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MOTRIA KUSHNIR ’’Well,” she said, ”l’m so glad you agree we should collaborate.” Her imperious voice crackled over the telephone wire. I looked at the clock on my bedstand. Saturday, it was, and the hour, an ungodly 8:25 AM. I had not arisen at the crack of dawn on the first day of a weekend since graduating from Plast camp. ”1 didn’t wake you?” she asked with coy solicitude. ”Of course not,” I croaked. Even in my stupefaction I knew it was that woman — my afianced coauthor-to- be, the telephone critic in my life. Again, she had me at complete disadvantage. "You know how hard you are to reach.” (E v id e n tly , n o t h a rd e n o u g h !) ” I thought late morning would probably be the best time to find you in.” (L a te m o r n in g ? ? M y b o d y m ig h t be in, b u t th e b ra in p a r t was s t i l l o u t o n b re a k .) ’’It’s time to talk about my column for this month. Have you decided on a title?” To confused to argue that naming her column was no responsibility of mine, I was desperately trying to focus up my eyes and other faculties. Miraculously, a thought floated up from somewhere and issued from my lips: ’’We’ll call the column ’Double Vision.’ ” (W e ll O K ! I was s ile n tly e la te d . S c o re o n e fo r o u r s id e ; I n e v e r th o u g h t th e m u s e s w o r k e d th is e a rly . 'D o u b le V is io n ,’ e h ? I ’l l b u y th a t, k id ; i t has a n ic e s c h iz o id r in g to it.) ” ’Double Vision,’ ” she mused. ”lt will do nicely. Our crossed wits yield, in fact, a kind of double vision.” She chuckled with great satisfaction at her own joke. ”My chosen topic for today, interestingly enough,” she continued, amusement evaporating from her tone, ”is related to the five senses. My intention is to take an in- depth look at listening.” (In d e p th , m y ear. We w e re g o in g to ta k e a lo n g - w in d e d lo o k a t lis te n in g .) "While viewing television the other day, I saw a commercial for one of the major multinational corporations. On the screen I saw images of many people dressed for work in an office — which is to say, they were attired uniformly; everyone in the group — which was, as modern advertising requires, balanced racially, ethnically and by gender — sat zombie-like, staring blankly ahead. As the camera moved from face to face, a narrator’s voice explained that Americans do not listen properly. Inattentive listeners, the announcer said, cost U. S. business a great many dollars. Being cost conscious, company X was motivated to undertake the teaching of listening to its employees”. ( T h in g s c le a r ly a re g e ttin g b a d in th e se U n ite d S tates, I th o u g h t. The s c h o o ls c a n 't te a c h J o h n n y to re a d o r to w rite ; h a r d - c o v e r b o o k s o n ’t e a c h - y o u r s e lf - t o - r u n ’ a re b e s t s e lle rs . A n d n o w — ta lk o f re d u c e d e x p e c ta tio n s — c o m p a n ie s h a d to be te a c h in g th e ir m a n a g e rs to lis te n . W hat n e x t? Ph. D .'s in d is c o d a n c in g ? ) "Moreover, the persons in the ad — who knows whether they were models, actors or actual company X employees — did not look like they listening at all. From their vapid looks one could tell that they were filtering sounds through one ear and out the other. They appeared stoney-eved, expressionless and indifferent. The entire ad had an unsettling, surreal quality. Adding to my distress was the voice’s statement that impaired ability to listen is a monetary matter. Should loss be measured in nothing more than dollars? If deaf ears didn’t lead to costly dips in profits, would company X be sponsoring courses in listening? What sort of values are these? What of the emotional damage inattention causes? What of the social costs? Am I the only one appalled by our contemporary situation? We elderly may be deaf, but it is the young who are hard of hearing — hard and cold. For those of us who have gotten on in years, gross neglect undercuts the sense of meaning in our lives. Our experience has validity — not just for culture, but also for ourselves — only if it is transmitted to those next in time. Our knowledge is irrelevant divorced from opportunities to share it. What does it matter that we know what we know if young and ignorant fools deny us thr right to teach them? Understand why rejection by the young is so painful to the old. And what happens to the young who cut themselves off from the wisdom of the ages? Are they not coming out squarely in favor of barbarism? These young barbarians, are they not doomed to reinventing the wheel — and, moreover, with considerable chances for failure? If you do not pass information from one generation to the next, it will be lost. Reclaiming lost knowledge is a tedious and frustrating process. If the youth of today will not be spoon-fed history and culture, there is little hope that they will voluntarily undertake the arduous task of rediscovering the learning of the past for themselves.” ( A t th is p o in t, I fo u n d m y s e lf n o d d in g v e h e m e n tly in a g re e m e n t. T h e re is s o m e th in g w ro n g in a w o r ld w h e re P a u l M c C a r tn e y as a B e a tle is h is to r y a n d E lv is P re s le y o n th e S u lliv a n s h o w ra te s as a n tiq u ity . K id s to d a y d o n ’t "НАШ Е ЖИТТЯ", СІЧЕНЬ 1980 23
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