What You Don't Know Can Hurt... Somebody Else! (Reminiscence)

***

1

When I was starting as a college English teacher, I taught a section of "Introduction to Literature" in a dismal basement classroom with no windows or pictures on the walls.  Among my 20 or so students, there was especially one - Paul was his name, I think - who was really engaged.  I was glad to have him in the class listening intently, taking notes, asking an occasional question.  To most of the other students, I think he didn't stand out particularly, but as the guy in front looking out at all of them, I could see that intent expression on his face.

In this course, one section of a couple of dozens, the reading list was the same as in all other sections.  But instructors could arrange the readings and set up the schedule as they pleased.  I was real proud of myself for setting aside two whole weeks - six 50-minute classes - to spend on King Lear.  There had to be a Shakespeare piece in such a course, I guess, and probably a tragedy at that.  But Lear was a real challenge for these freshman students, few or none of whom would probably take another literature course in their very lives.

But we were going to do it up right.

2

And it went very well, I have to say.  Just about everyone brought their text to class every day, and seemed to have read the act or scenes I had assigned for discussion that day.  Looking back, I'm embarrassed to realize that I myself talked for at least half our time each class, and not only asking leading questions and commenting on the students' responses.  But I gave myself the impression, at least, that we were doing a good job of observing the structure of the presentation, sensing the human drama of its story and characters, engaging ourselves in questions of meaning... all the right things.

3

The second Friday would be our last day on King Lear.  The key matter to grapple with was the death of Lear's youngest daughter, Cordelia.

Of the old king's three daughters, only Cordelia seemed to care about him - and the wrong he was doing by setting aside his crown, his power, and his duty - than about her own interest.  The other daughters had actually banded together against him - and their country - and had at last been defeated on the battlefield.  Cordelia had remained loyal to him and had suffered at the hands of her evil sisters, but now at last her father seemed ready to make things right for her and to re-establish warm filial relations between them.

But alas we learn that she has been hanged by the defeated enemy after the battle.

4

As I recall this last class that day, I felt good about what we had accomplished so far.  But there was just a chance that some students would end up, not attending to the tragic human suffering so convincingly portrayed in the play, but to a simple kind of "moral tale": King acts irresponsibly, world goes to hell, King is punished, THE END.  So I wanted the students to grapple with the question, "What does Cordelia's death mean?"  And I was going to enjoy showing them, "It doesn't mean anything, being like events in real life sometimes that just happen and don't make sense to us."

I was a little disappointed to note that Paul was not present when the hour came to begin class.  We got started.

After we had rocked along for a good while, 10 or 15 minutes I suppose, Paul showed up.  He silently slouched to his usual seat.  He looked terrible, unshaven, thick black hair unbrushed, dark bags under his eyes, rumply clothes he might have slept in - if he had slept at all.

Naturally, I assumed that he had just had the archetypal freshman experience of spending the night drinking and now being terribly hung-over.  It happens!

But we motored on, through the meaningless suffering and the grief and struggle.  After another 15 minutes or so, Paul - who had not spoken, no questions, no eye contact - abruptly stood and lurched out.  I assumed he'd had the urge to throw up and had gone down the hall to the Mens Room.

We finished class.  Paul's notebook and books were still on his desk, but there was no sign of Paul.

5

I busied myself by gathering up my own things, wondering if I should go down the hall - or ask one of the other guys to do so - to check on Paul.  But then he reappeared, after everyone else had left, looking much the same as he had before.

He apologized for having interrupted the class discussion, but his father had called in the night and was now on the way to our college town to pick Paul up to go home for a few days.  The news was bad.  His sister had died that night.

6

I remember that scene quite well today, from about 50 years ago.  I didn't feel guilty then and don't now.  But I do feel awful about having added to that poor young man's suffering that day.

***

St. Paul and the Boy Scouts (essay)

***

Raised in central Texas in the 1940s and '50s, among the formal influences on my developing moral values were the New Testament and the Boy Scout Manual.   I thought it might be interesting to reflect back on these important, seminal resources from the perspective of these 70 years or so.

1

Paul wrote to the Corinthian Christians that the most abiding values are Faith, Hope, and what was called "Charity" by the King James committee of scholars.  What do I have to say now about these concepts?

a.  Faith

Well, to be frank, before I'd graduated from high school I'd already outgrown what Paul apparently expected here of the Corinthians et al.:  i.e. belief in Jesus, God the Father, and all that.  I'm glad to have learned early on what all this was about, because of its long historical influence on the community into which I had been fortunate enough to be born.  But "having faith" in this basic sense has never been of much value to me personally, since high school days.

Still, I can't help thinking that Paul was pointing to something genuinely significant when he said "faith":  especially including it as one-third of the most enduring three fundamental values for us to carry with us if we were lucky.

When he listed faith, hope, and charity, Paul was not telling the chosen ones how to behave or what mission to pursue, not telling them what to do or not do.  He was telling them that living as Christians was better than living as anything else, by listing the blessings that he thought "only" Christians could count on.  He was saying, If you stick with me you can expect to have in your heart (soul, mind...) these three wonderful qualities.  I would say there is in fact a blessing, which is like "faith" in Paul's sense, that I think we can all wish to have.

I'd call it Trust or Confidence, the opposite of Anxiety or Anguish.  I agree with the saint that it is of inestimable value to live with such a more or less solid base, rather than to approach every day, everyone, and every project with a quiet dread that everything you depend on as part of your life or even yourself is liable to fall away or fade out or be taken from you.  That would be awful, in fact.  He was onto something, I might say.

b.  Hope

These three qualities are intimately intertwined.  If the opposite of "Faith" is Anxiety or in the extreme Despair, then the opposite of "Hope" is Fear.  Being able to live without enduring fear - of loneliness or melancholia, of poverty or illness or infirmity, of failure, or whatever - is indeed a profound blessing.

Living in hope, by the way, need not mean ignoring the real risks one naturally faces; it just means characteristically looking on challenges allowing for the possibility they may be overcome, if not overcome easily or quickly at least overcome eventually with enough effort.  So, yes: Faith and Hope and...

c.   "Charity"

This quality is not rich people giving to the poor or to art museums, symphony orchestras, public radio or tv stations, or historical societies.  Paul's "Charity" is not exactly translated "Love" either, since love is so easily infused with passion.  The quality referred to here, both by Paul himself and by the old guy I have become looking back on what Paul wrote, is a generalized benevolent feeling toward each and all human beings.  It's the basic Love-your-neighbor-as-yourself and Love-your-enemies and so on.

To instinctively feel compassion, or empathy or at least sympathy, or to look kindly upon others - in general - is said to be the "greatest" of the three basic blessings that Paul's Christians should count on.  In other words, the benefit to the individual who has this quality of the three mentioned is the most profound.

Love in this sense may be necessary in order for one to feel grounded or secure ("faith"), as well as for one to look ahead optimistically ("hope"); and at the same time this characteristic Benevolence ("charity") toward others might not be possible without confidence in oneself and hope for the future.  The three blessings recreate and reinforce each other.

The opposite of "Charity," I would say incidentally, is contempt.

But those who move through life with trust and confidence in their hearts, a positive attitude in their minds, and fellow-feeling in their nature are lucky and good and happy.  They are not "better" (not better morally, for example), but are better off.  These three characteristics may indeed be the most important blessings one could have.

2

The basic official values of the Boy Scouts - that other important moral force - are articulated in the Oath and Laws.  The Oath ("or Promise," they say now) is this -

On my honor, I promise to do my best to do my duty to God and my country, and to obey the Scout Laws.  To  help other people at all times.  To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.

That was from memory all these years later.  I checked it, and it's correct.

The Oath is recited orally, in small phrases:

a.  On my honor

Especially when you think of an eleven-year-old boy saying this phrase, it doesn't mean more than -"really and truly" or "cross my heart and hope to die" or "honestly."

b. I promise to do my best to do my duty

Doing one's duty means doing what is owed to others, so this phrase acknowledges that a person has social responsibilities and is not free to just do whatever she or he wants at any time.  That sense of responsibility is indeed a characteristic of a mature, civilized person.  Good.

c. to God and my country

Sounds impressive.  I guess I would preferably say just "duty to others."  Actually, I guess I feel a duty to myself too, a responsibility to respect my relation with others, my sense of who I am, what I have done and what I could do in the future... So I would think of saying "duty to my self and others."  Cross my heart.

d.  and to obey the Scout Laws

[This is discussed below in Section 3.] 

e. To help other people at all times
 
What could be bad about making this commitment?

f. To keep myself physically strong [and] mentally awake

Yes [and] yes.  It is important to keep oneself healthy and vigorous, as well as alert and engaged.

g. [to keep myself] morally straight

   1. Doing one's duty is a basic moral imperative.  Trying to help others is too.  So listing this commitment to "keep oneself" morally upright, coming later in the oath along with keeping healthy and alert, seems to mean something else.  Is it simply "In addition to doing my duty and helping others, I will do some other good things"?  Or is it instead a general promise not to do "naughty" things?  It seems this promise is to "keep to the straight and narrow," i.e. maintaining proper conduct: telling the truth, respecting others' rights and property, keeping your word, not assaulting others, not driving drunk, and so on. 

  2.  Considering the word "straight" in the context of discussing the Boy Scouts today makes us think this promise may be to remain heterosexual.  Even as late as the 1980s, however, long after the boy I was in the '50s going through Scouting, "straight" did not have the homophobic connotations it has now.  "Morally straight" meant very broadly morally upright, including honesty, integrity, and all that.  In the 1970s, "straight" in everyday speech started to contrast with more specific behaviors such as being high on drugs, and only eventually came to contrast particularly with homosexuality.  So in the Scout Oath, this phrase is no more than the young scouts' promise to be good little boys.

And indeed we should commit ourselves to being aware of the moral dimensions of what we and others do and don't do, shouldn't we?

3

The Scout Laws are phrased in terms of characteristics that a good Scout - or we might say, a good person - will maintain:

A Scout is --

trustworthy
loyal
     Features of responsible citizens    

helpful
friendly
courteous
kind 
     Features of people who care about others and their feelings

obedient
     Uninterpreted, this quality may justifiably give us pause: but I would
      go so far as to say it is true that showing respect for women and
       men in leadership positions is a good thing

cheerful 
thrifty
brave
     Each an excellent character trait, valuable for anyone

clean
     Combined with "reverent" below, this may seem like another promise
      to be a good little boy; but I think it also means simply the healthy
       habit of keeping one's body clean... And it's worth saying.

reverent
     I would not allow my ideal old Scoutmaster to tell me (and
       others) to believe in the supernatural, but I agree with him
        (if you will permit me to speak that way) that it is proper
         for a person to exhibit reverence for especially significant
          things (like the Grand Canyon, the Jupiter Symphony,
           or the Queen of England).

4

So sure enough, surprising as it may be, one can find some wisdom in these two incongruously paired sources.

All of us may hope to have hearts and minds free of permanent anguish, fear, and instinctive contempt of others and to feel instead a sense of security, a positive attitude, and an instinctive empathy for other folks.  And we would do well to honestly strive to do our duty to ourselves and others, to help others, to do what we can to stay healthy physically and to be engaged mentally, to pay attention to the moral dimensions of all we do and to pursue moral integrity. 

We can promise ourselves to manage our lives prudently, to conduct ourselves cheerfully and bravely, and to maintain the qualities of good citizens of society.

And even just saying so is worth doing, isn't it?

***

Freedom and Fairness

***

I saw a bumpersticker the other day: FREEDOM ISN'T FAIR.  

Where do you think I saw this bumper sticker?

A.     In a MacDonald’s parking lot

B.    At an intersection in an upper income neighborhood

C.     At an intersection in a lower-income neighborhood

D.    On “Morning With Joe”

What kind of a vehicle do you think this bumper sticker was on?

A.    A Smart Car

B.    An apparently new pick-up truck

C.     A shiny black Lexus SUV

D.    A 2003 navy blue Buick

How many other stickers would you guess were on the back of this vehicle?

A.    None

B.    One

C.     Two

D.    Three, or more

What would you imagine the owner of this vehicle was thinking?

A.    Fairness is just about the most important thing

B.    We should be fair, and acknowledge that not all of us are equally free

C.     We should sacrifice some of our own freedom in order to be sure others are not unfairly deprived of their freedom

D.    Isn’t it great to be free, free even of the need to be fair

[Correct answers: B, C, A, D]

***

Manifesto for Our Time

***

A spectre is haunting America, the spectre of Liberalism. 

From the Declaration of Independence, Tom Paines' The Crisis, the U. S. Constitution with its Preamble and Amendments, Lincoln's Address at Gettysburg, and the 1942 Pledge of Allegiance - to the spirit of the unincorporated young America of today:  liberal principles, policies, and practices inspire and ennoble us, and impel us forward to protect and preserve all that has been accomplished in our country in the past and to enrich and to strengthen our liberal nation further as time rolls on.

We shall not be distracted from our mission.

We will not allow distractions by provocateurs of anti-liberal (that is, anti-American) prejudice, self-interest, and materialism to divert our attention away from the real threats to our fundamental values in the world today, such as widespread unemployment, declining public education, rising racism, deteriorating health care, and growing holes in the American social safety net.

We will not be distracted by false claims that the great and urgent need in the American economy is for federal austerity and reduction in national deficits.  The greater and more urgent need is for direct government spending to revitalize our economy and put Americans back to work.

We will not be distracted by the bogus pretension that the worst and most urgent problem dogging our electoral system is voter fraud.  Our worst problems are the unmitigated political influence of big money and the small percentage of lower-income earners who participate in elections.

We will not be distracted by the lame assertion that the most serious problem involving immigrants is border security.  The more obvious and deeper issue is how dependent American citizens and our economy have become on the current number of undocumented, well-behaved immigrants whose situation must be normalised.

We will defend ourselves but not be distracted by the mounting attacks on women, including the attempts to roll us backward on women's rights to decide the destiny of their own bodies, as in family planning, contraception, and abortion.

We will not be distracted by unfounded claims that human beings cannot and should not act to protect our planet from devastating climate change.

Liberals, look around you.  The big money interests - financiers, global corporations, political power mongers, greedy materialists in general - they know you threaten them and throw their aims into jeopardy.  They have entered into an unholy alliance to exorcise the spectre of liberalism you embody.  Do not be distracted from liberal designs and values.

Liberals of America, unite!

***

The Power of... the Right Surgery (reminiscence)

***


1

My wife and I were attending a meeting of the area's Association of "Ostomates,"  local women, men, and children who have had surgery to remove one of the bodily organs included in the elimination of bodily wastes.  Ostomates include those without bladders, or "urostomates"; those without a portion of the colon, or "colostomates"; or those without the whole colon, or "ileostomates".  The meetings take place monthly in a variety of hospitals around the metropolitan area.  Some who are considering whether or not to have the surgery can come to these meetings too.

Usually, 35 or 40 attend.  Programs vary but usually consist of a presentation by a Ostomy-Care nurse practitioner or other medical professional, or by an ostomate with a special message to convey.

2

Once a year, instead of the usual type of program, we divide ourselves up and meet in smaller groups to share personal experiences, ask questions of each other or of the nurse practitioners who run each "break-out group," and discuss whatever comes up.  These are always the best-attended and most useful and engaging sessions, although all programs are really informative and pleasant.

One reason this kind of free-discussion meeting is found by all to be so valuable and so interesting is the fact that there is so much variety among the membership.  Everyone has some kind of external device (a pouch or "bag") replacing what is usually an internal organ, but the reasons for such surgery are many and varied.  It could be cancer, or a severe colon or bladder disease.  It could be an injury (such as in a car accident), or even a criminal attack. 

[Note: My wife and I learned from an emergency nurse recently that some dreadful gangs sometimes go out to "bag" somebody... that is, shoot them in the gut so that they become ostomates.  We have never seen any indication of such a deliberate cause for this kind of surgery, but it is blood-curdling to contemplate.]

Members of the group can be young or old, white-collar or blue-collar (as we used to say), rural or urban or suburban, retired (like us) or working or still in school.  They may have had their surgery a month ago or 40 years ago.  And almost everyone has a slightly different method of handling the various products and devices they have found to deal with their particular circumstances.

4

The four small discussion groups are the urostomates, the colostomates, the ileostomates, and the rest of us - spouses, parents, siblings, or close friends.

At this year's break-out meeting, I of course joined the spouses and other companions.   During the first part of the meeting when we were still all together, I had noticed a new couple who had not attended before; or, at least, I had not noticed them before.

The husband came to the others' breakout group and ended up sitting about a third of the way around the table on my right.  The nurse practitioner was third or so on my left.  There were eight or ten of us.  She had us introduce ourselves one by one around the table, identifying our relationship with our ostomate.  Everyone also mentioned which bodily organ had been removed and how long ago the surgery had been.

"Joe" said this was his wife's and his first meeting, since she had undergone the bladder surgery only 10 days before.  My own wife's surgery had been almost exactly one year before that night.

"Now," the nurse asked, "does anyone have anything you wanted to bring up?"

One of the older men, who had been at every meeting and seemed to know everybody, said: "Yes, our medical supplier has stopped carrying one of the supplies - our brand - that we have been using for twenty years.  Has anybody else had this problem?"

Various individuals told about occasions when such a thing had happened to them.  After finding out where this coupled lived, several suggestions were made about other suppliers not too far away who were still carrying the product, and the exchange of experiences and tips continued for a while.

When there was a little pause, "Joe" - a tall, white-haired man with a lot of dignity in his bearing and a strong voice - started to speak.  His tone was flat, and he didn't make eye contact as he went on.

5

"My wife was diagnosed with bladder cancer six months ago," he said.  "She's a very religious woman, and she set about praying about her situation.  A group formed itself at the Church to pray together for her several times a week.

"She had the chemo and then the radiation, but the doctor said the bladder had to go.  So we set the date and got ourselves prepared.  Her son has spent more time with us than usual, leaving his own family across town more often than before.

"One week before the surgery was scheduled to happen, we went in for some final tests.  When the doctor came in a while later, he had a funny look on his face.  He said he'd never seen anything like it: the cancer seemed to be gone!

"He said it would undoubtedly return, and the surgery was the only way to prevent its spreading.  So we ought to go ahead with the schedule.

"My wife told the prayer group they had saved her.  It proved the power of prayer and the goodness of God.  She wanted to cancel the surgery.  But her son and I kept talking with her, and gradually she calmed down.  We went ahead with the surgery after all.  Just 10 days ago."

6

But all that was not what "Joe" had wanted to share with us.

"Just tonight, on our way here, my wife said she hadn't needed the surgery.  God had saved her from the cancer, but we had made her have the surgery."

He didn't say anything else, didn't ask us for anything.  It seemed that maybe just sharing this experience was what he had needed. 

I felt sure that the rapt attention we had all given him, and the feeling of sympathy and support he must have perceived - it was palpable - would have reached him.

"You did the right thing!" one of us said loudly in a raspy, emotionally tight voice.  It seemed palpable again that all of us, all, agreed.

7

I wondered if "Joe" and his wife would return to future meetings.  It's been a good sign to see that they have.

***

The Old Guy Meets His Maker

***

*

Oops!  No, sorry now.  Fell asleep, you know?  Just a minute.  Eyes down, brain closed for the day, checked out.  But just for a minute, see?

*

But who's that big guy, with the shoulders?  All the hair, see?  If he had a rifle, he'd look like Charlton Heston, see what I mean?  Who is that?

*

No, wait a minute, please!  Keep your shirt on, or put your shirt on, rather.  No, there's no reason you should know anymore than I do; I just thought you did, that's all.  We're just standing here in this little line.  Do you know what for?

Ok, Okay.  Relax.  I was just hoping you'd know; I don't.

*

Did you get that?  The old woman behind us said we're going to meet "him." 

Any idea who "him" is?  Not a clue myself.  Takin' a power nap and then waitin' here in this little line, that's all.  We should get an autograph, eh lady?  Well...  Maybe she's a little hard of hearing, I don't know.

*

He's on the move, heads up!

*

Oh my gosh, I'm going to say: Hey there yourself, mister.  I know you're a big cheese and all - maybe I should say THE big cheese, right? Haw, haw.  But excuse me, sir.  I don't know who you are or why we are here...  You know?  Could you fill me in?

That's too long, isn't it?

Or I could go on: If you can help me... I'm feelin' stupid here, and you could set me straight?  Get it?

*

Ok, Ok.  I'm stupid.  Sorry.  Who are you?

*

Ahh...  You're kidding, right? Haw haw.  Oops!

***

A Small Compendium of a 7th Grader's Humor, ca. 1956

***

1.  Q: Why do you sing in the bathtub?

     A: The door won't lock.



2.   (add your own music)

     "... And you'll never walk... (pause, deep breath)
                                                                                   ... AGAIN..."



3.   A doctor was examining a teenage girl.

      "Big breaths, Louise," he said.

     "Yeth," she replied: "and I'm only thixth-teen!"



4.  (from Summer Sunday School.  Organ accompanies...)

     "Lift up your heads, O ye gates!

     And be ye lift up, ye ever-lasting doors!  (pause)

     AND THE KING OF GLORY - SHALL - COME - IN!"


     Only we said, "ye ever-lasting DRAWERS!"

    " ...AND THE KING OF GLORY ..." (etc.)


5.  (Pop orchestra accompanies)

     "WHEN the moon hits your eye like a BIG PIZZZA PIE,

     "That's a...
                            ME-ESS!"



***

His Final Words

***

It was not unexpected, but it still seemed sudden and too soon.

He'd been known to have a degenerative nerve disease for 26 years, which was certain to be fatal eventually - if something else fatal didn't happen first - so his wife and children could not have been surprised, exactly. 

But it sort of felt that way, sitting with him now, back in his own bed after five nights in the hospital as tests confirmed the initial diagnoses and as hospice care was arranged.  He wasn't uncomfortable, and every so often he had a few minutes when he was entirely himself.  Quirky and crotchety, cracking wise: all his usual features.

Then he would nod off or lose track of the conversation, even if he was the one talking.  It wasn't painful for his sitters, except for its reminding them of what was near, but it wasn't during these periods unlike really being with the old guy they had come to know.

*

Late one Saturday afternoon, his wife was the only one in the house.  He was dozing most of the time, and she went about the condo tidying up, cleaning the bathroom or sweeping the back porch, little normal jobs she'd done for years and years when she could.  But she looked in on him often, every ten or fifteen or maybe twenty minutes or so.  He was peaceful, just sleeping.

*

Except one time.  His eyes were open when she looked in from the doorway.  He was looking at her.  His mouth was not smiling, but it wasn't slack as it was as he slept.  He wasn't smiling, but he seemed interested in her and his surroundings.

She walked over to him and took his hand, sitting in the chair she kept handy for this purpose whenever he was awake.

"Barb," she said (referring to their daughter), "Barb said she might drop by later this evening.  Young Leonard has a soccer game today, and then she might come by."

It was her job, she thought, to talk with him cheerily about the daily goings-on, keeping him engaged in their little world, enjoying sharing with her husband of forty-plus years some of the little things happening in the family and in the house.  She was about to tell him how she had mopped up a little mildew in the guest bathroom about a half-hour ago, when a slight hitch in his breathing caught her attention.

She looked him over carefully.  He was pulling on her hand just a bit and seeming to want to lean forward, perhaps to speak. 

He paused and, standing, she plumped his pillows up behind him so they could have a chat.  He pulled on her arm again and seemed to take in a breath.  What would he say, she wondered.  Did he want to say simply "Thanks" for... well, for straightening the pillows?  Or was he going to say he had to go to the bathroom?

She pulled the chair under her and sat, giving him all her attention.  Would he say he loved her, or recall a time they had shared together years ago when they were young?

"Can I get you something?" she asked with a little smile.

*

He took another little breath and pushed his jaw out, as though it was a little hard to speak.

"Yes," he said in just above a whisper.  "Tell me.  How are the Cardinals doing?"

***

Don't Make Me Choose (story)

***

The old guy saw the story in a vintage magazine in a used book store.  It had been published when he had been about 50.  He said he'd never read it, but he bought it, for a dollar, because it was so obviously about him.

By the next morning, though, he had decided he was going to read it after all, aloud.  

So he got his little music stand all set up in front of the full-length mirror.  He laid out the old magazine and began...

"It says (he read) the setting is a small music conservatory in the lower midwest, and
the objective is to build a good theater program to strengthen the music programs there.

And the people, now.  The people it says are:  Byron Derrick, Executive Director of the Conservatory; Neil Graham, Director of Theater, hired one year ago; And Jim Greenwood, Resident in Theater, hired one month ago.

He said to his mirror, with a wink: "Jim Greenwood.  That's what they called me," .

1

He began to read, aloud, making eye contact now and then with his mirror:

"Listening sympathetically to others' complaints about your colleague may seem generous and kind," as I said.  "But at some point, Jim, your just listening may encourage still more complaints.  Whether you say you agree, or not."

He nodded, as though 'everybody knows that, Byron.'  (The old guy winked at the mirror again.)

"So just tolerating the gripes might promote more gripes.  Do you see?"

"Oh, I don't criticize him myself. Oh my goodness no! I'd never be unprofessional like that."  (No, I'd never, ever be unprofessional! the old guy thought.)

"I know, Jim.  I know you wouldn't," I kept after it.  "But there's a fine line between letting someone bad-mouth him - you know, without setting them straight - and bad-mouthing him yourself.  You gotta be careful about that."

"I can't just tell them them to shut up!"  (Shut up! What?)

"No, of course you can't.  But you can say, 'Look, he's an experienced director.  He knows what he's doing, probably.  You can say: Go with the flow, you might learn something."

"I couldn't just stifle their opinions.  Geez!"

"You can say you sympathize with their hurt feelings - or whatever it is - but it happens to everybody, that's what it's like in the arts world.  Sometimes we just have to suck it up...'  That kind of thing, you see?" 

"He's just terrible to work with, Byron!  Not only the volunteers but even the real cast and crew sometimes: they say it too.  I'm just saying it's not easy being the other guy, you know?"

"Let me just say this, Jim.  You need to distance yourself from this kind of gritching and bitching.  Otherwise, it'll begin to seem you're 'with them' (holding up his hands and making quote marks) and 'against him.'  You don't want that."

He nodded and smiled.  "I'm just telling you what I'm hearing, Byron.  Just sayin'..."

(Just sayin'...)

*

Byron's perspective:

Jim is so smooth and self-confident, it was surprising to me to see how naive he is.  He's trying to be sensitive to the emotional needs of our people and doesn't recognize the big picture, which is that to serve all our needs he has to pooh-pooh complaints and accentuate the positive.  Glad we had this talk.  He can charm a bird out of a tree, as they say...  He'll turn it around.

Jim's perspective:

Well, I guess I told him!  Byron has been naive about Neil's failings.  I've got a good start now on getting that Wanna-Be put in his place... Maybe even getting him out of here.  Glad we had this talk.

(It was useless, the old guy thought.  That old fart didn't have a clue.  But it was probably good to have had that talk.  Yeah, okay.)

2

"So Neil," I said: "how's Jim settling in?  Finding his place, is he?"  (To the mirror: Now, to that other feeb...)

"Oh, I guess so.  Actually, we don't see all that much of each other.  He's working mostly in the daytime now, and all my rehearsals - acourse - are at night..."

"And for the first month, it was the other way around?"

"I guess.  Although, with him being brand new and all, I tried to find reasons to be hanging around during their rehearsals.   In case he needed anything."

"It was a clever show, didn't you think?"  (The best Shakespeare, ever, on that stage!)

"Oh yeah.  Too bad we don't have an audience built up yet.  We'll get there.  We'll keep plugging away."

"How's your show progressing?"

"Pretty well, I guess.  A couple of the younger folks were a little cranky at first.  But we've gotten beyond that.  The results should be good.  Do you think we can get more people to come see us?"

*

Neil's perspective:

I don't know anywhere where the head guy takes such an interest.  We'll have this place up and humming soon with that kind of support.  I oughtta just poke my head in once a week or so, to keep him feeling a part of things.  Glad he called me in this time. 

Byron's perspective:

Neil must know Jim resents his leadership, but you'd never know it.  I'll have to keep in touch, if I can find the time...  (You betcha I resented him.  You got that right, fathead.)

3

Midway through Jim's second year, Byron's notes to the file:

We started our meeting five or ten minutes late, when Jim arrived.  I began by explaining that the new theater program we three were trying to get started in the Music Conservatory now required us to spend some serious time together, on a regular basis.  I wanted them to mark their calendars on every Wednesday for the next couple of months from 10:30 to noon, when we would meet there in the conference room off the dining hall.  We should all plan on being there the whole time, since this work required all three of us together.

They didn't respond.  I didn't invite them to.

I said that for our hopes and dreams to work out, we had to function like a team.  We all had to share the same goals, and each of us had to support the others individually, if we were to have any chance to succeed.

The fact is, I said, you two aren't working well together.  In fact, you may knowingly or unconsciously be undermining the efforts of the other.  Our work during these weekly sessions will be to reduce and subdue the forces driving us apart, so we can get back to heading in the same direction again.

Both of you must resist any pressures you sense of volunteers, students, actors and tech people "choosing up sides."  Those for Greenwood and those for Graham.  That won't do.  Let's do whatever it takes to have one solid, unified team, okay?

They didn't challenge my claim that they were not working well together.  Neil said theatre is by nature a team effort, but paradoxically every performance is very personal.  Jim said he'd never had any trouble getting along with others before.

An hour passed quickly. The conversation could not be very well summarized, but it was not particularly emotional.  I concluded by telling them that next Wednesday, we'd begin by each of them sharing what positive features the other one brings to our program.  At least three things each, I said.

*

Byron's perspective:

That wasn't too bad.  I don't think they could have been expecting what I said.  For two strong-willed, arty guys they were quite subdued.  I wish it were all over and done with already, though.

Neil's perspective:

Byron doesn't avoid the oogy jobs, does he?  I hope he's not being naive to think we can work it out between us.  I don't know what's going on with Jim.  But he's a good director, creative, different.  I had high hopes when we brought him in...  Maybe each of us could just do our own thing.

Jim's perspective:

Well, I can waste an hour a week, I guess.

(I can waste an hour a week! the old man repeated, with apparent delight.  "Creative?" "Diffferent"?)

4

To Neil and Jim:

After three substantive conversations, I'm writing to summarize what we've learned is needed to improve working relations between the two of you, without which the program will not be able to move forward.

Whether justifiably or not, Jim feels Neil does not keep him informed about developments affecting the Theatre Department.  Actors, students, and crew members - and possibly members of the general public - sometimes ask him about this or that activity they've heard about but that Neil has not mentioned or explained to Jim.  This makes him feel like a chump, whose ideas and plans don't matter. 

(I am not a chump!)

Whether justifiably or not, Neil on the other hand is concerned that Jim may care more about his own success and reputation than about the Conservatory's or the Theater program's.  It's a little as though he wouldn't care if the program failed as long as people thought he himself had done a good job.

Keeping in mind each man's worst suspicions about the other, Neil will consciously look for items of information about the program he can share with Jim.  He will communicate two or even three times a week, every week, about such news.

Jim, on the other hand, will make a conscious effort to think of ways he can contribute to the success of the Conservatory's theater program above and beyond his own activities.  For instance, he can propose to Neil initiatives Jim himself will undertake to better publicize the shows Neil has in rehearsal.  He will do at least one thing a week along that line which he has brought up first with Neil.

Next Wednesday, at our joint meeting, each of you will report to me what you have done along these lines, giving the other an opportunity to comment.

*

Jim's perspective:

So now I'm his PR guy!  If no one come to see Endgame, it'll be my fault. ...But I'll play along.  I can handle it; I'm an actor, aren't I?

Neil's perspective:

Byron's plan follows logically from what what we've been saying.  But I can't help thinking we're only wandering around on the surface, leaving root causes untouched.  Some days I feel like I've already got too much to do, but it'll be pretty simple to pass along to Jim whatever chit-chat I might hear. 

Byron's perspective:

Put up or shut up.  Let's get going.

(I am an actor, aren't I? the old man said to himself)

5

"Hey, MariLou.  My secretary has gone to make some copies for me.  Can I help you?"

"Well, I came to make an appointment to see you, as a matter of fact. Just ten minutes or so, I would say."

"How 'bout now?  I could give you a few minutes now...?"

We went into the inner office and sat down, facing each other across a little table.

"I just wanted to say that... We like Mr. Greenwood a lot," MariLou said.  "He's about the best anybody's ever seen."

(The best! he admits it now, the old guy reading aloud thought.)

"Well, that's good to hear.  You and the others sure did a good job on the Shakespeare last month."

MariLou nodded.

"Mr. Greenwood's concept, setting the action in a toy box, was a novel idea.  And appropriate too!"

"Yeah," she said laughing.  "It was a lot of fun."

"Most of the Shakespeare plays I've seen which are that innovative, well you know; it just distracts from the original, but..."

"It was a good show.  My parents came all the way from Springfield."

"So, MariLou.  Did you discuss coming over to talk with me today - I'm glad you did, you know - did you and Mr. Greenwood talk about it?"

"He said it would be okay.  Did you two know each other before he started working here?"

"He directed my wife and daughter in some community theater shows...  I was pleased we could make a place for him at the Conservatory."

"Well, he is the best to work with.  Better than some others, I mean."

"What does he do that Mr. Graham doesn't do, for example?  You're working crew on Endgame, aren't you?"

"Mr. Greenwood kids around a lot with us.  He hangs around just to chat, you know.  That Mr. Graham - I mean he is a very good director.  Last year, Cabaret? you know?  But he's, well, he's 'the Boss.'  You know what I mean?"

"MariLou, I'm glad you came over to say Hello.  We can both be glad, and proud I'd say, that in our little program we can have both Mr. Graham and Mr. Greenwood."

Jim wasn't picking up his phone, so I left a breezy little message telling him not to send any more actor testimonials my way.  It's how well he and Neil work together that matters, not how much the cast and crew love him.  "See you Wednesday, Jim."

*

Byron's perspective:

What have I done wrong?  When we interviewed for the Theater Program Director, Neil Graham was clearly the right guy - right degree, right experience, good record - so I hired him.  But Jim Greenwood looked like such a good match for what we need to get this thing off the ground, building a theater reputation to balance our long-established prominence in Music.  So I made a place for him and told Neil he was going to have a colleague after all.  Was it favoritism?  Did Jim sense it?  Does he think our friendship will give him immunity or something?

Jim's perspective:

If the dweeblings wanna go tell the Exec. how much they like me, what can I do?  Betcha no one's saying that about that other guy....  (No one would have said that, the old man said looking at the mirror.)

6

"Norton, you told me you came here to sing tenor and not to monkey around on the stage, but you were great in Endgame."  I had struck up a friendly relation with one of our proteges who worked part time in the cafeteria.

"Thanks," Norton replied.  "Thanks a lot.  It was hard work."

"Yeah.  How was it anyway?  The whole thing, audition right through strike.  A good experience for you?  Not so good...?"

"No.  It was hard work, like I said.  Exhausting, every night.  Emotional sometimes.  But the thing is, we had to do it.  We had to do it like that.  We had to work it out.  So it was not good.  But really good.  I learned a lot, I can tell you."

"Do you think the others thought the effort was worth it?"

"Two or three dropped out after the first week or so.  The rest of us right now are a team, or a family.  It's like that when it works.  Mr. Graham did that.  Gotta give him credit."

"Did some music and theater folks you know from other shows come to see you?"

"Not as many as I'd hoped, but yes. ...And lemme tell you, they were impressed.  We might get some more auditions next month."

I'd sent Neil an email: "The Beckett was very good.  Don't let up...."

7

I asked:  "Do we have any progress to report?  50 at Friday's performance, 63 at Saturday's - That's pretty good for us, isn't it?  But can we be sure it's because of anything Jim did?"

"I did get that newspaper photographer and reporter out here," Jim said.

Neil chimed in:  "Yes, Jim did that.  And I just know that made a difference."

"Go on, Neil.  What other efforts did Jim make?"

"Well, he ..." as Neil looked over at Jim, "he talked it up with people he knows.  He told me he called that community theater director down the road where he appeared last summer..."

Jim nodded.  "I know quite a lot of performing people in the surrounding towns."  Didn't seem like he had done much on his assigned task, though, I was thinking.

"Jim, what information has Neil shared with you about what's going on?  You know, his side of the bargain..."

"Well, he came by the office a couple of times," Jim didn't seem to have thought about this part.  "There were two different families this week looking at the conservatory for their musical children, whom he met with to talk about theater. ...And he and I are going to get together next week to draft our season for next year."

"Do you feel you're a part of things? as far as you know?"

"As far as I know, well, I would say so, probably."

"So, are we making progress?"

Neil was nodding Yes.  Jim said, "Well, it's early, too early to tell, isn't it?"

*

Jim's perspective:

No one would be able to get them to come see a Graham show, why would they?  They can do better things with their time.  But they will come to my shows, and good things will happen, eventually.  No rush, no hurry.  (Well, the old guy admitted, I was thinking something like that okay.  Yeah.)

Neil's perspective:

We're having a pretty good season.  A couple more, and a couple of breaks with publicity... and we'll be on our way.

Byron's perspective:

Neil's instincts are to dictate, not manage; that method can work on a show, but with his colleagues?  Can Neil work against his instincts?  Share decision-making with Jim, for instance?  But then, I don't know what's going on behind Jim's pearly whites...  Could be anything, from loyal cooperation to full-throat revolution.  He is an actor, isn't he?

(He is an actor, isn't he? The old guy grinned fiercely at the mirror.)

8

To: Neil and to Jim

Thank you both for sending me your notes, Jim listing Neil's strongest qualities as he sees them and Neil listing Jim's.  I said you could write them confidentially to me, and I would make a summary.

Jim said Neil is very organized; he plans the work and works the plan.

Neil said Jim "inspires" his cast and crew, and "They give him more than they know they have to give."

 *

Byron's perspective:

But can they work together?  That's the key question, isn't it?  Or rather, do they want to work together: is that it?

9

"Jim, you seem upset."  We were just beginning our regular Wednesday a.m. session.

"I am upset.  You would be too."  

It turned out Jim was lodging a complaint that Neil was making plans without keeping his junior colleague in the loop, certainly without engaging Jim in making the plans.  Some actors had told Jim Neil had already sent inquiries to publishers about production rights for next season.  Jim was indignant.

Neil was surprised at Jim's reaction, explaining that preparing for his meeting with Jim to plan the season, he was finding out if some of the shows he was thinking about were within usual budget limits.  I said: "You mean you were just trying to avoid working with Jim on a plan that wouldn't work?"

But Neil's saying Yes didn't seem to calm Jim down.  He didn't seem concerned either that he hadn't made contact with the high school drama teachers in the region, as he had told Neil he would do last week.  Neil thinks we could do some Saturday morning workshops or a summer drama camp...

Next year Jim will direct the musical.  Neil was hoping it would be an audience favorite like "Oklahoma," although they couldn't get the rights to that particular one.  Jim had been looking for a real popular choice too, and suggested "Annie." 

As the conversation wound down, I said next week instead of our usual joint format, I would meet with each of these guys one-on-one beginning with Neil at 10.

*

Byron's perspective

I can't tell if Jim was really angry or if just acting upset made his point that Neil was impossible to work with.   Neil seems to be trying, working against his impulsive, go-it-alone instincts.  Is Jim working against his instinct to trash Neil so that he looks better himself?

10

Byron's notes to the file:

Right out of the shoot, I told Neil to relax.  I said I was pleased at his efforts to work with me on this project of trying to improve working relations in Theater.  What did he think about things in general?

Neil addressed this question globally, repeating things he had said from the Get-Go:  a full time tech person, a better cyclorama, several new spotlights, stuff like that.  I listened and then asked, What about how it's working out with you and Jim?

"You know," he said, looking into my face: "We're getting the job done.  When you asked me if two actor-directors were hired instead of me plus a tech director, could between us we cover the tech stuff...?  Remember?"

"Yes.  You said you could, if you could work as collaborators, number 2 doing some tech for you on your shows and you yourself doing some tech for number 2 on his or her shows.  Right?"

"I guess so, yes."  He smiled: "Is that why we've been having these meetings?  ...Because there's never been any problem with that.  Ten minutes before Endgame curtain, Jim was sweeping the floor on stage - on his own initiative - because he didn't want anyone's footing to be unsure.  No problem.  We're professionals."

I laughed.  "No, that's not why we've been meeting.  But do you think, all things included, that everything's hunky-dory?  Really?"

"I think we're getting the job done," he said.  "But you're the boss."

*

"So, Jim.  I have to say I'm disappointed in your lack of effort to improve working relations with Neil.  Your heart just isn't in it."

"I've been doing what you told me to...  I mean, Haven't I?"  (Haven't I?)

"The point is, you don't seem committed to improving the situation."  I added: "Neil at least seems to be trying."

We talked for ten or fifteen minutes more.  Jim was his usual cordial, well-mannered self.  But he didn't add much.  I concluded as I had with Neil.  I would give it two or three more months before deciding what our goals should be.

11

"Now Neil, I told you, both... I told you together.  I didn't want to have to choose between you but if the two of couldn't work together, I would choose.  Didn't I say that?"

"Yes, sure you said exactly that."  He paused for a minute: "So, don't you see?  To me, that meant if Jim didn't want to work with me - and wouldn't bother trying to convince you we could do just fine working independently of each other...  Well, then you were going to choose him.  Not me.  Him."

(Not him.  Me!  See?  That - the old guy said out loud - That's what everybody thought.)

"I told him, Neil, you were trying to make it work between the two of you, and Jim wasn't even trying... And that meant he had to be the one to go."

"I get it now.  I won't let you down."

"But I still think the two of you would have made a great team."

*

Jim's perspective:

That dinky little place wasn't right for me.  I'm better than that.  Who's next?"

*

The old guy leaned forward.  "Maybe I haven't set the world on fire," he said.  "But...  Was I lucky to escape that madhouse, or what?"

***

Reaping the Old Guy

***

1

Hello? What you want out there? Who are you? In costume, are you?

That - is - a - grim - mask. But -like I said - THERE'S NO PARTY HERE! Get it?

Oh, all right. See? I opened the door so you can look inside. No party, right?

2

You need to use the bathroom or something? You'll have to leave that... that Thing you got over your shoulder. You need to leave it outside.

Now, look here. Outside! Well, you gotta put it down right there by the door, anyway.

What are you supposed to be, eh? An old-timey farmer? Is that the thing, the tool you use to harvest the grain with? "Shine on, shine on, harvest moon..." That kind of thing? Ha!

3

No, I'm not going anywhere with you. Are you kidding?

I don't know you, see? And I don't have a costume to wear either. Like your harvester outfit, you understand?  I don't have anything to wear!

4

Just stop it, stop shoving! You want me to yell for help?

Oh yes, someone will hear me, what do you mean I can't be heard anymore?  What do you mean "anymore"?

5

That's the boniest hand I've ever had squeezing my arm, you nutsoid.

Cold too...

Uh-oh...


***

A Handful for the Old Guy

***

I don't know what they were talking about!  And it was not dust, or ashes either, like they said.  What they threw on me was dirt, you understand?  DIRT!

...Like saying I was ashes, you know?, something all burned up.  Or dust: stuff covering everything in your house that you'd prefer to get rid of.  Ashes and dust: See what I mean? 

AND then, when actions speak louder even than what they were saying on this solemn occasion... DIRT!  "That's him," they seem to say: "the dirt.  We're gonna pour this on him, in handfuls."

*

Oh, well, somebody threw on a flower too...  Probably took it from the dead old lady down the row a little ways. 

Anyway, they might have thought it was a flower.  I'd say myself it was a weed: ragweed, you know?  Sort of fluffy. 

Maybe they thought it was a lily, but really...

*

Nothing much to look at... Did I tell you about my first MRI fifteen years ago?

That was no fun either.  Why'd I think of that now?

*

I didn't have a good angle to see this afternoon, but there may have been someone there I used to know.  Maybe not.  Probably not, as I consider it more.

But come on, really: weeds and dirt?

*

Call me sentimental, you know?  Call me sentimental, but sometimes it's kind of nice to think back, to remember in its details some particular event or occasion...

Not now, though.  Ohhh no...

*

Now I think of it: ragweed always made my eyes itch.  Or was that goldenrod?

***

In the Name

***

1

The regular second baseman for the Cardinals now is a young man named Kolten Wong.  He is of Chinese cultural heritage and was born and raised in Hawaii.  This reminds me of a friend I had 40 years ago in a little village in Michigan.

In the village is a small college, which highlights among its features the fact that despite its small size, it fields a full football team every year, competing in a league with some powerhouse teams.  Shortly after the Korean War, in fact, this small-college football team somehow became known to a southern Korean family whose 20-year-old son wanted to go to college in America and play football.  They sent him, alone, to Michigan.

2

This young man's first name was W-O-N-G.  When I arrived in town 20 years later, he was still there.  He had made a little place for himself in that community while staying a fifth year of college to finish his degree.  By the time I knew him, he was responsible for the upkeep of three or four small apartment blocks.  Everyone called him "Mister Kim."  He was very private, a loner.  But for some reason he told me his story.

Wong Kim was his Korean name, and even though he wasn't particularly athletic, the college was glad to have him on the football team.  He told me, though, he had been very embarrassed in the locker-room and the showers.  Maybe he was a little more mature than his team-mates.  Or maybe they were just looking for a way to tease him in order to make him one of them.  But anyway, he indicated to me that they had talked about Wong and his w---.  Well, you understand.  It was a kind of locker-room pun.

3

It seems a small thing, or even flattering, I guess.  But that was not the case in this instance for this shy, quiet Korean lad.  It bothered him enough that one spring, he saved up enough money to hire an attorney in the County Seat 12 miles or so up the road.  He filed papers to change his name.

Mr. Kim did not evince much emotion about anything.  If I thought he was quietly satisfied, looking back on his legal action as he told me about it, I would be making it up.

But evidently he did succeed in changing his name.  It was W-O-N-G no longer.  It was "Dick."

***

A Perfect Example

***

1

I took Introduction to Psychology in college in 1961-62.  The lecturer was the last Freudian in the department, a real leftover from past generations.  Even in his own Intro class, however, he could spend only 30 minutes or so on Freud, not happening to point out that Freud was important by then more to students of art and literature than to psychologists.

But when he talked of Freudianisms, it was worth paying attention.  I particularly remembered his example of "sublimation," the defense mechanism converting an unacceptable impulse into a socially useful action. 

His example was an extreme sadist who became a well-respected surgeon.  That communicated the point about sublimation concisely and well, I thought.

2

My wife has suffered with an intestinal disease for years, with occasional flare-ups not only causing pain and frustration but also locking her up at home, often in bed, for days or weeks at a time. 

Usually, we understand it is a tough sell for GI physicians to convince such folks that surgery is the best option.  But when A----- went to her new GI here in our new hometown, she was the one pushing for surgery and he merely had to confirm she was right.  After removal of her diseased organ, she would have to wear an outside appliance and empty or change it regularly, but gone forever would be the pain, the lockdown, and the danger of colon cancer. 

He didn't hesitate to recommend the surgeon either:  Dr. Brodgrin, leader in the field. Whenever we told someone intestinal surgery was scheduled in two months, they would ask about the surgeon and sigh appreciatively when Dr. Brodgrin was named.  She really is well known.

3

Well, it turns out that A-----'s surgeon is the classic example my Psych lecturer was talking about.  A highly skilled surgeon, known over the world for her innovations and bold new techniques... But she is basically, yes, a sadist.

We met with her to schedule the surgery.  That went fine.  We'd made the right choice.  Then, as the time approached, we had questions... There was no one to ask.  "Oh, Dr. Brodgrin will tell you about that before the surgery," we were told.  Then a session was scheduled for our orientation to the process: great!  But Dr. Brodgrin was not present.  Her nurse had a set script to read to us; she was not interested in answering questions.  "You must talk with the doctor before the surgery," she said.

On the day of the surgery, further reassurances.  Dr. Brodgrin did appear, but not until after the anesthesia drip had started.  A---- was able to say, as she had attempted to do several times, that she wanted to see her internal organ after it had been removed.  "Oh, sure," everyone said.  Dr. B herself did not reply.

After the surgery, assistants came by, nurses.  A "fellow" or two, talking with each other more than with A-----.  Finally, the doctor dropped by for two minutes, to say the surgery had been easy.  That was what mattered: it had been easy for her.

She couldn't show A---- the organ she'd removed, which had been thrown out.  She actually seemed to enjoy the anger, sadness, and disappointment this process was provoking.  Later, when we tried to tell her about the absence of follow-up training, advice and counselling, she pointedly didn't listen.

4

At the post-op session a week later, of course there were two "lesser" medico's before the doctor sallied forth herself.  One of the young "fellows" did express sympathy about the irritation caused by a stitch or two that wasn't disolving normally in the outer incision.  He said they would take care of that before we left.

Dr. B, on the other hand, seemed amused at the claim of an errant stitch.  She laughed it off.  When A----- persisted in seeking aid.  Dr. Brodgrin put her finger on the stitch and rubbed it around, as A---- squirmed and moaned, laughing ironically at her patient's discomfort. 

"That'll just take care of itself!" she announced as she led her little entourage from the room.  (The young "fellow" we had met earlier surreptitiously pulled out the prickly stitch when no one was looking.)

5

After-care in the case of those who have had an intestine or a bladder surgically removed is even more important than in other kinds of procedure.  There are devices to be used in very delicate places and situations, and it's only by trial and error that everyone can hope to learn how to take care of oneself forever afterwards.  There are also many different products, different sizes and shapes and functions, and so on, which the individual needs time and encouragement to get to know.

We in our area are fortunate that there is an active social group who meets regularly to share tips and advice.  A----- was especially fortunate to find this group - on her own - shortly after her surgery.

After about 8 months of our attending these meetings, someone divided us up in break-out groups: those without bladders, without colons, etc.  There was one group for spouses of the surgery patients.  So there I was when a newcomer politely but firmly shouldered his way into the focus of our little group's attention.  He must have been about 70, tall, white-haired, dressed casually but in quality clothes.

I suspect he and his wife - the patient - had not been married long, and that each had outlived their first spouse.  Neither had been particularly active religiously, but their childhood religious backgrounds had been very different.  He was from a very traditional protestant main-line church (Episcopal, Presbyterian, Methodist...) and she from a more evangelical tradition.  That hadn't seemed important at their later stage in life together.

6

"My wife had been suffering a long time," he was telling us that night, "before they discovered the cancer."  Her son had been living close by and was a good support, as Erik (I'll call him, not knowing his name) worked with his relatively new wife through this crisis. 

"They started a rigorous course of chemo, then radiotion therapy," he told us, "to be as sure as they could be about the cancer spreading."  At the same time, they learned an old childhood friend had organized a prayor circle to pray for her in her illness.  She mentioned the friend's calls, apparently, but didn't say anything particularly about them.  Her son and her husband accompanied her to therapy each time, and followed along with all her meds and her symptoms and all that.  "After the course of treatments were done," he concluded, "her doctored went through a whole lot of new tests to see if they had done any good, getting ready for the surgery to remove the diseased organ itself." 

The doctor said he had never seen any results like these, but the tumors were no longer there.  He said they were sure to reappear, this time with the likelihood of having spread to other organs, but for now they were gone.  The surgery had already been scheduled, with the presumption that it would proceed as planned.

When they got home, the wife said she knew all along that the prayer circle was going to save her.  She had been praying too, and she knew the tumors' disappearance was the work of His divine hand.

Our speaker said that her son and he had persuaded his wife to go ahead with the surgery, since it seemed so likely the cancer in it would reappear if they didn't.

7

The surgery had been done about 10 days before our meeting when the husband was telling us about it.  He, his son-in-law, and his wife had had an emotional adjustment to learning the process of using the appliances (the creams, the seals, the removable bags, etc.) - which all of us there were accustomed to ourselves - but it was only that evening, as he had driven his wife across the city to our meeting, that she had said bluntly: "You made me have that operation.  I didn't need it.  God had healed me already."

8

No one said anything immediately after Erik finished, but the emotional support around our table for him was palpable, it couldn't have been missed.

One other spouse had been coming to the meetings since I started myself.  He always seemed engaged but never spoke except to clarify something his wife might have said.  As Erik told us his story, this man became more and more engaged, inching his chair forward, leaning on his elbows on the table.  In the seconds of silence after Erik's story, he said clearly and firmly: "You did the right thing."

I suspect Erik knew that already, but it was the right thing to say.  And lord knows, his wife's surgeon wouldn't have said anything!

***

On Her Deathbed

***

The old man - and his wife of 40-odd years too - they'd always assumed she would outlive him.  The husband always dies first.  A man's life expectancy is just less than a woman's.  That's why at movie matinees, two-thirds of the audience is always women.  Only old people go to the matinee, of course, and since the men die younger, it's mostly women who are left to go see the movie.

Also, he was expected to die first because he was the one with the big health problems.  Specialists.  Overnights in the hospital for special "procedures."  That was him.  Less of that for her, you know.  Any way you looked at it, it was going to be him first.

*

Then, she had a big stroke.  Catastrophic.  9 - 1 - 1.  EMTs.  Ambulance.  All the right stuff, but it just wasn't enough.

She was up there now, on the big hospital bed.  They had detached all the IVs.  The oxygen feed she had at her nose was tiny, quiet, and clear.  She was just sleeping.  Almost all the time.

He stayed there with her.  When no one was around, he talked to her because he had read somewhere or someone had told him that talking out loud helped bring some people out of it, whatever they had keeping them down.  But mostly he had a chair they could boost up so he could hold onto her hand.  She seemed to grip him back, but was otherwise still.

*

Once in a while she would open her eyes and turn her face toward him.  He would greet her and ask how she was doing.  He would explain what had happened to her and that their doctor (they called her their PCP) was looking after her.

She looked steadily at him on those occasions, but did not try to speak.

Until now, that is.

This time, she was looking steadily at him as he was saying he had been right there with her, and he would be staying, when she moved her head a little bit.  She nodded in a certain way that made him think she wanted to say something to him.

He squeezed her hand tight, and leaned in to her, looking searchingly into her face.  She opened her mouth a little and raised her jaw slightly.  He leaned farther in and brought his ear in close to her mouth.  He said: "Did you want to tell me something?" saying her name.

He was wondering what she would want to say.  That she loved him?  That he shouldn't be sad too long but should try and start a new life without her?  That she was glad they'd been together so long?

He leaned down to her, and he heard her take in a little breath.  "You - " she said in a strained little whisper. 

"Your nose is about to drip."

***

The Old Guy Crossing the Styx

***


So what happens if you fall overboard? Do you - for instance - say - DIE?

Then again, I don't suppose telling a little joke is quite the right thing down here, right?

*

It is "down" here, isn't it?  Down, not up, ...or sideways? Down?   Do you follow me?

See where I'm pointing? Down? We're down here?

*

You don't say much, do you?

Do you say anything? ever? Or just not much? Would that be rocking the boat?

Get it?

*

Ye gods, this is a gloomy place...    You don't say!


***

Do You Have More Health Reports, Mr. Derrick? (Reminiscence)

***

I've been self-conscious writing any more about our family's current and most recent health experiences, since those topics have so dominated these pages for the last 18 months. But it is simply a fact that the most interesting things happening to us now are, well, mostly medical.

So... Here goes another one of those stories.

1

First, it was me. We were beginning to count the days until my daughter's baby was due in late February. We had the suspicion he (we knew it was a boy) would not come until sometime after that but it was a tempting reference point anyway. In the middle of one night a few days before the preset date, I woke up with serious chills and fever. By morning I had diarrhea big time, which lasted all day. The temperature calmed down soon but the intestinal disruption continued for pretty much of 24 hours. Then, in that second day, I appeared to have outlasted the virus and was merely tired... But really tired. My wife A---- had nursed me and was still feeling fine.

By the way, we had both had our flu shots earlier in the year. But that just didn't defend anyone against the onslaught of this Noro virus monster.

Sure enough, there was no sign at all of the new baby as yet.

2

A couple of days passed as we congratulated ourselves on A----'s having managed to dodge the Noro bullet.  Then ... Well, the slow-motion melodrama did resume, and in no time at all, I found myself on the phone to A----'s Primary Care Physician (in the 19th century - or was it the 20th? - we called this doctor our "GP").  I said:  "First I had a virus involving a high temperature and then diarrhea, and now my wife has both nausea and diarrhea - no fever - and we're finding it impossible to keep her hydrated."

I thought I was going to go on to describe that she was now so weak she couldn't even sit up on the bathroom floor, she wasn't as lucid and logical as usual, and so on and so forth.  But as soon as I said "dehydrated," the nurse practitioner in the PCP's office said to call 911 and get A---- to the Emergency Room.  She would call ahead.

This happened to be the same hospital where our daughter was planning to go to in order to have her baby.  If it had been a race, we were going to win.

3

The two EMTs with the ambulance - which surely resembled a fire truck, by the way - were fast. pleasant, and efficient.  A----- had made it as far as onto her knees in the bathroom by the time they came in.  But when the big guy asked if A---- could help them get her standing up and onto the gurney, she said loudly and in no uncertain terms, "I can't do it!"

Anyway, in a jiffy they had her up, out the door, and into the truck.  I was to drive myself and meet them at Emergency.  Perhaps I was a bit excited.  I had been in the Waiting Room almost 15 minutes before the Ambulance/Fire Truck arrived.  Using the back-roads route we had planned for the baby's arrival, it was a 28-minute drive.  (The EMTs had used the main roads and no lights or siren.)

Within minutes of the I-V setting the fluids straight and a few minutes more for the anti-nausea medication to get going, A---- was her usual self, although she didn't remember much about the last two or three hours.  They kept her overnight and then another day and night.  She was hooked up to the I-V much but not all the time.  In the second day, we did a few laps slow-walking the corridors.  One more day in her own bed at home, and A--- began to slowly resume ordinary activities.

Two weeks passed.  Still no baby.

4

Our daughter L------ was very sad to learn her body was not yet showing signs of impending delivery.  Then, she had a 24-hr bout with Noro Splats herself.  She was well cared for in the hospital and seemed to recover somewhat.  The drug they'd been considering administering to stimulate labor was begun, and then stopped again to allow her to recover more fully from the dreaded Noro.  The baby was waiting patiently.

Our son W-----, who had planned to come from his home in the big city for one of the baby's first weeks at home, arrived while his sister was still recovering from the virus in the hospital.

When the obstetrician started the birth process again, labor seemed on the way.  One of the delivery nurses looked hard at our son-in-law R---- and ordered him to the Emergency Room.  She told us later she had talked with her colleagues there to say it was up to them to get him back for the delivery, holding mean old Noro at bay.

5

R---- made it back in time to help all through a grueling delivery.  Our daughter struggled long and hard for 24 hours, with little progress.  Ultimately the baby-to-be began to show signs of stress.  The decision was made to deliver by C-section. 

That process went as expected, and our grandson was born.  L------ was united with her new baby and started to nurse him, and R---- dashed home to be sick.  Like me, he was not known to have vomited in many years.  He made up for lost time that day, as the Noro diarrhea did its work too.

Our children L----- and W----- have always been close, but never any more so than the next three or four days when he more or less substituted for L------'s husband, even staying overnight twice to help with the baby in L------'s room with her.  R---- kept in close touch with the action from home by phone.  A----- and I visited the hospital often.

6

The long labor, preceded by the intestinal flu, had weakened our daughter considerably.  She would not have been able to have the baby in the room with her, except for feedings, if one of us hadn't been on hand to help.  We took turns, but W----- took the night shifts.  The baby was doing great.

And the fifth morning after delivery, the new mom and her baby were able to go home at last.  My wife and I had spent the afternoon the day before decontaminating the youngsters' apartment - Lysol all around - sending ol' Noro packing once and for all.  R---- had got the car rigged up for the baby carrier.  He was reunited with his wife and new son, and he drove them and W----- across the city to their second-floor walk-up.  A----- and I followed.

L------ was still laid up from the surgery for a week or so, but W----- flew back to his home and work.  R---- had a few days leave, and we grandparents helped out a bit.  By the one month anniversary visit to the pediatrician, the latest arrival was doing great and his whole family was right as rain again.

Whew!

***