The Oppenheimer Report - 4/18/10

On the news the other night, there was mention of the passing of Meinhardt Raabe, the “little person” who had played the Munchkin coroner in the Wizard of Oz. He was the guy in the movie who officially proclaimed that the wicked witch of the west was dead. “She’s not only nearly dead, she’s really most sincerely dead.” Clearly that was his moment to shine, but he’d had several other notable accomplishments in his lifetime as well. Among other things, he wrote a book entitled “Memories of a Munchkin,” presumably about his experiences on the set of that famous movie; but the thing that struck me as amusing is that they listed him as a former mascot of the Oscar Mayer Company. I am nothing if not inquisitive, and I wondered, did he wear a costume, or do they simply consider all “little people” to be mascots? I thought mascots were animals, like the chicken for the Toledo Mudhens, or Carlton the Toronto Maple Leafs bear. I couldn’t imagine what a mascot for luncheon meat would look like. Being the judgmental schmuck that I am, I immediately thought, well here’s another classic example of an exploited midget. Did he dress up like one of those miniature cocktail sausages? Oh the indignity! Bursting with curiosity, I googled him and found out that, for THIRTY YEARS, Meinhardt Raabe had toured America in the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile as “Little Oscar, the World’s Smallest Chef”. Hey, it was a paying gig. Like I always say, life is a hose job, but at least it’s a job. I also learned that Raabe had been married to the love of his life for 53 years, had earned a masters degree in business administration, and had been a licensed pilot who flew for the Civil Air Patrol during WWII. Now I want to read his book. Raabe was 94. Whenever I think of the Wizard of Oz, I remember a comment some gay guy made years ago in my real estate class about a difficult woman participating in one of our round table exercises. When she left the table to go to the washroom, he whispered to the rest of us, in a very effeminate, over-the-top, gossipy voice: “She’s never been the same since that house fell on her sister!” I loved that comment.




As I was driving back up north from Toronto, I listened to a talk radio show wherein they discussed my favorite pet peeve: the technologically inspired social disconnect that has been insidiously creeping into our culture. Asocial behavior, especially apparent among the teens and twenty-somethings, is a cancer that is increasingly eroding the very fabric of our society. On the show an author was touting his book on the subject, and he discussed our obsession with celebrity and notoriety (a la reality television), as well as the shallow relationships developed on the newest social networks (e.g. Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace). He spoke of the anemic relationships we string together through these social networks, and the point he seemed to be making was that we are becoming a society of isolated beings with feeble social and communication skills. To prove his point, he put out an invitation to sixty of his Facebook “ friends” to attend a Facebook party at a local bar. Forty responded, indicating that they would probably attend, but when the day arrived, only one person actually showed up. He did have the humility to concede that perhaps he was just a nerd who had over-estimated his influence on a bunch of relative strangers, but he still may have a point … there is no commitment inherent in a Facebook relationship. We twit, and face, and myspace, and blog to broadcast our lives to the invisible public, and we measure our popularity in terms of “hits” and stat counters. Hey, I’m guilty as charged … how presumptuous of me to assume anybody reads my blog. That’s why I sometimes joke about my “twelve loyal readers”. But are we looking for numbers or friends? Pay attention to me, I’m worthy of your albeit pathetically short attention span. Clearly, attention spans ARE shorter, and we favor anonymous cyber communications over face to face discourse. I had my first online chat the other day with an old friend … I might be the last person in North America under the age of 60 who had not yet experienced a live chat. While it was cool to make contact, and to embrace this new (to me) form of correspondence -- it was a little like writing a letter and getting an instant response -- I still would have preferred to speak to the friend face to face. Another friend sent me a text message on my cell phone the other day, and by the time I fumbled through my five word response (I do not have a text friendly phone, or small fingers) I could have spoken the entire Gettysburg Address. While I still worked in industrial real estate there was great emphasis on using the computer to maintain a client database. Some agents hardly ever spoke to their clients, they e-mailed and faxed. I wasn’t the world’s most successful agent, but I did believe in cold calling and knocking on doors, and most of my business was generated through personal contact. I fear that, as I get on in my years, I will succumb to all these abbreviated means of communication without ever making human contact. Shop in cyberspace, text your divorce, fire someone by video conference, evict by email. Look for “Memories of a Munchkin,” coming soon to an Ipad near you.



Now, if we would only fight our wars with cyborgs instead of human beings!



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED