On the evening before my 20th birthday, I went to the Studio Theater on campus to see Carl Oglesby’s “None Can Tell a Man.” It was a one-act play he had written, directed and starred in. It was highly dramatic. I enjoyed it. Since I’m no critic, I shouldn’t say, but, for me, the play was somewhat repetitious in parts and the change in character was too rapid, but perhaps that was necessary in a one act. Anyway, Carl’s atheism stuck out all over it.
This morning I had received a birthday package from my mom. It contained a cigarette lighter, a lavender shirt, striped tie, matching socks, a pink, knit tee-shirt, a yellow one, and a yellow, blue and white bathrobe. I liked all of them very much. But I had to admit I was most surprised by the cigarette lighter. On my rare trips to Niles, I had avoided smoking around the house, not realizing at the time that exhaled smoke is never really hidden.
On Wednesday, May 25, my journal had the following entry: “Once again I wish myself a happy birthday. For once I do it without any sarcasm. This has been a good year – the best year. In fact this nineteenth year has been worth the previous eighteen. There is not one thing I would change. I would be willing to relive it, exactly the same. For once I consider myself lucky and happy. This doesn’t sound at all like me, I know. But what more can I want? I’ve found the happiness I desired for so long. I believe I am well-known and well-liked. I am a member of Delta Upsilon at last. I’ve had dates. I’ve lost some weight. I don’t look half bad; perhaps I’ve developed the possibilities of real friendships with Ken Kalish, Mike McNally, and Dave Imrie. I have decent grades and a political position. True, I don’t have a car, but that is purely a physical want that can be remedied in the future. Yes, I’m happy. My hope was rewarded. Suicide is far from my mind now. I have greater hopes for the twentieth year. I think they too will be fulfilled. I say truly: This is a Happy Birthday!”
Yes, I once believed I would never have been able to pen such positive thoughts. And I’m pleased that I did write them down. There are times I have had thoughts of a hopeless life. In retrospect, with this legacy of words, I’ve come to realize there were elements from my childhood and teen years that are worth recalling within a positive light. Those days at Kent State were well beyond what I could have envisioned previously. There were times, in the first seventeen years, when I would walk over the bridge from where I lived on Seneca Street to downtown Niles (a bridge that later was across the street from where my parents lived!) and felt depressed enough to wonder what it would be like to lean over the metal railing and jump. I had not. Even in days of deep depression I had hopes that the future would, indeed, be different. At Kent State I had found that my life really could be different.
Although I cannot recall anything about Carl’s play that I had seen on the eve of my birthday, I am fascinated by the possibilities held in that title: “None Can Tell a Man.” What are the characteristics by which one can tell, recognize, who or what a “man” really is – or will become? Can anyone tell, inform, a man about his future? Is it true no one can indicate to any other what life has been or will be? We are told by gamblers and con-artists that each man has individual “tells” – behaviors which give us away to those who are gifted to interpret these tells, these actions. I also recall words that Carl once addressed to me directly, when we were college friends and roommates. He said: “With very little difficulty I could take your behavior and write a story in which you are the main villain.” I’m pleased he never wrote it; I hope that I have not, either.