When my great-grandfather lost every dime that he had in the stock market crash of 1929, he was determined to change the course of his family's sudden change in fate.
He did not give up. He worked harder. He had always been a hard-working man, a Police Commissioner, a fine upstanding community man. But suddenly he swung into high gear, feeling lucky that at least he still had work. Every waking hour that wasn't spent working was spent building a new beach house for his family. With his own hands, he built a refuge at the beach.
He fittingly called it Happy Days, representing as it did his refusal to accept that along with all that money that had suddenly evaporated, so had that planned retirement of leisure. That dream of the future.
So I understand, really and truly understand, the need for folks to believe that Happy Days Are Here Again. Even though, you know, they're not.
My great grandfather never recovered his money.
His family enjoyed many grand times at Happy Days. It came to represent, to them, to my grandparents, to my mother, to my aunts, uncles, and cousins, a different life. A different future. Simpler times.
My great grandfather? One afternoon after yet another hard day's work, he drove the long drive out to the beach to join the family. It was rather unheard of in those days for anyone to think of commuting to the city from the beach.
But he did it, unable as he was to accept that happy days were not going to be here again in his lifetime. That last afternoon was too much for him, or maybe it was the accumulation of it all being too much for him. He collapsed and took his last breath just as his car reached the driveway.
Some folks will hold onto their illusions to the very end.
What he left my family was something to cherish. Happy days, indeed, at the seashore, away from the troubles of the day. Crabs to catch, shrimp to seine, fish to fry, music and dance, shells to be found.
But his illusions? They left with him. And like our more recent housing bubble and the good times of wild unchecked spending, not coming back.
As for me, I dream of days at the beach, days at Happy Days, talks with my grandmother, smiles from my grandfather, wiggling my toes in the sand. I am ever grateful for each of those dreams.
But I live my life in the waking world, not the world of dreams. As do we all.
