A college classmate and friend of some 55 years’ standing emailed me from his native Mexico this summer with a reminder of an important event in our friendship. Carlos alerted me to the 35th anniversary, a few weeks earlier, of our having watched together Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon.

That summer, now seeming long ago, I was visiting Mexico in order to take part in a professional workshop in Cuernavaca. Afterward, I had the pleasure of visiting Carlos and his wife Leni in Mexico City. They are the ones who first uttered a greeting that I had never heard before. They welcomed me with the Spanish proverb, “Mi casa es su casa” (my home is your home), and fulfilled it magnificently.

Not only did they ply me with refreshing tequilas and tasty tamales but they gave me the best bedroom in their house, introduced me to members of their extended family, and showed me the wonders of Mexico City. They set a new standard of hospitality, one that I still consider unsurpassed.

That July 20th, Carlos and Leni had taken me for lunch to the home of their relatives, some dozens of miles from the capital. We had intended to return to Mexico City to watch the landing on the moon but lunch was late and we would not have been able to reach home in time.

Fortunately, one of Carlos’s brothers lived in Texcoco, a town only a few miles short of our original goal. This town, though small, once played an important role in Mexican history; from it came the first indigenous allies of Cortes and his invading Spanish forces.

At the time of the Spanish conquest, Carlos tells me, the Texcocans were vassals of the Nahuatls and not happy about this status. For that reason they took advantage of Cortes’ arrival and allied themselves with him. This alliance enabled the conquistador, though he had an army of only a few dozen Spaniards, to overthrow the great Mexican empire.

When I visited, Texcoco-still a rural village- presented a memorable contrast with the thrilling spectacle that we watched on television that evening. We were observers of one of the greatest technological feats in the history of the world, while sitting in a town that showed few effects of modern science.

I felt myself privileged to be there with such marvelous friends as together we hailed Neil Armstrong’s triumphant message “The Eagle has landed.”  

“One small step for man, one giant step for mankind,” was the trenchant phrase the moonwalker used to characterize that epic event. The excitement of that evening and the contrast between a small town in rural Mexico and the new terrain of the moon has stayed with me ever since.

My reason for noting this anniversary, belatedly to be sure, is not simply to celebrate the historic triumph of that date but also to underscore the values in long friendship and those that come from contact with people of nations other than one’s own.

My friend Carlos remains an alter ego of mine despite too few face-to-face meetings through the years. That makes especially precious the opportunities for actually seeing one another. When he visited Cambridge last spring, for instance, we had the pleasure of recollecting some of the experiences we shared in college and since that time.

In later life, Carlos retains the courtly manners that helped forge our friendship originally. Like others among us, he even improved himself through marriage with a charming and talented woman. He and Leni are blessed in their five adult children and their 12 grandchildren.

Their family tradition is doubly rich in the combination of German descent and Mexican heritage. In my contacts with them I feel myself culturally enhanced as I draw upon their store of experiences different from my own. I also value their spiritual tradition, one that Carlos and I found compatible early on when we belonged to a prayer group together during our college days.

Although the moon walk stands out as one of the great shared experiences in the history of our friendship, conversation, letters, and now email, maintain ongoing links. But ours is a solid enough relationship that sometimes years can pass without contact and that neglect does not spoil it.

In a letter written to another friend, Carlos recently said of me: he “looks his age, he walks slowly and stoops a bit.”  Apparently to make me less decrepit, he added: “but his face is fresh and, mostly, he continues to be very active.”

In response, I summoned up my remarkable objectivity, and refuted his erroneous opinion. How could he possibly have made that judgment about my sleek self? Clearly, he suffered the disadvantage of never seeing me play Sunday softball and sometimes actually getting a base hit.

But old is good, in my book, and this enduring friend does me no disservice by words suggestive of oncoming decrepitude. Though in time the natural forces of decline will finally separate us, nothing will negate the blessings of this friendship.

Richard Griffin

Andrew Greeley is a Chicago-based Catholic priest whose talents are manifold. Sociologist, novelist, professor, columnist, he seems never at a loss for words. In fact, his critics often claim that Father Greeley has never had an unpublished thought.

That snide remark, however, can distract from Greeley’s solid accomplishments. More than a decade ago, long before others caught on, he warned about the scandal of sexual abuse perpetrated by members of the clergy. He foresaw the disastrous consequences of these crimes and of the failure of the Catholic bishops to take action.

Now in a new book entitled Priests:A Calling In Crisis,Greeley writes about the overall situation of American Catholic priests in the years after the shocking revelations. As his title indicates, the author believes that the priesthood continues in crisis. But, relying on survey findings, he reaches some surprising and unconventional results some of which that seem to clash with that view.

In the next-to-last chapter of this short book, he lists a dozen conclusions that summarize the book’s contents. Throughout, Greeley shows himself strongly critical of views that lack sound research behind them.

Contrary to much that appears in the media, Catholic priests are no more immature than other men. In fact, “priests on the average continue to be as mature and capable of intimacy as married laymen.” And, Greeley claims, they are likely to enjoy a higher level of satisfaction in their work and with their lives than do married Protestant clergy.

Further,Greeley brands it a mistake to blame sexual abuse on members of the clergy who are homosexual. Most gay clergy, he says, remain celibate, so calls for barring homosexual men from the seminary are ill-advised. Provocatively, Greeley sees anti-Catholic prejudice at work in blaming celibacy and homosexuality for the scandals.

However, Greeley admits the presence of what he calls a “homosexual subculture” in both seminaries and dioceses. The implications of this he does not spell out.

The author adamantly rejects the view of Catholic priests as largely misfits. On the contrary, they are among the happiest people in the world. They enjoy their work, feel glad they entered this career, and would choose to do it again.

Of those who leave the priesthood, only a relatively small minority do so because they desire to marry. A mere one out of six leaves for this reason, a figure that sharply conflicts with conventional assumptions. If this finding is correct, it would seem to undermine the idea that having a married clergy would remedy current problems.

To summarize Greeley’s basic view of his fellow clergy, “Priests stay in the priesthood and are happy in the ministry because they like being priests.” Most of them are what Greeley calls “religious altruists,” that is, men who find fulfillment serving others for spiritual reasons.

However, the author believes that priests under age 45 may be different from their elders. Some indications suggest they see the priesthood as a way of exercising authority from a secure position. If this surmise holds water, then these newer clergy will presumably have trouble with their colleagues and with laypeople.

Greeley finds that the clergy in general do not accept the Church’s teaching on sexual issues. Largely out o their respect for women and recognizing the freedom of laypeople, Catholic clerics commonly dissent from official orthodoxy in this area.

Most of the clergy support the ordination of men already married and the election of bishops. An astonishing one-half are in favor of ordaining women, despite strongly worded rejections of this position by Rome.

Somewhat surprisingly, given his other findings, Greeley holds that most priests are insensitive to laity and their needs. An indication of this attitude emerges in their widespread ignorance of how dissatisfied laypeople are with the quality of priestly ministry. The clerical culture acts to wall off clergy and laity from one another.

Finally, most priests believe that the clerical abuse scandal is not their problem but rather that of the bishops. They want those bishops who failed to act to resign or even to go to jail. But priests believe that the measures the American Church has taken in response will probably work.

The views expressed in this book strike me as provocative and worth wide discussion. However, I do find a basic conflict between Father Greeley’s recognition of crisis in the priesthood with his belief that priests feel happy and fulfilled.

Richard Griffin

“How silly,” I thought to myself. “Why do these elders want to make such fools of themselves? It’s grotesque to watch a man of 101 running a sprint as slowly as a tortoise, and women awkwardly attempting the long jump.”

This was my first impression while beginning to watch a new film entitled “Racing Against the Clock.” Made by Bill Haney, whose company, Uncommon Productions, is based in Waltham, this documentary shows older people from around the country energetically competing in athletic events under the auspices of the National Senior Games Association and USA Track and Field.

Those first impressions of mine, some of them perhaps not without anti-growing-old feelings still lurking in me, soon gave way, first, to respect and then, to admiration for what these late-life athletes are accomplishing. Yes, they may be endowed with physiques extraordinary for their age, but their athletic success is also owing to hard work and single-minded dedication to an ideal.

And they are not as rare as one might think. Across the country some 200,000 elders compete, with 30,000 of them qualifying for tournaments held in each state. For last year’s international competition in Puerto Rico, over 2700 contestants came from 78 countries.

The five women on whom the film focuses have all overcome obstacles that could have stopped them cold. Margaret, age 82, lives in a retirement home where her spirit and enthusiasm for life draw mixed reviews from other residents.

Even her own kids ask: “When are you going to stop this?” But she insists: “It has increased my self-confidence tremendously.” And she considers exercise like this as especially important for women of her generation.

Her doctor has recommended surgery to fuse vertebrae in her back but she has resisted. With surgery, she would have to give up her activities on the track and that, for her, would be a terrible deprivation.

A woman called Phil, who at 57 has an altogether extraordinary physique, competed at last year’s international meet in 10 different track and field events. To watch her do the pole vault with marvelous grace is a memorable event in itself. “Ah, competition, I love it,” says Phil. “I still want to see what I can get out of my body.”

Pat, almost 80, has the medical distinction of being the oldest stem cell transplant recipient ever. She won a gold medal last year at the world championship in Puerto Rico. Her service as an acolyte in her cathedral parish also means much to her and is a sign of how seriously she takes the spiritual life.

At age 50, Jackie qualifies as a relative youth in this group. She grew up on a sharecropper farm in the south, one of 13 children. Years later, as a single mother, she had to overcome homelessness and depression.

By now, however, she has managed to turn around her own life and that of her family. She weeps joyfully as she tells of her children praying for her well-being. As a sprinter, she won a gold medal in the world championship.

And, finally, Leonore, 76, attempts to break the pole vault record. At age 21, we learn, she escaped across the border of East Germany, risking being shot by the guards. To her delight, she succeeds in winning the gold at the Puerto Rico tournament.

Filmmaker Haney skillfully draws viewers into the lives of these five women. Their faces, showing the signs of age as he zeroes in on them, reflect determination to reach the demanding goals they have set for themselves.

While they take competition seriously, these women feel strong bonds of love and compassion with those against whom they compete. They exchange frequent hugs and kisses as they congratulate those who have run, jumped, or hurdled with them.

At the same time, these strivers know how to put failure in perspective. “Not today, too many jumps today,” says Margaret with resignation after falling short of her expectations. “You know right away when it’s no good,” she adds.

Associate producer Debra Longo, in her mid-30s, was at the Puerto Rico events. “You couldn’t help but be impressed,” she says of the entrants. Smilingly she adds: “I want to be like them, but maybe not pole vaulting.”

Bill Haney finds the story’s main value in its potential for inspiring others to discover “the things they can do to add joy to their life.” As he sees it, the five women show how “you can reconstruct your life so as to give yourself pleasure.”

“Racing Against the Clock” has been chosen for the Boston Film Festival. It premieres on September 16th, at 8:30 PM, at the Boston Common Theater. Other showings, probably on television, are planned in the near future. Meanwhile, copies in the DVD format are available for $15 at (781) 647-4470.

Were I a movie critic, I would give this film four bright stars.

Richard Griffin

As I turned the ignition key of my car one evening last week. a cardinal (not the church variety) dove down to the roadway just ahead, dabbed at a small branch lying there, and then just as quickly ascended back to its perch.

You may not consider this news significant, gerontologically, politically or otherwise; but this sighting offered my first-ever view of a cardinal up close. Unlike some of my friends and relatives, I do not bird. I admire, but do not imitate, the enthusiasts who flock to Mount Auburn Cemetery at dawn in search of rare migrants and lifetime firsts. This glorious red creature is a free, unearned gift to me and my neighbors.

And a magnificent gift it is. Even the patron saint of birders, John James Audubon, was carried away by cardinals. Back in the early 19th century, he wrote: “In richness of plumage, elegance of motion, and strength of song, this species surpasses all its kindred in the United States.”

One of my birding relatives points out that cardinals are not particularly unusual in these parts. They are backyard birds, and they mark out their territory in the early spring with a characteristic song.  Only male cardinals are red (perhaps because of the carotenoid pigment in their food), and females are brown and inconspicuous. This system may be useful to the species, but we members of another species may well find it unfair.

Our own cardinal has been entertaining our neighborhood all summer, usually at a safe distance from local cats and squirrels. At intervals of less than a minute, he repeats his vigorous melody over and over, and we crane our necks to find him. Often I spy him sitting on a high wire, animated by his own brand of electricity. From there, he often flies to a branch of a tall tree nearby from which to send the same song.

The cardinal may claim pride of place with his high-wire act, but he faces almost daily musical competition. Emily R, next door, is a mezzo-soprano, and her songs are even more glorious than his: Bach cantatas for the Swedenborg Chapel, or light-hearted hymns like “I Sing a Song of the Saints of God.”   The music pours forth through the open window, and the cardinal is not at all shy about singing along. He provides the same service, or challenge, for Emily’s voice students, as they practice Elgar’s Sea Songs or a Gilbert and Sullivan patter song.

This informal polyphony may be one of the reasons why the cardinal has chosen our street. In deciding to summer here, he must have flown over more elegant neighborhoods, and some with more graceful trees. Perhaps, discerningly, he judges wealth by the richness of local music, or even by the shouts of children as they play in their front yards or careen down the street on small bikes.

How far did he fly to get here and how long did it take him? Did this eight-inch creature elude major threats to his well-being along the way? Did he migrate from Florida, like snowbirds of our own species? Or did he tough it out through the long New England winter?

You have to be a bit of a nut to ask these questions, of course. Normal people content themselves with what is, rather than wondering about future possibilities and alternative scenarios. But later life affords the luxury of raising issues not normally part of one’s mental universe.

I write on a rainy day but the change of weather does not deter our cardinal.

The windows of our house are open, and his song mingles with “Morning pro Musica” and the latest news from Washington. We can even hear him over more forbidding noises. Only a few feet away from his wire, workmen are blasting air-powered nails into wooden beams, constructing a stylish addition to an old house for a young family.

It is impossible not to feel heartened at the sound of this intrepid music. It is true that it certainly provides no cure for the bad news pouring out of the radio each morning: the slaughter and starvation in Darfur, the Americans and Iraqis trapped in violence, the new frisking policies on the MBTA, and the truly depressing expenses and low blows of the current presidential campaigns. No birdsong, however sweet, can make this aging neighbor forget these events.

At the same time, the song is there, as well as the courage and energy that make it possible. The poet Gerard Manley Hopkins found ecstatic delight in the flight of a falcon on a windy morning: “My heart in hiding/Stirred for a bird,–the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!”

I am glad for our own bird, and for the daily melody it shares with us.

Richard Griffin

During my days as a Council on Aging director I remember getting calls from people worried about an old person who was neglecting her own wellbeing. She may have been looking malnourished, for instance, or have been letting her small apartment fill up with old clothes and other junk. The caller, often a family member or neighbor, would feel anxious about the harm the elder was doing to herself and wonder how to prevent it.

Home care providers, social workers, and other professionals who help elders in their homes are very familiar with situations like this. And they are usually resourceful in knowing what steps to take that will improve the situation. Massachusetts stands out for having strong networks of services designed to meet needs experienced by older residents.

For more than two decades, this commonwealth has benefited from a protective services law that requires a wide variety of professionals to report incidents of abuse of people over age 60. These so-called mandated reporters include medical personnel, police officers, firefighters, licensed psychologists, and many others.

These service providers must report to a designated elder service agency if they suspect physical, emotional, or sexual abuse, as well as caretaker neglect and financial exploitation.  These forms of abuse occur at the hands of a third party and, regrettably, have been found to be dismayingly widespread.  Last year, the state provided almost ten million dollars to fund protection for elders subject to these kinds of abuse.

Now, by virtue of a new law passed this year, abuse and neglect inflicted by oneself has been added to the categories of abuse that must be reported. Passage of this addition to the law comes in response to a multi-year effort by an organization called Mass Home Care, along with other advocates. I owe information about this to Al Norman, the long-time director of Mass Home Care and an outstanding champion of elder citizens. His monthly newsletter comes filled with important data about legislative matters and other matters affecting older people.

Norman describes the addition thus: “The new self-neglect provision is defined as the inability of an elder to meet his/her essential needs for food, clothing, safe and secure shelter, personal care supervision and medical care to the point where he/she cannot remain safely in the community without assistance.”

Though a larger number of people are expected to need attention this year, the legislature has underfunded the new program by a million dollars. That means hundreds of self-neglecting elders will go without needed services.

Still, even without adequate funding, many advocates feel happy about the extension of the law to include self-neglect. John O’Neill, for the past 25 years executive director of Somerville-Cambridge Elder Services, hails it as “another tool to help.”

“This gives us the ability to raise the question,” he adds in reference to situations in which elders appear to be neglecting their own basic needs.

However, I must confess feeling some qualms about the wisdom of mandating by law the reporting of what could be expressions of elders’ free choices about their lives. People sometimes make assumptions about the mental balance of their elders when the latter merely choose to act in an unconventional manner. We must be careful to respect their right to do so.

I am supported in this cautionary note by a veteran advocate of elders, a skilled and compassionate person for whom I have high regard. She also feels the need to safeguard older peoples’ autonomy and independence. After all, we elders have the same right to neglect our own wellbeing that people of other ages have. It can amount to others poking their noses into our business if our freedom to be ourselves is judged as needing intervention.

Realistically, however, many of those whose cases will be reported do suffer from illness or disability that restricts their ability to recognize their own best interest. They may have some form of dementia, making it difficult to know what is happening to them. In such instances, reporting their situation seems clearly to be doing them a service that can make a crucial difference in their lives.

In any event, reporting how things are for the elder does not settle the case. Rather, it is the first step in a procedure in which others will be involved, others who are required to be sensitive to the rights of the older person. These protective service personnel must weigh carefully the circumstances and respect the person’s dignity and autonomy.

Provided that those who “raise the question” exercise prudence and respect the often fine line between independence and mental impairment, I will welcome the new legislation. Ideally at least, it is another sign of our belonging to a community of caring. Even though putting it in legal terms can make this caring seem bureaucratic, it really does give expression to our living in a commonwealth of concern.

Richard Griffin