Take This Job and . . . Oh, Never Mind

“Whatever happened to the Great American Dream?” asks Jeannette Mazurki Lindner of Escondido. “Every mother’s son could be President or a doctor or a priest. Now it’s ‘When I win the lottery.’ ”

Actually, I don’t believe that the Great American Dream is dead. It has just been altered somewhat. Now every mother’s son or daughter can be President or a doctor.

But of course a daughter can’t be a Roman Catholic priest. As a non-believing layman, I am not privy to the mysteries of Catholic thought, but the stated reasons why women can’t be priests (Times, April 12) strike me as mischievous sophistry.

One of the reasons cited was that women do not look like Jesus. Given the diversity of looks in the priests I have seen--short, tall, fat, lean, bald, hirsute, jolly, melancholy, solemn and choleric--I can’t believe that looking like Jesus (whatever he looked like) is truly a prerequisite for being one.

Another reason given was that there were no women at the Last Supper. How do we know? Granted, Scripture does not mention any women being present, and Leonardo da Vinci did not place any at the table; but who did the cooking? And who served the dinner? I suspect that there were women about somewhere.

It is no concern of mine whether women can become priests, but I maintain that if they cannot, then Lindner is right, and the American Dream is for some of us unattainable.

There is no reason, though, why a woman can’t be President. We have already flirted with the idea in nominating a woman for the vice presidency four years ago. It is true that her campaign ended rather ingloriously, but the very idea of her nomination broke ground, and suggested that sooner or later a woman will make it; and then every mother’s daughter can aspire to the White House--not as First Lady, but as President herself.

Jesse Jackson’s strong bid for the Democratic nomination, whether he makes it or not, is clear notice that color is no longer a bar to the highest office in the land. Even if Jackson fails, every mother’s son (or daughter) can dream.

Discarded dreams are a part of all our baggage. When I attended John Muir Junior High School in Whittier, I dreamed of participating in the 1932 Olympic Games at the Coliseum. I was the third fastest runner in school (after Dorothy Welch and Lucille Logue), and I believed I would peak in time for the Games.

(I was not worried about not being as fast as Dorothy and Lucille because I knew they would not let women compete in men’s events.)

Alas, I did not develop as I had hoped, and I was merely a spectator at the Games, along, I suppose, with thousands of other disappointed boys and girls.

I never had any realistic idea of becoming President, but if I had had such a dream, it would have been erased when they bulldozed my birthplace to make way for the Queen Mary. What chance does a person have to become President without a birthplace?

Actually, I have realized my dream. I always wanted to be a newspaperman. My fate was sealed when I saw the first version of “The Front Page,” in which Pat O’Brien played a brash, flashy, cocky, dedicated newspaper reporter. That is exactly the kind of person I wanted to be and the kind of person I became.

As for the lottery, I doubt that any little boy or girl has any realistic notion of winning any substantial amount. I notice that those people who do win are unable to grasp the reality of their windfall.

Someone who has worked hard all his life and been unable to put anything aside cannot comprehend the meaning of $10 million. Most of the winners say they are going back to their jobs. They cannot imagine themselves as millionaires.

At first I scoffed at these intentions. Who wants to go back to work as a clerk or a truck driver when he’s a millionaire? But I think I understand them now. They cannot yet believe in $10 million. They are afraid to shuck the only security they have ever known.

I think that if I were to win $10 million tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss a day’s work.