Carl vs. the Nazis Ch. 7 Longevity

"Carl vs. The Nazis Ch.6 The Immortals" 
How to Live (Almost) Forever

Dr. Waller continued. “History is filled with people who lived a long time, and the key to longevity has never been a secret.” His voice was loud and clear. He stood up and looked absent-mindedly at the empty tables, as if he were addressing a medical convention.
“The story of The Immortals begins with the Fall of Rome and the Dawn of the Dark Ages,” he continued.
“Then you may want to shorten it, because I need to get back home and help my dad,” I said. Dr. Waller ignored me.
“When Rome collapsed, people lost their faith in the world and in life itself. They moved to the wilderness to live in caves, ditches, huts, even on the top of wooden poles. They wanted two things: to get away, far away, from other people, and to die young, leaving this sad world.”
“That sounds easy,” I chimed in, thinking about my own miserable life of a hermit that winter.
“It wasn’t that easy to be alone,” explained the doctor. “Ironically, people called the hermits saints and followed them around. Crowds of men and women tried to be near the would-be hermits. They even built little villages near the poor fellows. Those villages later turned into convents and monasteries. Another funny thing, the hermits didn’t die young. They lived a tremendously long time. St. Anthony lived to be 106, and made long trips when he was 90.”
“Why did they live so long if they didn’t like life?” I asked.
“It wasn’t on purpose. They gave up everything: wine, women, social gatherings, music and food. It was the last one that did it.”
“Food?” I asked incredulously. “They lived a long time because they gave up food?”
“Yes. They ate hardly anything, and made a contest out of it. They would eat only a few cabbage leaves here and there, and maybe some figs or a crust of bread. There’s a story that a hermit was given a cluster of grapes. He frowned on such a decadent indulgence and had it passed on to the other hermits. The cluster went the rounds and came back to him with not a grape missing.”
“They also got plenty of exercise,” said Angela. “Saint Macarius stood up through the entire 40 days of Lent,” she said admiringly. “He even slept standing. The hermit St. Simeon lived on a nine square foot platform on a pillar sixty feet high, and did calisthenic exercises every day. He’s high on my list of heroes. Everyone looked up to him, and people traveled hundreds of miles to ask his advice.”
“But those guys lived a long time ago,” I replied. “How do you know those stories are true?”
“Lots of people still live a long time,” said Thomas. “We know their secrets.”
“But you can’t live forever,” I said.
“Who knows?” said Thomas. “You know, Thomas Parr wasn’t my given name. I named myself after a man who lived to be 152. He would have lived a lot longer if he had taken better care of himself.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“He was a farm hand who lived in England from 1483 to 1635,” said Dr. Waller. “He didn’t even get married until he was eighty. After she died, he married again when he was one hundred and twenty.” He winked at Gwen, who giggled.
“It’s OK she’s my wife,” said the doctor. “We’ve been married eighty years.”
“That’s amazing, too,” I said. “But how did Thomas Parr do it?”
“Well, I imagine women just found him attractive, and he was in good health, so they just . . .”
“No,” I interrupted, embarrassed. “How did he live so long?”
“He worked hard all day, every day,” said Thomas, “plowing and harvesting and tending farms.”
“And he ate simple food,” added Dr. Waller. “He ate rough, grainy, dark bread, onions, garlic and cheese.”
“Just as important,” said Thomas. “He always went to bed early and slept like an infant; what, with all that hard work, and no electricity and no cable television and all, there wasn’t much else to do.”
The woman at the piano warbled her voice with the piano:
“Come, Sleep; O Sleep! The certain knot of peace,
The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man’s wealth the prisoner’s release,
The indifferent judge between high and low;”

The immortals applauded. “Very nice, Mildred,” they congratulated her.
“You can thank me for the music,” she said. “But the words belong to Sir Philip Sidney. That poem’s older than we. Perhaps Robert’s taking my music a little too seriously,” she said, gesturing to a small man in leisure suit snoring on the couch.
“Robert is our physical fitness coordinator,” explained Thomas. “He is very strict about going to bed as soon as it gets dark. I’m surprised he even agreed to join us tonight.”
Robert half opened his eyes and smiled. “I can sleep here as well as anywhere,” he mumbled. “Even better, given the quality of the conversation.” He again closed his eyes.
“So to continue with our story,” Thomas continued. A sarcastic smile briefly played on Robert’s lips. “In 1927 I was a Wall Street stock broker. I was wealthy, not bad looking and owned a house in Westchester County. I also had high blood pressure and insomnia.”
“On the advice of my physician, I came to this resort for an August vacation. It was wonderful. We swam, ran, did calisthenics every morning, picked berries, played shuffleboard, ate long, leisurely meals, attended chapel every evening and went to lectures about health,” he sighed and smiled. “For the first time since I was little I felt happy and at peace. I smiled more. I never smiled at work except when I really tried. We had to wear fake smiles at work even if we were miserable, and the effort was so exhausting I could never smile for fun.
“When the vacation was about to end, I thought about the pressure of working so hard with people I didn’t like, all the stupid forms I had to fill out only to shred later, and taking that long train trip every day. I couldn’t face it. I decided to run away, and talked it over with my friends.”
“It was so exciting,” said Gwen. “We realized we didn’t need much to live, just a few scraps of food and a warm place to sleep. We would stay at the hotel and do odd jobs and devote every day to health, happiness and longevity! And the folks in the city would be none the wiser!”
“But you couldn’t just disappear,” I said.
“No, we arranged an accident,” said Parr. “One night we went to the movies and told other folks at the resort we were crossing over the swamp on the Rickety Bridge on our way home. We chose a night when it was about to storm so it would wash away any clues. We actually left a few articles in the swamp to make it look like we sank and drowned. Then we hid out in the resort.”
“But didn’t anyone in the resort recognize you?” I asked.
“The resort was in on it. For them it was a chance to get dirt-cheap workers with great qualifications. Dr. Waller even gave the staff free medical care. The police chief back then was in on it too.”
“Why didn’t you just get jobs here?” I asked. Why disappear?”
Mildred chimed in, “We didn’t want our families coming after us,” she said. “Our families were very persistent and influential. They would have bothered us to come home and would never have given up. We wanted to live like children or hermits, without obligations to the government or anyone else. No taxes, no long commutes to work, no meaningless telephone calls, forms to be filled out in triplicate and filed, only to be burned or shredded later, or meetings where people talk about how great they are, look at charts and eat donuts. No Christmas shopping, thank you cards, or family dinners. We wanted to be free.”
“How have you gotten on since the hotel closed?”
“We live off our savings, and try to take care of the place,” said Thomas. “No one remembers that we live and work here. In some ways, things have been easier since we inherited the resort. We have planted a nice orchard, which I believe you have visited. Now we can grow our own fruits and vegetables.”
Robert suddenly awoke and stood so quickly, I didn’t even see him rise.
“Enough with your boring blather,” he shouted. “Let us join in our national anthem.
They stood, except for Mildred who sat at the piano, and solemnly placed their hands on their hearts and sang together:
Thomas Parr lived to be 152
He was hardly ever sick,
When he was 100, weird but true,
For adultery he paid penance public.
The church rightly condemned his vices,
But we assume he had a mid-life crisis.

By eating the forest’s baby ferns,
And boiled cabbages sublime,
The healthy person surely earns,
Shelter from the harms of time,
The foods that others find real gross,
Seem to help our health the most.

Our only clock will be the sun,
Wholesome labor our exercise,
We will not hear foolish opinion,
Or ambitious rascals’ lies,
So living within nature’s laws,
Of our long lives shall be the cause.

Here’s to long lives, sweet centenarians,
With our lives going as Parr’s went,
No more eating, drinking making merry and,
Be sure to get enough antioxidants!
Now we have reached at least four-score and ten,
Let’s all accomplish the same feat again!
“We must dance!” shouted Robert. “Maestro,” he gestured to Mildred, “The Mazurka please.”
Mildred vigorously pounded a Russian tune. Ramrod straight, Robert took Angela’s hand and they began to squat and kick their feet above their heads. They twirled each other around, spinning each other off the ground while the others clapped. Then they both picked up their feet while spinning. They twirled off course, shattering chairs and tables with their feet. They continued unabashed, as if they did not notice. Robert threw Angela to the ceiling. She did a triple back flip with a twist, and landed in Robert’s arms. Robert ended the dance with a backward somersault. He made an exaggerated bow toward Angela, who curtsied in return. They then smiled and bowed toward us.
“Very nice,” said Dr. Waller with a patronizing smile. “But shouldn’t such an important evening with such auspicious company call for more decorum? Would you permit me Mildred?”
Waller sat at the piano and softly played a minuet. They danced gracefully. Angela tried to teach me, but I was hopeless.
“It’s OK,” she said. “Another seventy years of lessons you will be good as we. Perhaps you’ll join us tomorrow and see what our day is like.”
I walked back home to share Christmas with my father. He had no tree, it would have just made him too sad. We ate miniature hot dogs with beans. We sang a carol, watched television and went to bed.

"Carl vs. The Nazis Ch. 8 Get Buff"