.

There's No Easy Solution to Problem of Adolescence

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE

of the Minneapolis Tribune editorial page staff

published by the StarTribune

August 31, 1952

   WE DEAL TODAY  with the problem of adolescence, that golden age which puts silver in parental hair; that glorious time of confusion and romance and frustration--a subject called to mind by the early opening of the high school doors.

   Memories of adolescence are fresh with me, in a strictly vicarious sense.  Two of my progeny have but recently passed through its more virulent phases without sending their parents to the psychiatrist's couch, and I feel I can discuss the issue with feeling if not authority.

   We may have been luckier than some.  Kind providence gave us an assist--to be dealt with later--but we know no easy way to deal with kids when they reach the age where they know everything and are hellbent on proving it.

   THEY SAY the teen years are among the toughest in life, filled with uncertainty and doubt and soul-searching and self-consciousness bred of first love.  That well may be, but if these were the only complications the parent would count it a veritable paradise.  There is also a flying in the face of authority, swaggering and inflated self-importance and a general kicking up of the heels as the adolescent oats begin to stir.

   Those teen years grind parental morale to a nub.  Suddenly papa is no longer Mr. Big, no longer the wise and all-knowing.  He one day comes to realize that he is just the old man, a crotchety incompetent.  He starts losing his grip when Junior is about 14 and grows progressively dumber with the years.  He reaches his mental nadir when Sonny is about 18, his intelligence quotient then being roughly comparable to that of an ox.

   It's rather convenient to have the old boy around, of course.  You can dig into his supply of shirts and socks.  He may even own a necktie that the girl friend thinks is cute.  His car comes in handy of an evening and when you need a buck you usually can weasel it out of him.  But otherwise the old boy is a back number.  He thinks it's fun just to sit on his tail in a easy chair or lean on the lawn mower and yak with the neighbors.

   ONE CAN READ books by the hour on how to deal with the teen-age problem and gain little but astigmatism.  After long association with a son and daughter I know no rules that guarantee even partial success.  I doubt that there are any.

   They tell you to be a pal to your kids, but a guy pressing 40, which I haven't been for some time , can't easily be a buddy to a 15-year-old.  You are no match for him at eating hot dogs at Nicollet park.  He's not interested in politics and you're not interested in jet fighters or Sady Jones.  He'd rather be over at Snuffy's shooting baskets against the garage, and you can't blame him.

   WE REFERRED awhile back to the role providence can play in assuaging the pangs which come when Sonny finally sees you with knowing eyes and tabs you for what you are.  Providence visited us on the wings of the stork.  Just when adolescence was its most rampant and rebellious, just when we were beginning to think fondly of the release old age would bring, a little stranger came our way to dumbfound and dismay us.
   But the agony first wrought by our rudely changed pattern of existence soon gave way to cheers.  My better half and I suddenly discovered that we had gained new stature in the household, that approving eyes were following us and starching up our esteem, that we again were big shots, that our little bundle of joy was just that. 

   ONE IS PROUD of one's kids at any age, but having a little squirt around does fill a void.  You're back on the hit parade again, our stale gags are good again--and so are those yarns about when you were a boy.  It's nice, after the older ones grow up and achieve independence, to have one left who needs you, someone you can nuzzle and toss around and let your hair down with; someone you can take on your lap and tell a story to--a story always good for wide-eyed wonderment.

   The price you pay--the mumps and measles and interrupted sleep, the water pistols and the 

P.T.A.-- is small for what a young one gives you.

   The Mrs. and I figure we're lords of the roost now, at least until 1962.  Then we'll be too old to let another adolescent worry us much.

Copyright 2014 StarTribune.  Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune.  No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.

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