“If they would rather die, they’d better do it, and decrease the surplus population.” Scrooge from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

Wandering around Ireland while visiting my daughter, I stumble across people who seem to be folks you’d like to get to know and maybe even join for a pint of Guinness or a cup of coffee. Characters. And don’t get me wrong, characters exist back home, but when you travel your antennas are out a little further and everything is fresh and new and dewy.

This applies even to mundane sights. Yesterday I cleverly observed to my wife: “Wow, look how big and yellow the dandelions are in Ireland.” And, although my wife was not impressed — “You sound like a doddering old man who comments on how tall the corn is” — I was at least doddering along with my eyes partially open. Before I tripped on the cobblestones.

But you have to be quick. Characters you meet while traveling, or even in life, usually appear in brief glimpses. They may even be on the edge of your vision or out of focus, and then they are gone forever. Like the proverbial leprechaun.

HOWTH, IRELAND

For example, yesterday I am on the train from Howth to Dublin. The train is jammed because it is a bank holiday. A man with leather pants sits down in the seat across the aisle. As I glance out of the sides of my eyes, I see he is also wearing a leather top, has long black sideburns, and long black, styled hair with a bit of a pompadour. OMG, he’s Elvis. By the time I get my camera out of my bag he’s gone. There you go … I saw Elvis. That’s what happens when your eyes are open. Elvis lives. 

And there is more.

DUBLIN, IRELAND

Here’s a chef in Dublin coming outside for a moment to get some air. Who is he gesturing at? Is he angry? Upset? Has the soufflé dropped? Isn’t all that white impossible to keep clean? How DOES that skyscraper of a hat stay on?

GALWAY, IRELAND

And here’s a woman in Galway just walking along the bay with her dog. Where does she find the time to dress both herself and her dog? Did she pick those yellow pants to match the yellow houses of Galway? And is pink her natural hair color?

DUBLIN, IRELAND

And here are some “Vikings” on a tour in Dublin. Do they normally wear horns at home? That young man shaking his fist in joyful exuberance, has he had just a wee too many pints? And how does one return to life at Wells Fargo or Nationwide or Cityview after wearing a hat with horns?

All these characters remind me of an English economic philosophy in the 1800’s that advocated allowing the poor to either figure out how to survive on their own or to die and thereby “decrease the surplus population.” 

This philosophy was given religious overtones and was adopted by the British in response to the Irish Potato Famine of the 1840’s:

“The greatest evil we have to face is not the physical evil of the famine, but the moral evil of the selfish, perverse and turbulent character of the [Irish] people.” Charles Trevelyan, British government official in charge of the “relief effort” during the Irish potato famine.

Yikes! Clearly the problem is to figure out who is a member of the surplus population and who isn’t. It can’t be Elvis, or the white-hat chef, or the colorful woman and her dog, or the Vikings with their hats — none of them seemed especially turbulent of character. And it can’t be the Irish because my wife is an Irish citizen. Duh. 

But here’s a clue:

“As in most famines, the elderly . . .  were most likely to succumb [in the Potato Famine].” Ireland’s Great Famine, Cormac Ó Gráda, University College Dublin (irelands-great-famine).

Can it be that old people are the surplus population? Certainly the present pandemic indicates they are falling behind in the survival-of-the-fittest philosophy of the British Empire of the 1840’s.

“Today, nearly 9 in 10 covid deaths are in people 65 or older — the highest rate ever, according to a Washington Post analysis of CDC data.” The Washington Post, Nov. 28, 2022 (covid-who-is-dying).

DES MOINES, IOWA

The white-haired, 88-year-old woman, wearing a jogging suit and tennis shoes, sips her coffee in our kitchen while sitting on an iron-framed bench that is less than comfortable. 

It is before 7 a.m. and she is done with her morning run.

“Grandma, how did you get those scratches on your ankles?” I ask. 

Grandma, no relation of ours, says, “Hah, yesterday back in Oregon I was pruning  blackberries in a housedress and scratched up my legs.” She laughs at herself and promptly pulls up her jogging pants and shows us the lines of scratches criss-crossing her legs.

See, a crazy older person. We can certainly do without her. 

Well, of course, it turns out this old woman is Grandma Holt, born in Des Moines, Iowa, in 1904, and a graduate of Des Moines East High School and of the University of Iowa. She founded with her husband Holt ICS. They helped place thousands of kids in adopted homes, and today, Holt ICS primarily provides kids who are living in poverty the ability to stay in their homes. And Grandma Holt stayed for a brief overnight at our home in 1993. And I fell for her. 

And even though Grandma Holt is long dead, the facts of her life, like all the old people I know, make it hard to place her as morally evil. 

So, dear reader, we are left with this conundrum: who is the surplus population? Who should we marginalize? Who should we legislate against to make their lives harder? As my dear friend used to say to his college students on nearly every issue for which he already had the answer, “pay your money and take your choice.” 

In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for characters. They will make your day. I promise you.   

Joe