ABSTRACT
I do not think that the young ones of today expect sage counsel from the mature or the post-mature. I also suspect, despite the long-treasured conceit, that it has been some time since they did. As far back as 1965, a bard nearer to my own generation than to yours sang with scorn to a generic “Mr Jones,” who had consorted with professors and read all the good books, yet remained uncomprehending: “You’re very well read, it’s well known/But something is happening here and you don’t know what it is” (Dylan, “Ballad of a Thin Man”).
