One of my favorite short stories is “The Verger” by Somerset Maugham. Hero Albert Foreman has held his parish post for decades before a new clergyman replaces the old and learns he’s illiterate.
He doesn’t need to know how to read to do his work; he worked around any challenges for years. Besides, the parishioners liked him and the work he did.
But the new minister hoped to turn his parish into a “society church” and it would not do to have an illiterate verger. Besides, Mr. Foreman was elderly and needed to be put out to pasture.
The new clergyman gave Foreman a month to learn how to read, but it didn’t work out so he was out the door. Not even a sheet cake or farewell party.
Losing his job and income bothered him less than losing
his sense of value and identity. As he walked home that evening, he reached into his pocket for his pipe and tobacco but discovered the pouch was empty. He kept walking but there was not a tobacco store in sight.
That gave him an idea, so, to cut to the chase, he opened his own store. It was so successful he opened a second, and soon owned a chain of shops across London.
One afternoon, the bank manager asked Mr. Foreman about moving some of his savings into bonds that would earn him more money. He had all the paperwork ready for their meeting and gently pushed them across his desk to sign. Mr. Foreman pushed them back and explained, “I can’t read or write.”
The banker, astonished, asked, “Can you imagine where you would be today if you could read?”
“Yes, I would be the verger of St. Peters Neville Square,” Mr. Foreman answered wistfully.
Until about 90 years ago, people worked as long as their health would allow it, or until they died. If they couldn’t work and had gone through their savings, they relied on their families to care for them or moved to the county poor farm.
Then, as part of President Roosevelt’s New Deal, the Social Security program was initiated, with a guaranteed but small pension starting at age 65. That year was chosen because actuarials determined that the average person lived until they were 68. Getting them out of the work force meant there would be more jobs for young people, and that would help return the country to prosperity. The program was billed as a reward for decades of hard work.
What was not considered is how so many of us find much of our identity through work. That seems to apply especially to men. From what I’ve observed, women tend to find their sense of identity through connections and relationships. If and when they retire, there are far more opportunities for them to network.
Men aren’t nearly as successful in that department and end up being more lonely, which doctors say is bad for our health.
The 2022 Tom Hanks film “A Man Called Otto” deals with the social problems created when older people lose their sense of connection and self-value. Then come alive when they have something meaningful to do.
It is not surprising that many men, after dreaming and fantasizing about all the leisure time that comes with retirement, soon go back to work. The money is a bonus but the real benefits are intangible. It might be regaining the work relationships and connections, but more important it’s knowing they still have value in this world.
I noticed it with some of my older friends who had been physicians at the Mayo Clinic. The mandatory retirement age was 65, no exceptions. When the Clinic realized one size does not fit all, they arranged part-time, non-tenured opportunities for older former employees. Everyone benefitted.
Mr. Leach, a custodian there, decided to take a different route. He had always said he was going to take up golf in retirement, but then changed his mind.
He put up a notice on the bulletin board at the Piggly Wiggly that he was available to mow lawns. He explained that he couldn’t see much point in whacking away at a little white ball and then hiking after it. If he wanted to go for a walk, he’d rather push a mower, bring order out of chaos in a messy lawn, help people, and make some money. With a wink, he added, “under the table.”
A friend of my parents had been a tool and die maker at a piston ring factory. A few months after he retired there, the plant rehired him as their part time fix-it guy. He knew the machinery and quickly could make repairs. Each job assignment was a measure of success and pride.
Another friend retired from working as an electrical engineer, realized at age 70 he was too young for this and became a math tutor. He doesn’t work fulltime, but knows he is making a difference with young people struggling with geometry.
The money is not much, but he scrupulously invests half of it by taking his wife out every Friday for date night. The other half is set aside for a cruise in the winter. Mind you, that is not easy. Every year she has to pry him away from his work with a “Now hear this” message.
Another fellow saw a help wanted sign in the window of a wine shop, went in and told the owner he was available.
“Do you know much about wine?” the owner asked. “Not a lot,” he replied, “but I know most of it tastes pretty good.” He was not hired for his knowledge of wine, but for his people skills.
These recycled former retirees put all of their business and social skills, learned over decades, back to work. It gives them purpose and a reason to get up in the morning.
One older gentleman took a job stocking shelves at a store, and some of his friends looked down on him for it. One day one came through the store and asked, “How’s it going, stock boy?”
“You know, I’m the most important man in this store,” he replied. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d never find what you want because the shelves would be bare.”
“Work is the best kind of fun,” my father used to say. He was right.
