Randy Schlenker, owner of Aubry’s Automotive in Longmont, has the secret to longevity. He sits on a stool behind the counter of his shop where the railroad tracks cross 9th. The place is an authentic mechanic’s lair: short on janitorial service, long on evidence of real work. The row of repair manuals behind Randy, once phone book yellow, are grubby brown from actual use by actual mechanics. Randy’s goatee is white, his face largely wrinkle-free, his frame generously encumbered. Tomorrow his grandparents celebrate their 70th wedding anniversary.

Randy says his grandparents still smoke close to three packs of cigarettes a day. Grandpa has one Bud, sometimes two, every day at exactly one o’clock. No matter where he is, 1:00 is Budweiser time. Grandma joins him with a vodka and Sprite. Sometimes two or three over the afternoon, but rarely more than that.

They were farmers. Before that, after his schooling, Grandpa was a jockey and broke horses. Back then he was as short as he is now, but ripped: he looked like he could break horses (over his knee). Grandma in her 30s was a house mother for a fraternity in Boulder. Randy saw a photo of her and Grandpa in Hawaiian shirts and leis, “chaperoning” a party. They both looked bombed. Randy asked if they were as blitzed as they looked. Grandpa answered: “Yup. Them college kids kin drink!”

Grandpa ate butter, bacon grease, and lard his whole life like it was going out of style. He smoked and drank the way he does now (or more) his whole life. Same for grandma. When they preside over tomorrow’s festivities, they’ll be fit as fiddles. They are among the last seven survivors of their class from the original Longmont High when it was at 9th and Main. Those classmates will be there tomorrow, along with some of the old fraternity boys— now doctors and such— flying in to see this venerable, beloved couple.

Grandma once gave Randy advice that he remembers to this day. It was when he married her daughter: “Always try to avoid going to bed angry.” It can be tough, she said, and nobody’s saying you can’t slip now and then— but if you make an effort to not hit the pillow mad, it’s always worth it.

His grandparents always had a good time. It wasn’t about the outrageous drinking, but about people coming together for fun. Music, dancing, lively conversation— those are their keys to longevity.

But what about their eating and drinking habits? Doth the fountain of youth runneth over with Budweiser and lard? Randy says he discussed this with his doctor. The doctor asked him if he worked like a farmer. Randy said he worked hard, but not like toiling in the fields for 8-12 hours a day. The doctor said: “Then you can’t eat like a farmer.” It takes a lot of effort to turn bacon grease to fuel. Sitting at a desk doesn’t git-r-done. So us desk jockeys probably can’t do that much smoking, drinking, and eating of heavy farmer fuel without ill effects.

There’s simple takeaway here: eat that heart attack burger and deep fried slab of whatever. Smoke that cigarette and drink that lunchtime beer. And then go plow the field all day. I’ll see you for dinner.

Thanks for reading. Cheers,

Photo by Gianni D.

2010 marks the 100th anniversary of the Boy Scouts of America. It’s been a fascinating century for an organization that’s had its share of grief. Allegations of exclusion (it is a private organization after all), sexual misconduct scandals to rival the Catholic church, and of course that summer when the punks from Troop 316 shot water balloons at our camp’s first-ever female waterfront director. Yes, it’s somewhat amazing the BSA is still standing at attention one hundred years later.

I’d been thinking about how to salute the Boy Scouts this year, for I am indeed an Eagle Scout, and it finally dawned on me all of two days ago. I decided to write one blog a month on each of the twelve points of the Scout Law. As any Tenderfoot worth his merit badges should be able to recite, A Scout is:

Trustworthy
Loyal
Helpful
Friendly
Courteous
Kind
Obedient
Cheerful
Thrifty
Brave
Clean
and Reverent

It’s not insignificant that I’m writing “Trustworthy” with mere hours until I would miss my self-imposed deadline. If it weren’t for the last minute, there would be no trustworthiness in the world.

As a kid— in the thick of those scouting years— trustworthiness is easy to comprehend and not particularly difficult to abide by. Just do what you say you will do. Case in point, in the summer before my 18th birthday I committed to finally earn my Eagle Scout rank. There’s a strict rule surrounding that honor: miss your 18th birthday by even one minute and you can never become an Eagle.

The odd thing was that I’d reached the previous rank a full five years earlier. Talk about earning the skill award for procrastination. But actually it was more about a teenage would-be intellectual. I was a freckle-faced rebel without a clue. I started having misgivings about the scouting organization in some of those years and somehow I thought I was better than these arbitrary ranks that required adherence to stodgy oaths and requirements.

What turned me around and lit a fire under me for that final summer was a recollection of the 11 year old who had graduated from Cubs to Boy Scouts. Back then I’d told myself I would one day be an Eagle Scout, like my dad and my grandpa. And it was honoring that curly haired kid’s dream that saw me through the mad scramble to fill all those requirements in one busy summer before college.

What they didn’t tell us scouts in the manual was that in the grown-up world, while it’s really an indisputable virtue, trustworthiness can damn near kill you. In my workaholic days, I’d burn through 80 hour weeks and the occasional 20-hour workday just to deliver on my own overeager promises and the utterly impossible requests of others. Those seem to be fairly common characteristics of a business world that says you can find balance in your life when you’re dead.

But a little wordplay would have helped: being worthy of trust is not as heavy a shackle as flawlessly delivering on every promise, every polite request, and every asinine demand placed on the foolish young pawns of the work world.

What still works for me is making sure I’m worthy of the trust of a certain freckle-faced boy I once knew. When we earn the trust of the children we once were— well that’s someone a kid can look up to.

Thanks for reading. Cheers,

Photo by SteamboatDigs