You have to do things in the real world, and a lot of us oldsters can do it, too.

Edward Newman was a university speech and linguistics professor before moving to California and a career in the public school system. He took early retirement in 1968 and he and his wife Nellie became community activists. Newman still volunteers for a variety of causes, but now, since Nellie died, he works alone. He lives in Woodland Hills.

My wife, Nellie, kept pestering me about retiring. She said, “I’m sick and tired of having to look at your back while you’re grading papers.” So I said, “All right, I’ll quit, I’ll quit!”

After that we got involved in a lot of things, especially humane work. My wife was a great hand for animals. She felt that there were too darn many dogs and cats and she decided that we ought to do something about it.

So we got up a petition and circulated it all over the county and finally we got enough signatures. We went down to City Hall and told them we ought to start low-cost spay clinics for the animals. And they passed it.

Shortly after that we thought we’d see if we couldn’t get a state law cutting down the number of animals, but I guess they felt that it wasn’t time for the state to get into the act. But a lot of people were interested. We went all over the state making speeches and giving all the information we could.

I had the voice, and Nellie had the brains. When we wanted to make up a speech, she’d give me ideas. I’d whip it into shape, and boy, we’d give it. It was a terrific partnership. With this humane work I was really electrified. We had so much fun you can’t imagine.

I’m a pretty good mimicker, so we used to call people on the phone who wrote articles for the papers that denounced what we were doing. I’d pose as a research veterinarian from somewhere in New York or Chicago and I’d tell them, “I think you’re all wet.” They’d ask questions, and I’d pretend I was so-and-so and they were quite impressed. My wife had the biggest laugh. She thought it was funnier than hell, and I thought it was funnier than hell, too.

It was just a wonderful marriage. I had more darn fun. She had a million-dollar smile and she seemed to know what she wanted.

I used to get love letters from her once in a while telling me how she couldn’t express her love for me in words. Now I look back and I think to myself, boy, I failed her. I should have told her, “I love you in the same way.” But it’s hard for me to say those things.

We were married 18 years. But her heart wasn’t in good shape. She died in 1977. When she died, I lost a lot of inspiration. It took me several years to get back, but I’m back in harness again.

The first thing I did after she died was go right out and apply at the California Housing Council. I worked there as a volunteer for some time. I called people on the phone trying to get people to open up their homes to blacks and Hispanics.

Later I said to myself, “Well, you’re not rich but you’re in good health and you’ve got a good car. Why don’t you do something else?” So I applied at a church that was helping shut-ins. I drove all the way from here to Chatsworth and delivered hot food to shut-ins.

I started teaching at the Reseda Multipurpose Center. I’ve been teaching a class for almost 10 years now. It’s called Adventures and Ideas. I’ve got about 20 to 22 people that come in regularly. I feel quite flattered about it.

In all these things I just had to keep busy. I felt that work was a salvation and I felt that I should do something for the community. You don’t just sit around or go into a retirement community where there are no children, no laughter. That’s a lot of make-believe baloney.

You have to do things in the real world, and a lot of us oldsters can do it, too. Don’t sit on your fanny, get out and do things. That’s the answer to retirement.

I’m past 80 and gradually going toward 81 and eventual oblivion. I’m going to keep on as long as I can. My eyesight’s darn good. My hearing is good. My voice is good. So if I can just keep this carcass together I think I’ll do all right.