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| The Criminal Clock | Jul '06 |
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| By Cliff Robertson |
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It's occurred to my lazy mind that time is the oppressor. It's relentless. It never gives us slack. Never lets up. It's a nudge. Continuous and pushy. Forcing us to be mindful of its confederate—the clock.
Even then—even when there is no continuous stupid tick-tock-tick tock—it's relentless. Wherever we turn—at home, at work, everywhere—it demands its presence be known. When we think we have escaped, up pops a rude reminder. A Westminster chime every 15 minutes in the village square. A 12:00 noon siren. A tactless buzz on your wristwatch. A rude awakening that yanks us from our restful sleep.
I duped myself into believing that once in the air in my Baron, I had slipped the surly bonds of time and earth—only to be reminded by the gas gauges that I only had limited freedom. And in my glider—with no gas worries—reality surrounded me: No clouds.no lift..no wave.no altitude.no more freedom.no more time.Damn!
At the airport, the haven for restless souls, the crooked clock announces, "Time's up. Time to close up." I drive homeward, turn on the radio for solace. There, time is omnipresent to the latest oceanographic Greenwich minute! Time to buy one of those satellite music services! Time to drive by a store.
Ring, ring, ring. My Nextel cell phone reminding me of three appointments! Also reminding me to write pal CEO Craig McCaw congratulating him on the latest success of Nextel. I make my cellular calls. Am reminded of Aldous Huxley's 40's book, "Time Must Have a Stop." That mysterious title that reverberated from his marijuana experiments—you think? Also am reminded to call daughters Stephanie and Heather and 8-year-old granddaughter Cinnie. A reminder that it's been too long since I've seen them all. What's happened to the time? When did it slip away? Now I want it back. I need it. No time to do so many, many things that must be done! So many things, so little time. So little time.
Maybe physicist Edward Whitten—this generation's Albert Einstein, with his atomic "String" or "M" Theory—will show us ways to harness and manipulate time so that we are in control. Ah, wouldn't that be the ticket! But while we "wait on Whitten," I continue to race. Are you listening, Edward? May I suggest you contact the Cerne Atomic Laboratory in Switzerland and see how they are doing? Word has it that there's a possibility of 11 dimensions. As if three were not enough.
I drive into my garage, race to the answering machine: "Cliff, call me in Hollywood. Important." My loyal agent. "Cliff, call me." My pals Danny and Mike. "Cliff, don't forget lunch tomorrow." A lady friend. And more. More reminders. More warnings. More warnings that time is elusive. Slippery. Even precious. That it goes by too fast. And its confederate, the clock? Crooked? No. Not really. It's there. A rueful reminder that time flies. Is not to be wasted! To be treasured. But damn—if it just wasn't so insistent.
Respectfully, your befuddled correspondent,
Cliff Robertson
P.S. Now if I can just learn to set my alarm clock.
Academy Award and Emmy Award winning screen star Cliff Robertson has owned and flown a wide array of aircraft, including a Spitfire MK IX, a Messerschmitt ME-108, a French aerobatic Stampe SV4 biplane, a Grob Astir glider (in which he still holds a distance record) and a Beech Baron 58. A holder of single, multi, instrument and commercial licenses, as well as balloon, the pilot of many thousands of hours has accumulated many aviation awards, including EAA's highest Eagle award and the AOPA Sharples award. He was recently inducted into the National Aviation Hall of Fame, and the American Veteran Association has honored Cliff as Veteran of the Year. His columns will appear in his soon-to-be-published book.
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