Renaissance Man: A Memoir

Sitting at the virtual bridge table, Les dropped in with his partner to play a duplicate bridge tournament. I typed “Hi, long time no see” and he followed with a typed greeting. His partner typed “Who is this Lee fellow?”. Les typed back, “We played together in the pre-covid past- he’s a Medieval man”. He was aware of my many interests and he used the term Renaissance man before, so I assumed he  just “misspoke”.  Medieval man has a connotation of more primitive man or maybe knights in battle, rather the opposite of Renaissance Man.. 

The label might fit. I was the prototype for the cartoon character- Calvin. I won a World Series game for the Red Sox in the backyard with a massive blast of the wiffle ball over the neighbor’s house. The crowd went wild! And my business acumen was legendary. Playing “build a city” with my cousins, the living room rug was divided up into lots that could be purchased and leased. Homes and businesses emerged. I was able to corner most of the property through various deals and loans, raise rents and drive them all into poverty. I was an excellent capitalist by age 9. 

My mother opened the world of the arts. My piano skills were modest.  My mother took me to hear the world’s best pianist, Van Cliburn. Somehow she got past all the guards so I could shake his hand backstage. His talent did not rub off on me. I visited several art museums under her tutelage. Later, I had only modest luck with sketching and painting. I got second prize for a project about hurricanes in the school science fair. But it wasn’t much to speak of. I sang well in the school chorus, but I memorized it since I couldn’t read music. In high school I learned chess and played clandestinely with the kid in front of me during class. Our tournaments were outstanding but I was far from a master.

Liberal arts college was a good stopover for this Renaissance man. I changed majors three times before settling in on psychology. I minored in English and took any class that seemed different- from economics to anthropology to art history- along with an array of psychology classes that ranged from the bizarre world of the inner mind according to Freud, to the orderly and predictable world of BF Skinner’s behaviorism with stopovers to visit Guthrie’s contiguity theory, paradoxical therapists, gestaltists and  transactional analysts. I worked as a volunteer research assistant for three teachers- studying object permanence in infant development, college student emotions when faced with failure and rat brain activity as they run mazes. It was marvelous- no answers but endless speculation and unlimited possibilities.

From there it was off to graduate school to search for something. Unfortunately I found professors pursuing narrow research paths to make a name for themselves in the field. Instead of a group of intellectuals seeking truth I found desperate men and women seeking tenure and promotions as they collected graduate students and grants. 

It appears that I retired from the Renaissance man identity for much of my adult life. I was busy making a living and paying the bills. I lived mostly in a couple of places and had a couple of jobs in that long stretch. Perhaps that’s why I embraced scouts and a stint as city councilman in my early adult years and scuba diving and bird banding in my post child-rearing years. There were a few glider plane flights, a biplane flight with stall dives, some major roller coaster rides and a hike on the wild NaPali trail of Kuai- sprinkled in, to keep the blood flowing. But the Renaissance man has finally emerged more fully in retirement. 

Retired now, I have been told that I have a great backhand slam shot in ping pong. But I struggle with the forehand. I enjoy chess but I tend to sometimes miss the opponent’s attack plans. I love the battles of duplicate bridge. But I still have a hard time figuring out who might have the king of spades. I love art and I have an excellent sketching ability. But I still can’t paint a decent cloud. And I enjoy the challenge of writing. But I get bored with my own writing after two pages. Is it possible to be a Renaissance man if you’re not really great at anything?

Well, since I’m rapidly approaching two pages, I better wrap up this existential essay. I have decided that identity or labels are unnecessary. In an ever changing world, the safety and security of having an identity or label defines you and directs you to select your friends and set a path. But labels can be a subtle prison that limits you and holds you within certain boundaries. The cost for the security of a label is your freedom. And I am “free”- perhaps a  better term than “Renaissance man”.

But wait. Maybe “free” is a label. In fact, if I am controlled by this label as well, I must remain adrift and restless. I must shun repetition and routine even when that can be comfortable. Anyway, freedom may be an illusion. Freud and Skinner were likely right. Our choices are probably written and controlled by our past and by random events of the world. As I write this, I rise from my lawn chair in my front yard to face once again the invading gypsy moth caterpillars that are relentlessly attacking my house and driveway. I will crush the invaders with air attacks- Zevo spray and ground attacks- boot-to-beast combat squashing the enemy in the driveway.

Maybe Les was right. I may be a Medieval Man.