Where’s the Beef?

Where’s the Beef?

There are still some of us around who recall the old commercial where the elderly lady opens up a hamburger bun at a fast food restaurant and seeing that and little else, yells out, “Where's the beef?”

In other words, where is the meat?

The slogan was used in casual conversations for some time and even in political talk of the time.

Today, I think it is appropriate to point out the same thing. After all, it really has you wondering when you hear others around you talking about chasing money and cars and houses or more vulgar pursuits, as if those pursuits were Olympic sports and they were out for a gold, silver or bronze medal in their respective events.

Only, there is nothing respectful about them.

Most are tacky, cheap and trivial.

So, where's the beef?

I think I have a clue where it might be. It came to me the other day upon having a conversation with someone who I did not know, but who was about my age group. Suddenly, out of the blue, he began to speak at length of his younger years and the activities he was engaged in back then: His hobbies, his family, his friends and the things they did together.

Then, as if he were suddenly jarred into the present, he shook his head and declared, “Listen to me going on and on about this? I haven't thought about it for some time.”

And he was smiling as he said it.

I know what he was going on about.

It happens every time I hear from those who have spent a substantial time on this planet, and who know a thing or two about happiness and family and a life well down the road in years.

They tend to appreciate more the things of their youth.

You hear it frequently about former times: The closeness of the family units, eating together at the kitchen table, the work ethic of the fathers, the utility of the mothers, and the unconditional love shown despite the lack of resources and money at the time.

I know.

I got on Facebook a while back — oh, must have been three years ago — and renewed acquaintances with my old classmates and friends. The thing that struck me most was that those people had not changed much. The ones that were nice were still nice and the ones that were toots were even tootier-if that were possible.

However, because my family was on the underside of the middle class, the things most of my friends put on their Facebook walls were largely unknown to me at the time. For instance, I never went to movies, or restaurants, or listened to garage bands in Overton Square. No dances, no parties… none of that. It wasn't just that we were without – it was that my parents didn't think it proper, for they were from the country and in the country that just wasn't done.

It's like good Baptists – they don't talk of sex 'cause it might lead to dancing!

But, my youth was not deprived, by any means.

My folks shelled out for my activities, indulging me with music lessons and gave me money to buy books, which I read voraciously. And my pop took me hunting and fishing whenever he could.

And my dad and his brother, my uncle-they were like legends to my cousins and I. The stories they told, the humor they had, the way they teased us kids and yet… yet how they cared for us in way that is deeper and more reflective than I see in the eyes of parents today… it was more intense and with a staying power that I do not have the strength to fully imagine with just words.

There are no words for it.

But, it was felt by all of us children in those family circles.

Their care over us had a power about it, a life all its own. It transformed us-all of us. For instance, I believe that our folks' love of stories and conversation and tradition influenced us all, because my cousin is now a non-fiction writer in Memphis and has had books published, a movie produced and been interviewed for years about his memories of his childhood in Memphis in music circles and the former wrestling events so popular back then when we were growing up.

Meanwhile, I type out my imaginations on computer screens and turn them into fictional accounts, as well as interviews and articles.

Who would have imagined that either of us would be authors?

Certainly not either of us.

Our dads were as rough as corn cobs, strong toughs who worked hard and often. Our mothers were no-nonsense housekeepers, who cleaned, sewed and pushed their kids to school, whether they wanted to go or not.

And you know, that guy I was talking to who I just met?

Well, in the midst of his conversation, he suddenly blurted out a remembrance about his old man and how he had surprised him with a big-ticket item unexpectedly, sorta like my own experience, when I got home one day and found a blue Camaro parked in front of our garage and my dad handing me the keys.

“It's yours, son,” he said.

And I stood there like a Sphinx, not knowing what to say.

Because, you see, it never was about what we did or didn't have. It was about what was inside of people that mattered. Because what was inside was unconditional love. Just like that old commercial, when the lady knew that the hamburger bun on the outside was not what mattered, but what was on the inside, did.

Because, that's where the beef was.

By Robert L. Hall