Happy Birthday, Charles Dickens

Happy Birthday, Mr. Dickens — yes, Charles John Huffam Dickens of “Tale of Two Cities” fame was born 200 years ago on Feb. 7.

It’s amazing that he has fared so well, so long and so realistically. Equally amazing is that I have not heard of any planned public celebrations of his birth date in our area. Since Galveston is such a Dickensian sort of city — much like Portsmouth, England (Dickens’ birthplace), and since the man himself is the cause célèbre of our big Dickens on The Strand weekend in December, it seems like a missed opportunity, one in which to once again dress up and bow to each other as we toast his contributions to our minds and manners.

Like others, I am delighted to dress in period costume and meet Gerard Charles Dickens, great-great-grandson of the author, here from London, each December to celebrate “A Christmas Carol.”

I have been a Dickens fan for many years, having read most of his published works in high school. Many delightful hours were spent immersed in the characters whose names we associate with flaws and frailties of some sort, such as Scrooge, the penny pincher, Artful Dodger, a pick pocket or Pickwickian (a syndrome for a medical condition causing overeating) — remember the “fat boy” described by Mr. Dickens in the Pickwick Papers?

Perhaps we are more drawn to the young heroes and heroines of the tales written long ago, such as young Pip in “Great Expectations” or Oliver in “Oliver Twist.” Few really know that the real hero and most interesting character in the life of Charles Dickens is Dickens himself, and some of his flawed characters are portrayals of his own parents.

My recent interest is inspired by an interesting article about the author in this month’s issue of the Smithsonian Magazine. Husband to one, lover to another and father of 10, he had an insatiable desire to succeed and live well, which indeed he did.

His father was an irresponsible debtor who served a prison term and his mother was the child of worthless, runaway parents, but somehow, Charles Dickens learned responsibility, determination and a trustworthy attitude for life. He was mostly self-educated and even taught himself shorthand to become a court reporter, which gave him entrance and exposure to the seamy side of London life and the characters of whom he wrote.

I believe the man could have been a remarkable psychologist, for he had such clear vision into human nature. How his friends must have cringed when a new novel was published, each praying not to recognize himself in the pages. He awakened insight and heartache in many who have read his work.

May we always have Pips, Tiny Tims, Sidney Cartons, Olivers and others with spirit among us — for how else will we deal with the Fagans and Uriah Heeps of the world? In fact, Mr. Dickens reminds us that we must recognize and embrace the good because it is precious, rare and ennobling.

Betty Lee Streckfuss lives in Jamaica Beach.