In the obsessive media heat of the youth-oriented Beijing Olympics, a once-famous Chinese political figure died at a ripe-young age of 87 - and he goes to the grave almost internationally unnoticed. He was Hua Guofeng .
Had not most of China and the international news media been mindlessly riveted to such historic Olympic moments as beach volleyball, his death might have led the world news and riveted the nation.
It might have also renewed the fascinating theme of the wise old man's historic role in China's evolution. And it also raised anew the age-old question: how old - really - is old?
Not to give anything away, but I would argue that someone in their early 40s should not be stamped as a candidate for the rocking chair. And, yet, the US news media treated Olympic swimming silver medallist and celebrity mother Dara Torres, 41, as if she were but weeks away from assisted living.
America is like that, of course. We are a youth culture. My own college generation spearheaded the disrespectful student mantra of 'don't trust anyone over 30'. Even today, most 21-year-olds are repelled by the thought of hooking up romantically with 'an old person' - such as anyone over 30.
At first glance, though, China's ageism might seem as brutal as America's. After all, the collective age of the suspiciously youthful six-strong Chinese woman's gymnastic team might not exceed that of the deceased Hua alone.
The Beijing Olympics has thrown a blanket over the deeply entrenched Chinese value that age can equal wisdom - and youthful over-exuberance can equal the ravages of the Cultural Revolution. In their heart, the Chinese know that.
