Molly Ivins April 4

SARASOTA, Fla. — Generational differences have never seemed particularly interesting to me. A lot of trees have been sacrificed in analyzing generations or extolling the virtues of one set of folks over another based on their chronological progress through life. Young folks, old folks — once you make it through the horrors of teenhood (a truly excruciating experience calling for endless patience and sympathy from all who have survived it), I figure only character counts. Great people in their 20s, great people in their 80s — I just don't see that much difference.

True, there are certain identifying characteristics; no one touched by the Great Depression seems to have escaped without ... how to put this ... a touch of excessive thriftiness. OK, let's face it: They're all cheap in some funny way. You can't let those Depression folks loose in a Sam's Club without their coming out with a lifetime supply of something just because it's such a bargain.

For your WW Two-ers, the War was and always will be the defining experience. The Good War is something that the Vietnam generation will always envy them; it gave them a sense of purpose and confidence. All we got was a sense of bleak reality and a permanent distrust of government bull.

I should confess that I have been racing through life just ahead of this enormous demographic tidal wave called the baby boomers. Too late for the '50s, too soon for LSD. I think we may actually qualify as a generation, but we're so tiny that most sociologists miss us entirely; we were the Peace Corps Generation. Although a lot of us went to 'Nam, our political baptism was actually the civil-rights movement. As for the boomers, too much ink has already been spilled on them; the only unifying characteristic I can identify is the funny expressions they get when certain old rock songs are played. Put on the soundtrack from "The Big Chill," and they start to boogie — can't help themselves.

But there's nothing like Florida, home of the Old Folks, to get one thinking about generations. If one wanted to be unkind, one could consider Florida sort of our national Elephant Burying Ground, where the old folks, wise but feeble, come to die.

What interests me about the place is that in a culture notorious for worshipping youth and denying death, Floridians seem to have it together on this subject better than the rest of us.

One rarely finds a younger Floridian (this seems to mean anyone under 70 here) who is impatient with old folks. Seniors plod along the roads at a cautious 30 mph, but almost no one honks at them; the youngers steer around them as though these slower-moving creatures were a natural part of environment, no more worthy of comment or upset than a pickup truck in Texas. I hate to say this, but it is not like that during Dallas rush hours. Because Florida has so many seniors, and a lot of them still work, its pace is slower and more civil — sort of the South Plus.

I could be wrong — I don't visit Florida that often — but it seems to me that there is considerable respect for the wisdom of the older elephants. Talking to newspaper colleagues here, I never hear dismissive remarks like "just some old geezer" when an unpleasant letter to the editor citing some long-forgotten episode appears. All hands stop, consider and sometimes amend their ways if the criticism is well-founded.

A fellow I met on an airplane recently observed that he felt he was "in the legacy phase" of his life. Children raised, home secure, still working but not so keen on climbing the greasy pole of ambition, starting to consider what larger legacy he might leave.

I have recently done a tour of my own aged P's, each of whom is contributing more to the civil sector now than I can recall their doing when they were younger. My mother in Maryland is a dedicated volunteer; my father in Florida ponders how to reform the schools and teach ethics to the young. (Great — I get to middle age and find out I've got Bill Bennett for a dad.) My stepmother does her bit to keep up civilization by being rather exigent about standards of service and courtesy.

As all regular readers know, I am optimistic to the point of idiocy. Everyone else contemplating the impending avalanche of aging yuppies has tended to run screaming from the thought: Aaaarrrrgggghhh — a zillion wrinkles! Providing that we can cure our tendency to try to keep people alive past the point when the Lord is clearly inviting them home, I think it could be good for the country. Great herds of older elephants, no longer capable of damaging the environment or needing to battle one another, might just have accumulated enough wisdom to head the civilization in a better direction.

***

Molly Ivins is a columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.

COPYRIGHT 1996 CREATORS SYNDICATE, INC.