Dear Ann Landers,
If you lived through today, you can live through to-morrow. Your burden will be easier to bear with each pass-ing day. It may be difficult to believe, but I promise you will laugh again and enjoy God's good gifts. Death and tragedy touch us all sooner or later. When it comes it reminds us of our own frailty-and it makes us all brothers and sisters. Shortly after World War II, I was the chairman of a tea for Gold Star mothers. Some women ar-rived in chauffeured limousines. Others came on foot, not able to afford bus fare. Some wore mink stoles, others, woolen jackets. Their backgrounds and daily lives couldn't have been more different, but their heartache was the same. As they sat side by side, their differences disap-peared. The tragedy each shared united them for a time at least. Never before or since have I seen more dramatic proof that trouble is the great equalizer. I believe in blind faith. I have known people who have suffered deep personal tragedies and they believe in it, too. But, I also believe in the efficacy of positive action to over-come grief. Time is a healer, but those who help time by using it wisely and well make a more rapid adjustment. Grief, in part, is self-pity turned inside out. The widow who wails He was everything to me. How can I go on without him . . is crying for herself, not for him. Death is sometimes a merciful release from suffering and misery. The one who survives must struggle with the problem of living. The mourner who wears his grief interminably eventually isolates himself from his friends. The world may stop for a few hours (or perhaps a few days) to hold a hand or to wipe away a tear, but friends and relatives have problems of their own. Life goes on-and those who refuse to go on with it are left alone to wallow in their solitary misery. The best prescription for a broken heart is activity. And I don't mean plunging into a social whirl or running off on trips. Too many people try to escape from their heartache by hopping on planes, trains and ships. They succeed only in taking their troubles with them. The most useful kind of activity involves doing something to help others. I have told thousands of despondent people, Enough of this breast-beating. What will it accomplish? No matter how badly off you are there is someone who is worse off-and you can help him. I advise parents who have lost a child to take a foster child, or children, into their home. The woman who has an abundance of love to give, and no child of her own to ac-cept it, can find a number of lonesome and love-starved children in hospitals. The secret of successful living is giving. There are enormous rewards and satisfactions to be reaped working with new Americans, the blind, the deaf, the crippled, the mentally retarded and the aged. Happiness is like perfume. When you spray it on others you're bound to cany a little of the scent away with you. Several months ago I visited the beautiful home of a newspaper publisher. He and his wife led me to the library to meet their only child, a cerebral palsy victim in his mid-dle twenties. The boy inherited the facial characteristics of his handsome father, but he was a semi-invalid with a severe speech impediment. It was apparent that he would always need constant care. Meeting the boy for the first time shook me. But the strength of his remarkable parents made me ashamed of my feelings. In one brief sentence the boy's father helped me to understand the philosophy that made it possible for him and his wife to accept their lot. He said, If God saw fit to make such children, I am happy he sent one to us because we know how to love him. Parents of retarded children belong to a special society. They all pay the same dues-first shocked disbelief, then heartache, and finally the challenge of adjusting. God seems to give these parents a second pair of eyes for seeing what others cannot see. They develop a saintly patience, a nobility of spirit, and a tenderness of heart reserved for them alone. Pearl Buck, the mother of a retarded child, wrote: I cannot say I am glad my child is retarded. That would be folly. But I can say with a full heart that my daughter's handicap has renewed my faith in human beings. Through her my life has become enriched and my heart kept warm. I meet parents of retarded children everywhere. In every crowd there is always at least one who comes forward to take my hand and whisper 'I have a retarded child, too.' We look into each others eyes with instant understanding. We know. Helen Hayes played the most challenging role of her career when her daughter Mary, a talented actress of twenty, was stricken with polio. Miss Hayes had to give strength to others at a time when she needed support and courage herself. She wrote of that experience: I went to church every morning to pray, but I had be-come careless with my religion and had cut God out of my life. I didn't have the nerve to ask Him to make my daughter well. I prayed only for understanding. I asked Him to come into my life and let me reach Him. When Mary died, I felt that my prayers had not been answered. But I learned later this experience gave my life meaning which until then had escaped me. I became a living part of God's world of people. Most touching to me is the heroism, the courage and faith of the average people of the world. Often readers who write about a problem will add something about their per-sonal lives. I am moved by the magnificent people who write such lines as My husband lost his sight shortly after we married, but we manage beautifully. Or I've had two operations for cancer, but I know I'll be able to attend my son's graduation in June and I'm so thankful for that. No one knows why life must be so punishing to some of God's finest creatures. Perhaps it is true that everything has a price and we must sacrifice something precious to gain something else. The poets and philosophers say adver-sity, sorrow and pain give our lives meaning-an added dimension. Those who suffer deeply touch life at every point; they drain the cup to the dregs while others sip only the bubbles on top. Perhaps no man can touch the stars unless he has known the depths of despair. 4 SIXTEEN f Age-it's only a number, Baby! Grow old along with me The best is yet to be- The last of life for which the first was made. Robert Browning Keaders frequently confess in letters secret anxieties i which they would never talk about. My mail shows that thousands of Americans, particularly women, are haunted by the fear of growing old. Many who write are panic-stricken at the thought of leaving their twenties behind. More are terrified at the prospect of the Big 40. When people kid about age, more often than not they are kidding from the heart. The old line, What happens to the years a woman hacks off her age? and the reply, Oh, they aren't lost-she just adds them on to the age of a

dear friend”-is a savage illustra-tion of woman's compulsion to remain young, and to make her contemporaries appear older. Jokes aside, however, for many the fortieth birthday is a traumatic experience. Thirty-nine is the year at which both men and women seem to get stuck. When I was thirty-nine, I gave my age as forty. I had known so many women who lied about being thirty-nine that I wanted no part of it. When I was nine years old, I thought twenty-five was middle-aged. Anyone over forty was fossilized and couldn't possibly be getting any fun out of life. A person fifty was a museum piece and should be treated with reverence simply because God had allowed him to live so long. Today my conception of middle-age is approximately ten years older than I am right now (forty-three). James Thurber's comment on age in terms of the Amer-ican culture is amusing, but it's also the way a great many see it. Thurber said,
"In America, love after forty is obscene, work after fifty is unlikely, and death before sixty is prac-tically a certainty." Age is important only to the very young and to the very insecure. Mature people do not think of themselves (or others) in terms of how many years they have lived. It's interesting to go around a room and ask each guest in tum "What age would you like to be if you had a choice?" I have yet to hear anyone say he would like to be older. Al-most every woman (and some men) wish to be younger. The mature man and woman wish to be exactly the age they are. To the insecure female the passing years mean only fad-ing beauty and competition from younger women. They write such lines as: "I'm forty-six and afraid. When I glanced in the mirror this morning, I realized for the first time that I am no 194 age-it's only a number, baby! longer young. I wonder how I appear to my husband who works in an office with chic, attractive career girls. Now that I think of it, he's been having dinner downtown more often than he used to. Do you think perhaps-?" Worshiping at the shrine of youth is an American aberration which has evolved in the last thirty years. The average American homemaker looks at least ten years younger than her grandmother did at a comparable age be-cause her life is easier. Grandma had to cook on a wood stove and bake her own bread. She washed clothes on a board over a tub. But Grandma didn't mind because the f. TV commercials had not yet told her that if she wanted to be loved by a man she'd better keep her hands soft as satin and wear a "living" bra. Grandma didn't dread the years -she welcomed them. As her children grew older, her re-sponsibilities decreased. There was more time for relaxa-tion. It was indeed "the last of life for which the first was made." What is the emancipated American woman doing with the hours of leisure provided by push-button living? Too many of these hours are spent on her hair, her fingernails, her toe nails, her face and her body. She is wearing herself out fighting the battle of the birthdays. Millions of woman-hours and man-dollars are squan-dered on rejuvenating processes that don't work. Industries have been built on chin straps, "tissue-rebuilding cremes," and hair tints. The following lines appeared in an advertise-ment of a leading cosmetic firm: "Do you realize that a potion exists that may well begin the age of agelessness for women? This formula is filled with counterparts of vital substances found in young skin. What's more, it carries them into the living cells. This cream is dedicated to the exciting woman who spends a lifetime living up to her potential. $15 plus tax." No creature is so pathetic as the woman who is trying to kid the calendar. The girdled hips, the dyed hair, the mask of make-up and the veined feet perched on backless high heels fool no one. The wise woman knows that by the time she has reached fifty she is either wanted and loved for what she is, or she is not wanted and loved, period. Starvation diets, paint jobs, and dressing in the style of her daughter will not help her. The American ideal of the beautiful woman is a national disgrace. It shrieks of immaturity. Our European sisters have a far more sophisticated approach to age. The Euro-pean male believes that a woman is not interesting until she is over thirty-five. She doesn't know enough. When it was suggested to Ethel Barrymore as she ap-proached fifty-five that perhaps a little facial surgery would insure a wider selection of romantic roles, she replied, "Part with my wrinkles-neverl They are my credentials for living. I've earned them all." Discarded wives sometimes write "He left me for a younger woman." In many cases this should be translated into "He left her for a more interesting woman." Here is an example of such a letter. Her signature was "Defeated by Youth," but her name is Legion. "I was married at twenty. Wally was twenty-three. We were so much in love. We celebrated our twenty-third wedding anniversary in May. Our two children are now in college. Wally has done extremely well financially. To the casual observer we are an ideal couple. "I thought our marriage was as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar, but last night I got the shock of my life. He told me he's been in love with another woman for two years and wants his freedom so they can be married. "The other woman is fifteen years younger than I am. I've met her and she is very pretty. There's no use kidding myself, Ann, I lost out to a woman who could give him the one thing I could not-youth. "Several of my friends have had similar experiences. Some refuse to consider divorce. They pretend not to see what is happening and hope the affair will blow over. I have too much pride for this. But what's the answer? How can a wife past forty hang on to her man when the compe-tition is holding all the trump cards? Please tell me. Defeated by Youth" What "Defeated" refuses to admit is this: a man who finds fulfillment and contentment at home cannot be lured away by any woman-younger or older. I don't buy the theory that middle-aged men just naturally go for younger women. All men are attracted to women who are inter-esting and stimulating. A man is drawn to a woman who makes him feel virile and important. The wife may seem dreary and dull in contrast to the career woman. Or the wife may be so domineering and overpowering that her hus-band needs the reassurance of a less aggressive woman to restore his feeling of masculinity. The wife who is interest-ing and interested and who mikes her husband feel more like a man than a cash register seldom has to worry about competition. Women readers often ask if I know any secrets that will help them stay young. I do not. I have a few pet, unscientific tips, however, and here they are: Don't let yourself get fat. Keep your teeth in good repair. If you must drink (and I am against it) keep the consumption down. Don't select clothes that your granddaughter might wear. The fifty-two-year-old grandmother wearing a jumper and a Buster Brown hat doesn't look younger. She looks ridiculous and pitiable. Go easy on the make-up after forty-five. A heavy foun-dation base and too much powder or rouge accentuate the wrinkles. Know-and care about-what is happening in the world around you. A woman whose conversation is current and interesting is ageless. If women would accept the fact that to be young is no achievement they would be more content. The real achieve-ment is to make the best of every age as you live it. The woman who is forty-eight is exactly what she has made of herself. If she is a desirable woman, she is more attractive than she was at twenty-eight-and as young in spirit. The men in our culture who can't accommodate to their years are equally pathetic. They are not always recognizable on sight in broad daylight-although some of the unfortu-nates can be found several hours a week in barber shops, trying everything from garlic cloves to sheep dip to save the fast-falling hair. The herd of aging buck are most active toward evening. They are the night prowlers-the latter- day Tom Cats who equate youth with virility. Just being seen with a young girl massages their egos. One New York model wrote: "I can't figure Mr. M. out He takes me to the finest places and spends money galore. This has been going on for five months. Although he is very affectionate when people are around, he has never made a serious pass. In-cidentally, Mr. M. is about fifty-five and I am twenty-two. He has good connections in the dress business and I am a girl who wants to get ahead." I told the girl I was happy she wanted to get ahead be-cause she could certainly use one. I went on to explain that Mr. M. is interested only in a flattering ornament. In almost every social group there is at least one male whose central conversational theme is sex. If the topic un-der discussion is politics, he has all the inside dope on the sex life of the candidates. If the conversation is foreign aid, he gets off on the sex habits of the natives. No matter what the subject, he is an absolute genius at using it as a bridge to get back to subject A. The person whose mind operates primarily along horizontal lines is sick-and more often than not, he is impotent Conversation is his substi-tute for performance. Youth should not be equated with virility. I receive many complaints from women married to men in their twenties who say their husbands have no interest in sex. And an even greater number of letters come from women in their sixties who complain of exhaustion because of their husbands' sexual demands. The two letters which follow illustrate contrasting view-points. The first is from Greensboro, North Carolina: "I'm a woman who is twenty-eight years old and the mother of two children. My husband is twenty-eight, also, and we have been married for six years. He treats me very nicely, we have no financial problems. He doesn't drink or gamble or pay attention to other women. In fact my problem is he doesn't even pay any attention to me. The last time he made love to me was on my birthday in Feb-ruary. (It was his birthday present.) I'm writing this letter, as you can see, on May 10. Please don't suggest that I tell him to go to the doctor. He has a physical check-up every year and is in excellent health. He is normal in every way and we get along together fine. I've mentiond this to him a few times and he says some people are interested in sex, and others are not-and he happens to be one who is not. What shall I do? I am." From St. Petersburg, Florida: "I am a woman in my early sixties. My husband is sixty- five. We have four children and fourteen lovely grandchil-dren. When we go out for an evening with friends, my husband gives me affectionate pats and caresses, which I don't mind too much, but when we get home he wants to keep it up. I've told him that people our age should be over that kind of foolishness. He says I am wrong. In fact he bragged that his grandfather married a thirty-three-year- old woman when he was seventy (second marriage) and they had two children. I can see that the nonsense is still running in his family. Please answer me in a plain en-velope and tell me if this is respectable. I hope you say no." (She signed her letter, "Wish He'd Retire.") I told the Greensboro woman that a twenty-eight-year-old man who bestows his "favors" once a year and calls it a birthday present has a clinker in his thinker and that he needs more than a physical check-up. He needs a mental check-up. The St. Petersburg wife who "Wished He'd Retire" was told that sex activity between married people is respectable at any age. I added that she should be flattered. A good many men in their sixties enjoy pinching women other than their wives. Youth is a state of mind. It is enthusiasm for life (or our lack of it) that pins the label of age on us. A keen mind can do more to make a woman's eyes sparkle than the most skillfully applied make-up. And I have yet to meet a man or woman who did not look years younger when smil-ing. A head held high, shoulders back, a brisk gait can knock off ten years and it costs nothing. I once heard a doctor say, "You know, some people die in the very best of health." When I asked for an explana-tion, he said: "It is easy to die when you have nothing to live for. In my practice I see patients who have a long list of organic defects, but they go on living actively and usefully in spite of their physical problems. I see other patients who die from relatively minor illnesses. I believe it is mainly be-cause the fight has gone out of their lives. They die be-cause they have no desire to go on living." We all have known people who, in the evening of their lives, seemed hale and hearty, almost indestructible. Then, suddenly, the loss of a husband or a wife changed every-thing. TTie phrase, "He died of a broken heart" when trans-lated into medical terms means, "His life no longer had meaning. It was easier to die than to live." Every doctor has had at least a few cases where the reverse was true. I have heard doctors say, "I would not have given him a chance for survival, but he simply refused to die." The real trick is to stay alive as long as you live. To enjoy the blessings and the beauties that surround you and to make others glad that you are around. The key is to be active and useful and interested. This is the secret of stay-ing alive as long as you live. Some of the youngest people I know will never see seventy again. They are young because they have a lively en-thusiasm for what is coming next. They are too fascinated with plans for the future to dwell in the past. They find life an exciting game because they are participants, not spectators. They are interesting people because they are interested people. You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt, as young as your courage, as old as your fear, as young as your dreams, as old as your despair. Walter Huston put it so well-"Age-it's only a number, Baby." SEVENTEEN ? Are you for real? "May the outward and inward man be one." Socrates I grew up in an atmosphere electric with Yiddish adages. My father was a sort of Jewish Lin Yutang. My mother had a talent for fitting an appropriate expression to any set of circumstances. One of her favorites (and perhaps the one which first stimulated me to think beyond the literal meaning of words) was "Zie a mench." In English it means "Be a per-son.\" Since everyone is a person I reasoned that "Zie a mench" had to mean something more. So I asked. "A mench," explained my mother, "is a real person." A real person is one who manages to be himself. This sounds elementary, and perhaps even naive, but don't be fooled. Being yourself is a challenging task because to be yourself you must know yourself. And few people do. What are you really like? Would you be offended if I were to suggest that you are two people? Well, everyone is. First you are the self with the unattractive qualities-the secret desires, the large and small fears, the nagging inse-curities, the twinges of envy and cowardice and avarice. Second is the self you proudly present to the world-coura-geous, confident, mature, selfless. This is the self each of us wants the world to see. It is impossible to be 100 per cent for real. The society we live in requires that we behave in a prescribed manner, even though it may be contrary to our desires. But the better adjusted we are, the more real we are. We have all encountered the phony with the false front. He talks big and does little. He is the eternal windbag, preaching one thing and practicing another-unreliable and unpredictable because no code of ethics governs his be-havior. He folds in the clutch but is never without an air-tight, water-proof alibi. Not only is his spine made of macaroni, but when his ego is punctured and the mask falls, another less attractive face is exposed. The real person has a consistency which runs through every phase of his interpersonal relationships. He doesn't shower you with attention one day and ignore you the next. He doesn't wear one face for the company executives and another face for the company janitor. He doesn't smile sweetly to his dinner partner and then, within seconds, bark orders to the waiter. He has a quality of consistency which bespeaks reliability, dependability-and loyalty. He operates at a high ethical level and within a predictable framework. His responses to trying situations are disci-plined and civilized. He doesn't switch positions, abandon his principles, or change his personality to fit his mood, the company, the weather, or the state of his digestion. It's interesting to listen to a friend when he turns from you to take a telephone call. Does his voice change? Or is it the same voice he used when he was talking to you? The real person is relaxed and he relaxes others. The phony is strained because he's working so hard at playing a role. It's exhausting to be on stage constantly, pretending and play-acting, never quite sure how the performance is coming off. The real person uses a simple conversational alphabet. There is no capital "I,\" no small "u." He is not driven to exaggerate his virtues or his achievements. He doesn't pre-tend to be wealthier, wiser, better (or worse) behaved than he really is. He doesn't try to overwhelm others by name-dropping or place-dropping. The man who brags about his family tree betrays the fact that he is the sap. And we all know people who select their church, politics, and clubs solely on the basis of what the affiliation might do for them socially or financially. Every organization has its bootlickers or at least one man with a gray flannel mouth. He goes through life with a moistened finger to the wind, never taking a stand until he is certain it's \"safe." Conformity seems to assure secu-rity and respectability. Often, much of the real self is sacri-ficed in the process of fitting into the mold of what we think is expected of us. It is becoming increasingly difficult in our society to be a real person because phoniness is built into our daily lives. Advertisements tell us that everything must look good, taste good, and smell good. If it doesn't, \"scientists" are put to work to "improve" the product. We have become so enthralled with the ideal of youth and beauty that there are no limits some women won't test in giving nature a hand. They can display pearly white dentures, contact lenses, false eye-lashes, penciled brows, a surgically lifted face, plastic fingernails, tinted hair, a padded bra and der- riere, too, if you please. Males have recourse to surgical face-lifting, too, and many go in for tinted hair, monkey- glands, and elevator shoes. There are advertisements tor ialse hair which can be glued to the chest of a man who wishes to look virile in bathing trunks. (It is guaranteed not to come off in the water.) A society which accepts so much external fakeiy is vul-nerable to spiritual fraud as well. One of the prime ingredi-ents of a real person is integrity. Diogenes would have to look even harder and longer today to find an honest man because the commercial rat race often offers the prize to the one who is willing to grab the quick but dishonest advan-tage. It takes strength to stick to principles in a world where the curve ball artists seem to be doing so well. Prosperity has grown a fatty tissue around our conscience. We are suffering from spiritual leukemia in a push-button, fur- lined age. Personal integrity cannot be imposed by law. Laws have loopholes through which many a slippery character can crawl. We can act within the law and still be morally wrong. The true measure of the man is the level at which he oper-ates when there are moral choices to be made. What makes some people straight and others kinky? It is mostly a matter of early training, the major part of which is example. Those parents whose answers are evasive teach their youngsters the art of dancing around the truth. The small child who is lied to will lie to others. The mother who helps her teen-ager lie to Dad because "if he knew the truth he'd be furious" does the teen-ager no favor. Parents who choose the high road even though the low road seems the more advantageous, give their children an indispensable tool for building a good life. A child who is brought up to respect truth has an enormous advantage. Integrity and a feeling of personal worth are assets more precious than an exceptional mind, good looks, or a winning personality. The so-called old- fashioned virtues are interdependent and where you find one you usually End others. People who participate in phony deals and shoddy business practices can usually be counted on to betray a friend. And the hackneyed adage that "blood is thicker than water" may be accurate chemically but that's as far as it goes. Every batch of my mail contains letters from readers who are suffering at the hands of relatives. Business deals in which brother cheats brother, inheritance wrangles where one or two members of a family bilk a widow or the surviving children are every day occurrences. None of us can safely assume that a relative can be trusted merely because he is a relative. The real person who has decent principles and high moral standards will treat all people fairly. The unprincipled character will take anybody he can-relatives included. The opening paragraphs of this chapter suggest that no one is 100 per cent for real. Why? Because society won't permit it. The twentieth century two-legged animal is ex-pected to be tactful. Civilized behavior demands that we sublimate minor hostilities and frustrations in order to get along with others. In dozens of small ways man accommo-dates. He must compromise with absolute truth if he is mature enough to place a higher value on the feelings of others than on his own comfort or convenience. Every man must set his personal limits, however. He must decide the point at which he will refuse to allow inconsiderate people to take advantage of him. Too often, a cruel or unthinking person will club his victim over the head with "the truth" and call it "friendship." It is the central business of every human being to work toward being as real as it is within his power to be. Psychia-trists tell us that the healthy personality is whole-it is all of a piece. This means the individual has resolved the major conflicts within himself and he is not compelled to act one way and feel another. William fames described this struggle as "zerrissenheit" which means "tom to pieces-ness." There are times in our lives when feelings of defeat or fear make us feel that our world is falling apart and the temptation is to fall apart with it. The real person refuses to give way to "zerrissen-heit." He keeps himself together. He accepts himself with his limitations and his imperfections-without shame or sham. He can tolerate frustration or defeat. He can regroup and rebuild. He is kept afloat by the knowledge that he has what it takes to recover and try again. An unmistakable hall-mark of realness is the ability to meet all situations with dignity and maturity. If you can truthfully say that you are on good terms with yourself, if the image you project to others bears a family resemblance to the kind of person you believe you are, if you say what you mean and mean what you say, and if you are willing to admit that there is just a little bit of the phony in you-you are for real.