Powerful Old Man

I've always been a sucker for the Arthurian legends. I likely first encountered them in the Prince Valiant comic strip in the 50s, though it had nothing much to do with Camelot, only claiming to be “In the days of King Arthur.” I think I saw the Disney animated film, The Sword in the Stone, but I can't swear to that. I certainly saw and liked Excalibur, John Boorman’s 1981 film with Nicol Williamson and Helen Mirrin.

In college I read Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of England (Historia Regum Britanniae) as well as some of Malory’s famous account, Le Morte d’Arthur and Tennyson’s Idylls of the King. Later came Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and The Once and Future King, T. H. White’s easily digested pop rendition.

So it was with some sense of loss that last night I watched the last of the BBC’s five-year tale Merlin. It featured the sweetly pretty Bradley James as a young Arthur and the geeky but charming Colin Morgan as an even younger Merlin. Some of the 65 episodes were terrible, but mostly it was great fun. NOT high art for sure, but diverting and even a tad sexy what with an often-shirtless Arthur and a slightly homoerotic bond between the two leads.

As I said, this was the young Merlin. The image we mostly had in our minds before the BBC’s take was of an old man with long white hair and a long white beard -- the same image that Peter Jackson created for Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings movies (and movies and movies).

Powerful old man.

I have neither long hair nor a long beard but I am old and the other day I was called, for the first time to my knowledge, an old man.

I am a fierce defender of pedestrian rights and I regularly stare down drivers who threaten to drive through a crosswalk. I make them wait.

Now, I'm no fool, so I take into account the speed and proximity of the vehicle and I never start to cross unless I’ve locked eyes with the driver. Most stop, shamed into obeying the law. Some speed through, and I let them.

Last week, crossing Broadway on the edge of the Yale campus I stood on the curb as a late model coupe sped by way too fast for me to engage. Behind it though was an older sedan with two young men in it – twenty somethings I’d say. I stared them down, and they stopped.

As I traversed the crosswalk one of them called out, “Powerful old man!” He may have said more; maybe, “You're not so powerful, old man” or perhaps “Stupid, powerful old man. I don't know; I only heard the three words.

I liked the powerful part. The old man, not so much. But I'll take them both.