James Carville, who played a key role in the election of Bill Clinton to the White House in 1992, has parlayed his political role into that of one of the many cable news network talking heads that parade daily across our TV screens. Carville will probably be best remembered for coining a phrase that became the mantra for Clinton's campaign, a line you're probably familiar with: “It's the economy, stupid.”
1992's presidential campaign covered the tail end of George H.W. Bush's first and only term as president and, unfortunately for his re-election bid, the nation's economy wasn't doing so well. Carville's slogan became Clinton's campaign theme and, as it turns out, the phrase has become evergreen. It works just as well for today's presidential campaigns as it did more than 30 years ago. In fact, Donald Trump hammered Vice President Kamala Harris in last year's campaign, criticizing then-President Joe Biden's economy and her connection to it.
“It's the economy, stupid” means that the primary concern of most American voters is the state of our nation's economy and how it affects our individual economic bottom lines. At the end of Bush's first term, the country was in the midst of a recession, ultimately turning him into a one-term president. In a different way, you could say the same happened for Biden.
Today, Carville continues his role as a Democratic strategist, just with no attachment to any particular candidate. But he's loaded with advice for the Democratic Party, of which he's still a member. For today's conversation, though, let's put politics aside. Instead, there's another phrase Carville uttered on a cable news show a few weeks ago that gave me pause, and it has nothing to do with politics. I don't even know if the phrase is one of his own creation, but it was the first time I'd heard it. It goes something like this: “Aging is like riding an elevator with no down button.” Yikes, is he ever right about that one. That's especially true for a guy like me, who, in 2026, will say goodbye to being in his 60s. Goodness gracious, how did that even happen?
One of my favorite Saturday night sitcoms back in the 1980s was NBC's “The Golden Girls.” Most of you probably remember the show, about three single female roommates sharing a home in Miami. Here's the thing, though. Watching the show in reruns today, it dawns on me I would now be older than Blanche, Dorothy and Rose, three of the show's main characters. And, if my best buddies here in Hattiesburg will forgive me, I have to point out that's true for all of them, too. OK, that's except for the “tyke” in our group who hasn't even crossed the half-century mark yet. Youngster!
As for the rest of us, our weekly discussions used to be mostly a mix of national news, local politics and, of course, a wee bit of gossip. But in recent years, another subject routinely enters our conversations. Every week now, the subject of our own most recent medical maladies comes up as we share with each other the latest pain afflicting whatever part of our body has given us trouble since the last time we gathered. My goodness, why didn't somebody warn us that getting old was going to be like this? But hey, wait a minute, somebody did try to warn me!
See, back in the day, when I was growing up on Fairley Street in east Hattiesburg, we had an elderly aunt who lived across the street from us. Her name was Annette, but to us, she was Aunt Nett. We would have been grade-school-age kids at the time, and she would have been in her late 60s. Aunt Nett was retired and spent most of her days sitting on her front porch watching our many neighbors walk by on Fairley Street. Those were the days when pedestrians were still a thing in Hattiesburg.
After a day in school, crossing the street to visit Aunt Nett was part of our regular routine, besides the other things we might get into. I'll be honest with you, we were a fairly naughty little bunch of kids and I'm sure we aggravated our aunt sometimes. But you know what? I'm betting she genuinely enjoyed our company when we came over to visit, even though we were “bad lil' chilluns,” as she often reminded us.
OK, so we were mischievous, but we loved our Aunt Nett and, dare I say it, kept her entertained. We weren't all bad either. We'd do things for her around the house or walk to the neighborhood market, Williams Grocery, at the corner of Seventh and Fairley streets. If you're as old as me, you're old enough to remember the days before big-box superstores, when every neighborhood in Hattiesburg had its own little corner grocery store. Sometimes, Aunt Nett might even give us a whole nickel for going to the store for her.
Like I said, Aunt Nett was in her late 60s, and, playful little kids that we were, I remember one of us asking her one day, “Aunt Nett, why you so old?!” (Forgive the grammar, but we said it just like that.) Aunt Nett's response was classic. Not missing a beat, she looked at us with those wise eyes of hers and said, “Baby, y'all will get old one day, too. All you've got to do is keep living.” Words of wisdom from Aunt Nett that still ring true today — and every day — especially when the latest pain in this body of mine rears its ugly head.
I often find myself in conversations with my nieces and nephews, the generation that came after me. They're mostly in their mid-30s or 40s now and, get this, feel like they're getting “old.” Oh, brother. OK, I can relate to their feelings because when I was their age, I felt the same way. But, as those of you in my age group know, adults in their 30s are more like children to us now. I tell those kids to enjoy the days of their youth but add a few words of wisdom of my own: If you think those years are passing fast now, you ain't seen nothing yet. Truth is, the older you get, the faster those days and years on the calendar seem to fly by. In fact, we've got less than two weeks left in 2025, so that next floor is coming up.
Yep, James Carville was as right as he could be about there being no “down button” on this elevator we call aging. But you know what? It's a blessing as long as the numbers on that elevator keep going up. That said, this old man can hear his Aunt Nett looking down from Heaven, reminding me, “Boy, I told you so.”
