Columnist’s note: The following contains many parenthetical asides and seemingly unimportant details that somehow, one hopes, lead to a conclusion that the reader finds moderately interesting or entertaining or, at the very least, bearable. 

 

Once every three weeks, my sister, Beth, gets a manicure. (Being a guitar player, I, too, pay close attention to my fingernails, though I have never visited a salon.) Last Wednesday, while Beth was “powder-dipping” her nails in a shade called Purple People-Eater, her manicurist, a male in his mid-20s, asked if she had any travel plans.

“I’m going to Nashville with all my siblings in May,” she said. “And, at the end of June, my husband and I are flying to Barcelona to see Bruce in concert.”

“Bruce?” he asked.

“You know. Bruce Springsteen. We’ve been devoted fans since the ’70s.”

“Bruce … Springsteen? The name doesn’t ring a bell. Do you have a photo?”

Flabbergasted, Beth pulled out her phone and produced a picture of Bruce. “No,” said the manicurist. “I don’t recognize him. It looks like he plays rock ‘n’ roll. Right?”

“You’ve got that right!” she said, still somewhat stunned that the man who was tending to her nails had never heard of her rock idol.

My sister’s story transported me back to 1984. I was teaching at an elementary school in eastern Massachusetts and decided to sit in on a presentation from a well-known local author/historian. At one point, the author asked a class of fourth grade students if they had any heroes. Two or three children responded that their moms or dads were their heroes. Then a boy raised his hand and said, “Michael Jordan is my hero.”

The author looked at the boy, expressionless. “And what does Michael Jordan do?” she asked.

“You know — Michael Jordan, on the Bulls,” he said.

“So he rides in rodeos?” the author responded.

Remember, this is the mid-’80s. Saying you don’t recognize the name Michael Jordan, in 1984, was like saying you had never heard of George Washington, The Beatles, or Jesus Christ! I would wager half my life’s savings (don’t tell my wife) that every one of my column followers has at least heard of Michael Jordan. (And I’d also bet all but maybe one or two of you can name the sport he played.)

I remember sitting in that classroom, dumbfounded. There, standing in front of me, was a woman living in a wealthy, well-populated Boston suburb (as opposed to living in, say, northern Siberia), who had absolutely no knowledge of a person whose name was familiar to literally billions of people around the world!

(We now come, dear reader, to the challenging part of writing this column — figuring out what it is about! I suspect most columnists do not confront this issue. When one writes about war, poverty, health care and the like, the topic is obvious; it’s the presentation that matters. My method is to write first and to hope a main idea emerges from the chaos. You never know …)

OK. There are folks (English-speaking Americans!) out there who don’t recognize the names Springsteen or Michael Jordan. I wonder, then, whose names ring no bells for me? I naturally turned to Google for enlightenment. I searched all the winners of Grammy Awards for Best Album and Best Song over the past 10 years and found that I recognized a little over 30% of their names. More than I would have predicted, but not very impressive, eh?

I then asked myself: “Self, how many members of President Biden’s Cabinet can you name?” I am embarrassed to say the answer was (and still is) exactly two. I can name all nine Supreme Court Justices (most likely because of their horrible rulings) but, incredibly, I know the names of fewer than 10 leaders of countries around the world.

And to add to my rapidly diminishing self-respect: Almost 2.9 billion people on our planet are led by two men whose names I do not recall! Yes, close to 36% of the world’s population live in India and China, and I can’t name the leaders of these countries. (Of course, to be consistent in this column, I should compare apples to apples: I recognize the name Xi Jinping but, alas, I do not recognize Droupadi Murmu, leader of India.)

Do any of you sense a fast-approaching “Aha!” moment coming your way, a reason you have spent the last four minutes plowing through these words? Well, good news! The moment has arrived. Here it is: We all choose what we want to know. Each of us chooses an enclave in which to live and, in so doing, becomes extremely knowledgeable and extremely ignorant of the world around us.

Maybe the human brain can only hold so much. Perhaps our tribal instincts take over, urging us to hunker down and to be content and feel safe with what we know.

All I know is that it’s incredible that I do not even recognize the name of the president of India. Just shameful. I guess I should be more forgiving of others’ lack of knowledge.

But, then again, Michael Jordan? I mean, c’mon! Give me a break!

Gene Stamell lives in the enclave of Leverett. He appreciates and always responds to your feedback. Gene can be reached at gstamell@gmail.com.