Hedy Lamarr, Albert Einstein, George W. Bush but How About Me?

Fred Bruning’s

Invisible Ink

Hedy Lamarr, Albert Einstein, George W. Bush but How About Me?

By Fred Bruning

Jan. 21, 2024

     Medical stories alarm me so I will not dwell at length about a recent visit to the hospital – the first as a patient since Dr. Wendelken popped a boil on my leg in 1956 – but think it worth mentioning that my attending physician turned out to be a hockey player.

     “Here he is,” said a colleague of Dr. T., showing me a smart phone snapshot. “Your guy – in uniform.”

     And sure enough, there was Dr. T. suited up, on the rink and ready for a face-off. Only a half-hour before – as I napped – Dr. T. was exploring the nether regions of my anatomy to extract a polyp that, left alone, would be up to no good.

     Fellow cowards, the health care portion of the presentation ends here. Recitation of symptoms (none, by the way), means of discovery or admonitions as to what you should do to assure good health and longevity – you’ll get none of that from me. Please, though, do take care of yourselves.

     Back to the recovery room:

     Comfy in a bed with metal rails and looking at the photo of Dr. T. in full hockey regalia, I thought, isn’t that something? When the man is not excising renegade cells he’s crashing the boards and firing off slapshots at a local arena.

     “Wow,” I said. “Impressive.”

      And especially impressive if you lack a second-tier specialty – like, you know, the Pilates instructor who jams with a garage band, the newspaper editor who carves exquisite duck decoys, the submarine captain who renders superb line drawings, the stoic science writer who turns out to be a jitterbug champ.

      I learned from the BBC that Hedy Lamarr, the glamorous movie star of the 30s, 40s and 50s, was an inventor who designed airplanes for the billionaire Howard Hughes. And – how remarkable – that Lamarr, with pianist George Antheil, developed a World War 2 radio system that helped Allies thwart enemy signal-jamming. A movie star and pianist doubling as Nazi-busting transmission techs? Yowza, to say the least.

     There are others. 

     Former President George W. Bush earns applause as a painter famous for a self-portrait of his feet.  Woody Allen, the comedian and movie director, plays a swell jazz clarinet. It wasn’t enough for Albert Einstein merely to develop the Special Theory of Relativity, E=mc², no sir.

When not pondering the universe, the famous physicist unpacked his violin and executed praiseworthy renditions of Mozart sonatas.

     Really, how is this supposed to make the rest of us feel?

     False humility is tedious and a shifty way of drawing attention but less accomplished people can be forgiven occasional moments of dismay.

     Here, I include myself.

     Oh, yes, things look ok – a half-century in newspapers and bit of writing after retirement – but I’m not sure.  With a nod to the Army recruitment slogan, am I being all I can be?

     Mom and Dad – dear Winnie and Fred -- saw this coming.

     There wasn’t much in the family budget but they found a few extra bucks for piano lessons with Miss Lillian and her brother, Mr. Herbert, a couple blocks away in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

    How wonderful if their only child could turn out not only to be, oh, president of the United States, but also excel at the keyboard – if their precious little fellow was even more outstanding than people might expect?

     Poor Miss Lillian and Mr. Herbert.

     Years of instruction, untold reprises of “Turkey in the Straw,” and “Oh! Susanna,” gained little.

      Their distracted pupil, wishing glumly that he were home for the Dodgers game on radio or enjoying a pretzel stick and bottle of Mission cream soda at Becker’s candy store, routinely proved himself disastrous in the matter of sharps and flats. Decades later, he – I -- cannot play a note, endless apologies to Winnie and Fred.

      No big deal, you say. Surely there’s something else to indicate breadth and depth, a surprising knack like tightrope walking or taxidermy that prompts others to say “gee, I would never have guessed.”

      Zippo, I’m afraid. No sidelines, alternative skills or surprising avocations.

      Regrets? Buck up, as my wife, Wink, advises. Why worry?

      Too late for piano lessons, clarinet or counter-espionage. Forget duck decoys, aeronautics and jitterbug contests.

      Whatever we are is all we can be.