“Don’t let go, old leaf.
Hang onto the withered branch
Till spring: then float down.”
These lines come from a small booklet called “Mortuary Airs,” written by my friend Dan Aaron. In its few pages, he takes a jaunty view of death but respects its prerogatives.
Today this friend reaches 99. Yes, he was born on this day in 1912.
Though he does not believe in celebrating birthdays, I disagree — especially when a life of this length comes into view. Dan ranks as the only person I have known well who has reached this peak.
He continues to amaze me, not just by his longevity but also through his daily pattern of living. On virtually every morning, he travels, using a walker, from his home in Harvard Square to his office at the university. There he reads and writes, as he has always done, a model of unflagging scholarship.
Of course, he lives with the physical trials of extended old age. Sometimes, these trials weigh on him as they would on anyone—not being able to walk without material assistance cannot please a fellow long addicted to daily travel on foot.
But in our frequent conversations Dan shows himself spirited and appreciative of his life. This July 4th we ate makeshift lunches in his office as we have done on other major holidays and feast days such as Christmas. On those occasions the building that houses his office is eerily quiet, deserted by the academics and students who usually can be seen and heard attending to their business and pleasures.
Our conversation ranges far and wide, often touching on those parts of American history that we have both lived through, he with 16 more years of it than I can boast. He often shares anecdotes featuring some of the many famous literary figures he has known. In turn, I relate events in my own life, many of them focusing on the customs of the ecclesiastical settings in which I have lived.
Dan’s memory for certain things far outdoes mine. For example he can quote poems and songs from way back with remarkable accuracy. I have especially enjoyed hearing him recite lines from The Windhover, a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, my favorite poet. Though Dan is Jewish, he relishes this 19th century Jesuit’s work with its Catholic sensibility.
It helps our talk that Dan and I share the same political outlook. We often join in deep regret about the prevailing forces in our American government. We both remember better days, and worse ones too.
My hope is to have Dan celebrate his 100th birthday next August and then live even longer. He may be ready but I’m not for the event he envisions in some of the last lines of Mortuary Airs:
One day
He slipped away—
An unbossed event.
Leaping the Great Divide,
He deftly died
With only scant dis-ease
“No boo-hoo music please.”