It had been a long two days. I somehow had my coach seat upgraded to first class for my flight from Los Angeles back out to Jersey (boy have I been missing out). For some reason, I rarely ever have conversations with people on planes… nor do I often see anybody speaking to each other either, presumably all too weary from travels had or conserving energy for travels to come. In any event, as I laid back and finished watching “The Help”  I couldn’t help but notice the sharply dressed man who appeared to be in his 80’s sitting next to me. Double breasted suit straight out of the pages of GQ. Fancy hat straight that would be equally at home on the head of Don Draper. Expensive watch. Awesome mustache (Tom Selleck would be jealous). He took slow and deliberate swigs from his glass of aged Scotch and laughed more and more uncontrollably at a movie he had ordered on the television, “Crazy, Stupid Love.”

 I have no idea why but it cracked me up that this refined elderly gentleman found a movie about a soon to be divorcee getting his groove back to be so hilarious so I let out a laugh at the scene where Steve Carrell’s character starts picking up beautiful women left and right at the club like he was Brad Pitt. He looked at me with a smile and asked if I had seen it then said “man, where were these types of women when I was your age.” A few minutes later he nudged my shoulder and said he thought it was odd that no one was smoking during the bar scenes. That back in his day, men held doors for the women, laid their blazers over puddles for women and lit their cigarettes…cupping their stainless steel lighters close to their beautiful faces. So intimate. “Boy, times sure have changed.”

 We got to talking and he mentioned that he was heading to Jersey City to visit family. They had settled in JC back in the early 1900’s and he grew up on Cottage Street right off the Boulevard. 65 years ago he left for the Navy a mischievous boy, ready to take on the world and he never really returned…eventually settling down in the comfort of the Southern Californian sun. He remarked on how shocked he was at all the change that occurred in Jersey City during the 65 years that he’d been away. He noticed it sometime last year when he left the courthouse on Newark Avenue prior to burying his younger brother that he hadn’t seen in ages. You see, back in the late 40’s the city was predominantly white and now he could barely even see one. He thought it was cool and especially liked the Indians that had taken over the area around Newark Avenue. “They’re all smart, very respectful and cook good food. There weren’t any Indians or Spanish anywhere in town back then. Things sure do change.”

 He continued to talk and who was I to stop him. His eyes lit up as he reminisced on his days at Dickinson High School when he and his friends would play hooky, buy some Lucky Strike cigarettes and sneak to the theatre on Sip Avenue to catch Vaudville shows. Or about all the wealthy people dressed in their Sunday’s best who would come out to the Stanley Theatre on the Square where he ushered at, to watch the “pictures” and mingle into the wee hours of the morning. Lately I’ve become especially interested In the past. Namely, in the 1920’s and 60’s. I’m not even sure why but it seems as if a lot of other people have become enthralled with it as well…one only has to look at the rise of the “Hipster” (and America’s Zooey Deschanel obsession) for evidence of this. Maybe it’s because in our overly connected world we’re as disconnected from each other as we ever have been? Are we looking to simplify…to slow down?

 Perhaps the odd mixture of bad French Toast and finely aged Scotch had opened the man up. But he told me that his wife of 40 plus years had passed away and before I jumped in to offer an apology for his loss, he quickly shook his head and said life is crazy. He was offering me wisdom that only 80 or so years could give you… some advice of sorts but he also sounded like he was trying to convince himself, “Kid, things always change…they really do. It’s scary but you have to move on and adapt. For you. For your family.  You really don’t have a choice in the matter..things change. You shouldn’t change per say but you have to roll with the punches.”

 Lost in conversation, the wheels touched down on the tarmac at Newark Airport and the first class cabin buzzed with phone calls being made to loved ones and overhead cabins crashing open. I had reached under my seat to grab my “Music in Film” text book that had slid under it during the initial takeoff. When I got up I saw the man up out of his seat by the exit of the airplane shaking the hand of the flight attendant who he had made small talk with during the first part of the flight. I didn’t get to say bye or even get his name but I can’t help but find some significance in the chance conversation I had with the old Navy man returning home for a visit.

 Slow down. Breathe. Connect more. Talk to strangers. Say thank you more. Complain less. Drink Scotch. Enjoy every fucking moment because life is short .Things change. They always change so roll with the punches but make sure you throw  few of ‘em back.