…But not so little boys.

I was talking with Paul when Peter and Mary walked in. We broke off our conversation so I could be introduced, then returned to talking about Bob Dylan and Jesus.

That was the only time I met Peter Yarrow who died January 7at age 86. It was just a hello, nothing memorable.

When Mary died in 2009, I remembered her as I remembered Peter, a friendly face and voice that I didn’t get to know. I was mildly sad, but it didn’t really affect me.

Peter’s death struck me harder. The tears came. Maybe it is because I am older and far more aware of my own mortality. Maybe it is that so many people I know or have met have died in recent years.

Aging doesn’t bother me. Getting old is part of life, and I tend not to worry about those things over which I have no control.

But somehow I don’t expect the icons of my childhood to age. Peter, Paul and Mary are firmly rooted, agelessly, in 1963 when I first remember hearing “Puff the Magic Dragon.” They can’t grow old. Certainly they can’t die.

But they do. And in increasing numbers as the Baby Boom generation ages. Each one reminds us that time is passing and our own end is, if not imminent, a lot closer than it was yesterday.

Previous generations accepted this as part of the natural cycle of life. They had a religious foundation to their worldview that perhaps allowed them to be more resigned and accepting to the idea of death.

I’m not sure my generation, the Boomers, has that. Certainly those who have followed us, Gen X, Gen Z, and the Millennials don’t, for the most part.

Modern communication methods give us instant notices when some dies and the tributes keep pouring in. That I am sure allows the death to have a greater impact than if we had read of it in the newspaper a few days later, as did previous generations. There is an immediacy to bad news that we used to be cushioned from.

I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of days and I’m not sure if I have come to any conclusion. Maybe if I was a sociologist I might have some deeper insights on the loss of a cultural icon. As it is, I’m a bit at a loss for words.

I’ve listened to a lot of live performances from Peter Paul and Mary online this week, bringing back memories from that afternoon 40 years ago when I met Peter Yarrow.

The little boy may be gone, but the dragon lives forever.

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff
And brought him strings, and sealing wax, and other fancy stuff
Oh, Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff’s gigantic tail
Noble kings and princes would bow whenever they came
Pirate ships would lower their flags when Puff roared out his name
Oh, Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant’s rings make way for other toys
One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave
So Puff, that mighty dragon, sadly slipped into his cave
Oh, Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee

I just realized that for some reason this post didn’t publish as scheduled, It was supposed to be online more than a week ago, I blame technology.