The other night, I was seated at a dinner next to Henry Louis Gates Jr, a black literary professor at Harvard University, who has forged a brilliant career as a public intellectual (and then shot to the front pages two years ago when he was arrested in a seemingly racist incident by white police when he tried to break into his own house).
Cheerfully, Gates described the dizzy whirlwind of his current life: he is making documentaries about blacks in Latin America, writing books, editing a website and sitting on assorted boards. Oh, and performing his “day job” – running a department at Harvard. So far, so normal, by the standards of America’s hyperactive east coast power elite.
But then a twist emerged: Gates casually admitted that he was “60” – or near the age that many Europeans start drawing a pension. “So are you going to retire?” I asked, innocently.