Oct 16, 2024–What do you call a bunch of retirees who meet for lunch every other week, just because?
According to the Herald-Zeitung, they call themselves ROMEOs: Retired Old Men Eating Out. They have no agenda, collect no dues, require no initiation, and don’t keep minutes. They usually end up talking about Medicare, dentists, and football.
I suspect these gatherings of random men–and women–are common across time and geography. Your town probably had a coffee klatch at the corner diner, for locals who nursed coffee from thick white mugs and balanced cigarettes in communal ashtrays. You were not welcome to join in if you didn’t have your AARP magazine subscription, although you were always fair game for their unsolicited comments about your long hair, paisley shirt, and loud music.
I have been fortunate enough (gotten old) to have been a part of several of these gatherings over the years, each with a different agenda.
The first was at a conclave of stock market investors that met at a local bank. I had no business being there, but wanted to learn about investing. I was definitely the youngest and least invested. Every week they went around the table and shared their market positions and stock tips. I always passed, as on a single-earner school teacher’s salary I had zero investments. But they indulged me, and I learned enough to know that when I did have something to invest, I’d just hand over every cent to an investment advisor.
Since then I have been a part of several groups where the goal is to maintain an elevated plane of inquiry. Various configurations have included an artist, composer, philosopher, clergyman, musician, retired diplomat, novelist, and college professor.
My current perch is at the self-proclaimed “Table of Knowledge” which meets for breakfast weekly. Despite the name, knowledge is limited, and the rules are few: no religion, politics, or medical procedures. The rules are only observed in our ignoring them. If one among us has had a body part replaced, we’re going to talk about it, especially if it’s bloody. And it is impossible to avoid politics in an election year, though by golly, we try. We strive to adhere to Eleanor Roosevelt’s maxim: Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, small minds discuss people.
I sometimes bring several questions or discussion topics to offer as starting points. Of course I have an ulterior motive of mining material for my weekly columns.
It’s actually very challenging to sustain more than an hour of meaningful, stimulating, edifying conversation, without predictable detours into the gutter or regurgitation of social memes. Even brilliant creative types cannot avoid bragging about our hometown sports team or complaining how people park.
It’s not realistic to expect purely esoteric dialogue. Sometimes, especially in a group of ROMEOs, it’s important to know where to get a quick PSA test, how to replace a U-joint, or who makes the best chicken-fried steak.
I wonder whether our ad hoc groups gathering ordering daily specials are natural descendants of cowboys drinking tin mugs of Arbuckles around campfires, knights gnawing legs of fowl around round tables, and tribes of tigerskin-clad cavemen pounding on hollow logs. We seek our own kind, to give and receive information vital to our well-being, if not to our very survival.
The format has persisted into the modern era, from families huddled around console radios, then the flickering television screens, and now cell phones and social media. But those forums lack the intimacy of a group of rumpled and unshaven gents–or the female equivalent–trying over and over to uncover new truths on topics discussed since mankind shared pterodactyl omelettes, brontosaurus bacon, and swamp grog.
We’ll never achieve it, but we’ll never stop trying.
XXX
Phil Houseal is a random old writer and owner of Full House PR. Contact him at phil@fullhouseproductions.net, www.FullHousePR.com.