Two Old Men.

Neighborhoods change. People move in, old-timers die, young married couples move in, they have children, they move to bigger better homes in more upscale communities. New people move in. I was once a newcomer in Studio City. My husband was working on a television series at CBS Radford. He loved being able to come home for lunch nearly every day. Two neighbors who lived in adjoining houses across the street were older gents who also worked in television. One was a film editor, the other was a first assistant director. They had moved into the neighborhood when the first houses had been built back in 1947 to 1952.

Eventually, both men retired. One was named Carl – he lived alone and owned a small vacation home in Ensenada on the beach, He enjoyed sitting, drinking beer and listening to the radio with his faithful dog at his side. Joe, the other retiree was married. He had suffered a heart attack and had bypass surgery. He became a health nut who walked between two and five miles a day, played golf three times a week, played bridge two nights a week, belonged to the Knights of Columbus, attended Catholic Mass and Communion every morning. He also took a screen writing course at community college one night a week and was working on a screenplay (isn’t everyone in Hollywood?)

Carl went fishing occasionally but basically ate a single portion of a frozen Weight-watchers or Lean Cuisine microwave dinner every night. Joe had a slightly more varied lunch each day but ate the same menu for dinner every single night – a baked potato and small serving of baked salmon (the size of a wallet). Both men remained slender. One did everything he could to defy old age -- the other, allowed nature to take its course.

Carl lost his vacation home when the Mexican government took over all the beachfront homes in Ensenada, forcing the entire group of Americans out of the area. This meant Carl and his loving dog had to stay put – their only outings were walks to the local liquor store to buy Lotto tickets or watering the lawn. Joe was seen early in the morning taking healthy long strides with his walking stick, jumping into his small car with golf clubs, out again in the evening for the Bridge game or class. He was a geriatric version of perpetual motion, whereas Carl and his dog could be seen watering the lawn with a slightly hypnotic gaze watching waves of water in rhythmic patterns.

Eventually both men celebrated their respective ninety-fifth birthdays. Both men remained lucid, clear minded and able-bodied. I doubt that Carl would have been able to compete in any type of endurance feat but Joe would. Either man could regale us neighbors with stories about their service in World War 11, their work in the old studio days of Hollywood or good, old-fashioned celebrity gossip of eras gone by. Joe visited his physicians often to make sure the old ticker was in good shape. He refused to step foot on a treadmill though – a constant source of acrimony between him and his doctor. Joe said, “I’m not going to die on a treadmill – no way!” Carl refused to see a doctor at all or take any medication– he was settled with the idea that he would eventually go when the good Lord called him home. Opposites on nearly every issue – even political – yet similar. Joe came from old New England stock -- a tough sturdy chip off the old block of Boston. Carl was street smart -- having grown up an orphan in Culver City and “adopted” by the old glamorous stars of MGM. Marion Davies had bought him a bike to make his newspaper deliveries around the movie lot a bit easier. He worked hard and got his education on the stages and locations of fabulous movies working his way up to second A.D. He traveled to the South Seas, lived in Hawaii and sailed on Cunard transatlantic. He may have missed having an Ivy League education but became a huge success.

Both men died at the age of 98. Joe might have lived a month or two longer than Carl but his quality of life was not measureably better than Carl’s. They had been the old men of our neighborhood. Gentle, wise, amusing and generous... I believe it was their genetic makeup that allowed them to have such long, productive lives.

Now it’s my turn – I’ve got seniority here but I’ll never be able to compete with these fine gents. I don’t own a microwave, don’t eat frozen foods. I cook my own food and enjoy walking and swimming and listening to music. I contribute to a national newspaper column five days a week, write a column for Studio City Patch. I also love to travel and take photographs. I only hope I can celebrate a landmark birthday one day way in the future with my daughter and grandchildren right here in Studio City.