Trego's Mountain Ear

"Serving North Lincoln County"

Author: michaelmccurry

  • Village Idiot or Village Midwit

    Time was when our phraseology suggests a belief in one idiot per village. Then came the internet and Facebook. The postings bring suggestions that we have more than one idiot per village. Fortunately, the internet is available, so we can hopefully download a measurable definition, and then use the old bell curve to find out if idiots are actually so common.

    So a search for ‘clinical definition idiot’ led me to this website: https://www.languagehumanities.org/what-is-the-difference-between-a-moron-imbecile-and-idiot.htm This is the fourth sentence (emphasis added):   “Those with an IQ of 0 to 25 (an IQ of 100 is average) were called idiots, 26 to 50 were called imbeciles and 51 to 70 were called morons. “

    That makes idiots pretty darned rare – the likelihood of encountering an idiot is the same as that of encountering someone with an IQ of 175 or more. Using a 15 point standard deviation, the chance of encountering an idiot is 0.0000287105%. ( https://iqcomparisonsite.com/iqtable.aspx )

    So, taking the definition and the probability, it doesn’t look like idiots are something we encounter daily, or even monthly. We don’t have a great increase in village idiots. I think the problem has to be village midwits – so here’s what I get for a definition of midwit: “Noun. midwit (plural midwits) (neologism, chiefly Internet slang, mildly derogatory) A person of middling intellect; someone who is neither particularly dumb nor notably intelligent, especially if they act as if they are smarter than they are.” Again the emphasis is added. I think the problem is that we have a lot more people who “act as if they are smarter than they are.“

    So I assume midwittery begins with an IQ of 108 (half a standard deviation above the norm) the chart tells me that 30% of the population will score above 108. If I arbitrarily put the cap on at 115, I have a group that includes 14% of humanity – and that’s basically one out of every 7 people I encounter.

    I don’t believe we have more village idiots than ever before – but we do have more opportunities for education. According to the Census:

    “In 2022, the highest level of education of the population age 25 and older in the United States ranged from less than high school to advanced degrees beyond a bachelor’s degree.

    9% had less than a high school diploma or equivalent.

    28% had high school as their highest level of school completed. 

    15% had completed some college but not a degree.

    10% had an associate degree as their highest level of school completed.

    23% had a bachelor’s degree as their highest degree.

    14% had completed advanced education such as a master’s degree, professional degree or doctorate. 

    When we add those numbers – 15, 10, 23 and 14 – we come up with a total between 62 and 63% of Americans (over 25) who have attended college. That’s five out of every eight people.

    When 5/8ths of the adult population has attended college – and 47% hold one level of college degree or another – perhaps there is nothing particularly elite about attending college. Sometimes we’re just one more village midwit. I’m not certain that village idiots aren’t less harmful than village midwits.

  • Veteran Confusion

    So I get an email that tells me that Veteran’s Day sales have been extended. I’m not a veteran – I had to damn near beg the physician to get a 1Y deferment instead of a 4F. Really don’t know why it was important to me, but I suspect it was my mother’s tone of voice when she talked about 4F’s. Anyway, South Dakota has some very active Veterans coordinators in each county, and, so near as I can tell, the one in my county learned the clearance I had – since I had access to air photos that showed locations of missile silos as well as agriculture, and wanted to recruit me as a veteran. I’m not real sure of his motivation, and he was disappointed to learn I wasn’t eligible for his services. Somehow, I didn’t disappear off his list, and the American Legion offered membership. Again, I gave a polite thanks and explained that I didn’t qualify. And that ended the folks who were mistaking me for a veteran.

    Until I wore an old T-shirt Dad had given me from the Kenneth Whiting’s 50th anniversary. The shirt was probably 20 years old, and I wore it into Great Clips. The hair stylist looked at me, looked at the shirt, and long story made short, I walked out with a high and tight haircut and a veteran’s discount. The next stop was Cabela’s – where the T-shirt and the haircut got an unsolicited 5% discount on a couple boxes of ammunition. Didn’t notice until I got home and looked at the receipt. Then Lowes, and a 10% discount. I now only wear the shirt around Trego. It’s too easy to be the accidental stolen valor kid. The closest I came to actual service was accompanying a National Guard officer to South America when I was an adjunct professor for the Navy grad school – I’m pretty sure academic rank doesn’t count – though Dad was pleased that I somehow got into his Navy.

  • The Lady in the Latrine

    In telling this story, I have to go back about 40 years, to my first time teaching college. Somehow, Colorado had gotten off on the idea of workfare – that people physically capable of work should have a job to qualify for welfare benefits.

    The science building had a janitor – nice guy, worked a 4 to midnight shift, which meant that he had the time to clean the classrooms, labs and offices when they were empty. The building, built back in the sixties, had the janitor’s workspace located in the men’s room. I was a bit surprised at about 3:00 pm one afternoon, I headed for the head, and was greeted by a woman about my age and her 10-year-old daughter as I walked into the room. She explained she was there to help our janitor, I agreed that was nice – and then I walked down the hill to the restroom in the admin building. There was no point in warning my colleagues by sharing the story – they would have laughed at me.

    Turned out, I should have said something. I was one of the younger faculty – I didn’t think much of an 80 yard walk, outside, to find a facility that didn’t have a pre-teen girl and her mother as observers. And, having moved to southern Colorado from northern Montana, there weren’t many afternoons when the trip required a coat. But a lot of my colleagues were in their sixties. Now I recognize the difference. Then I didn’t. When the college president realized the hardship on our old biology instructor – past 70 and with prostate problems calling for a lot of trips – well, our little school went out of being a site for the workfare program.

    It probably seemed like a good idea – but reality has a way of showing the problems that come with good ideas. Single parents and the janitorial space located in the men’s room created a situation where working for the welfare benefits cost the school more in (male) faculty time than the help cleaning the building was worth. And unpaid labor didn’t leave her many options for childcare.

  • Joy in Recovery

    Today, I’m into the recovery stage after 13 days of a head and chest cold. I woke up breathing through my nose. It’s hard to find words to describe how good it feels to move into breathing that is only slightly impaired – and I realize how much I have learned to enjoy the body’s recovery from injuries and diseases. There are still the swollen sinuses, the lungs are still marginal, but the beginnings of recovery are there.

    It has been a good year for recovery – the knee replacement has returned walking to my pleasures. Along with that, the drugs for the surgery and the mild opioid pain pills gave the stomach time to recover – and for the first time in several years, the pain of GERD is gone.

    One of the good things about becoming elderly is how much enjoyment there is when strength and abilities return. The problem is that losing those strengths and abilities is also part of the aging process.

  • The Old Man and The Boy

    I’ve been reading the collection of essays that compose Robert Ruark’s book The Old Man and the Boy. The tales are from a century past – but Ruark makes a case that having the old man around is good for the boy. I recall my own grandfather, who died when I was five – but whose positive regard for me has been a big part of the good things that have happened, the successes and challenges of my entire life. Any failures, any rough spots, were eased by the memory of an old man who treated me as the most worthwhile person of his life. Yes, I was heartbroken when he died. At five, I didn’t get the experiences Ruark did – his grandfather lasted until he was 15 – but like Captain Ned Adkins and Robert Ruark, Gust Fahlgren has been a pleasant memory away for my last 70 years.

    Remi got me thinking of these things with his first complete sentence to me: “I need a goat.” He was right – and I have enjoyed watching the two little Nigerian Dwarf does I purchased for him. The goats, as former 4-H animals, just regard me as the supplier of hay. Remi, on the other hand (or hoof, as the observing species may have) is their kid, whose pockets need to be sniffed and examined until he learns to always have treats for them. The old man is a significant part of the boy growing up.

    But I am a demographer who will soon turn 76. Unlike Captain Ned, I have actuarial table that can provide some idea of how much time I have for Remi and Nathaniel – for the next 10 years and 4 months, we will be living the story of the old man and the boys. My grandfather died before my brother could develop memories of him – he wasn’t yet two – and couldn’t make the memories that have left me with a feeling of unconditional support all my life.

    Captain Ned left Ruark with memories of fishing, hunting, building and making repairs, developing competencies. I’m planning for the next 10 years. The pond offers a place where, with a slow hull, two little boys can learn to sail, as well as row. My little bailer, turning out 30 pound round bales, will provide a task where small boys can help with haying. I’m not certain that I will have the time to provide the training in pistol marksmanship – but I will have the time to teach the self discipline of a single shot 22 at official targets and measured ranges. Possibly the beginnings of gun repair on the simple break in the middle single barrel shotguns. I don’t believe I will have the years left to teach the more complex pump and lever actions.

    The sawmill will provide a source for the lumber little boys need for their projects. As we continue to thin the forest, they will have an opportunity to make their own firewood business – Remi already insists on hauling the wood blocks to the pickup, and loves watching the hydraulic splitter. The firewood from thinning will teach valuable life lessons – using something that would be useless without your work, deferred gratification, and conservation in the real world. I need to get the skid-steer back online – it offers a power that is much easier to learn than the tractor.

    I heard a country song on the radio, where the singer sang about what he would be doing for his next thirty years. I don’t have a next thirty years – but I can be with those two little boys for their next seventy years, like my grandfather was for me. Come to think of it, Captain Ned got Robert Ruark a goat.

  • Perspective – if Time is Money

    A million seconds is about 11 days.

    A billion seconds is about 31.5 years.

    A trillion seconds is about 31,790 years.

    May help make the federal budget and deficit easier to understand.