Caribe Hilton

     The Caribe Hilton in San Juan has a large patio area right on top of the breakers, or the rocks set up to prevent soil erosion, so not only can Tracey feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair, she constantly gets sprinkled with the mist produced by the surf.  Because of the CDC warnings against traveling  during the COVID crisis, there were very few people at the hotel, especially before the New Year’s weekend, so Tracey had her pick of chairs.  Marisol was the main pool attendant and she greeted us with a smile and a warm towel every day.  William was the man in charge of maintaining the pool and he offered to save Tracey a chair by the breakers.  He was the first to arrive and could save Tracey’s special place before the other guests arrived.  My point in mentioning these two people is that the Caribe Hilton was the nicest hotel that I have ever stayed at because of the amenities but also, and more importantly, because of the service.                     

         “I know that I don’t deserve it, but I am going to enjoy it” was a line that I said to myself throughout the week.  After all, if we can afford it, then we might as well use the money for a luxury vacation because “that’s what the money is for.” This was the second line that I constantly whispered to myself to justify spending so much on a week in Puerto Rico.  To my way of thinking, it was worth it to get out of my routine for a while, to get the creative juices flowing, to aerate my brain, and to cultivate an attitude of gratitude for everything that I have.  Also, Tracey and I strengthen our marriage by spending quality time together because this was our best week ever!

Having a great vacation doesn’t just happen.  I was determined to be on my best behavior because I wanted us to share a good memory.  I have learned to check myself whenever I feel impatience, anger, and intolerance flooding into my brain.  When I become tired, frustrated, or feel a lack of control, I tense up and move my way into a bad mood.  “Where ever you go, you take yourself with you,” was a third line that I used and I have learned that the best way for me to combat my anxiety is through exercise.  I took a two hour walk every morning, lifted weights in the afternoon, and took a nap every day to refresh myself.  Happiness is a choice, but I have to work on it, and I know that I can be my own worst enemy on vacation.  Since I paced myself by reading a little, playing around on YouTube, and listening to some of my favorite music, our vacation was a complete success.

Being a man of a certain age can be an advantage because I can walk around unnoticed.  As an older man in a younger crowd, I become invisible, but that is fine with me because I am free to observe other people without them becoming defensive.  For example, as I crossed the pool deck to check in on Tracey, I came across a loud mouth jerk who was arguing politics with an equally opinionated Latina while their spouses sat off to the side, wishing that the debate would end.  Another time, I saw a young Asian man strutting from one end of the property to the other while his new wife had to take twice as many steps as he did just to keep up.  And then there was the couple who was having a good time by giving each other piggy back rides on the patio.  Teenage girls were taking selfies and recording Tick Tock videos in bathing suits that were barely there.  A young mother kept a watchful eye over her two sons but what made her remarkable was that she was wearing a string bikini.  She was obviously proud of the fact that she kept herself up, in spite of giving birth to two boys, and wanted to show off.

“Mojitos” was one of the restaurants attached to the hotel and Tracey and I liked the place so much that we had breakfast there every morning and took most of our dinners there in the evening.  The food was good but the real reason why we kept going back was the staff; they warmed up to us from the first day of our stay and by the end of the week they treated us like family.  Kathy is the owner and, since we were at her restaurant on New Year’s Eve, she introduced us to her mother and husband, who were there to celebrate the holiday.  “Mojitos” is a family run operation and Kathy’s daughter works there as the hostess while her husband visited the restaurant every day just to help keep an eye on things.  Peter and Pedro were the brothers who bussed the tables and they was a little confusing because not only did they share the same looks and demeanor, they shared the same name.  The real gem of the place was Veronica.  She was our waitress on most days and she was a little Puerto Rican ball of fire.  At one point, Veronica had colored her air silver, but it grown out a while ago, so about a quarter of her hair was jet black and the rest of it was silver.  Not everyone could get away with this look but Veronica had the personality to pull it off.  Because she had so much energy and an attractive personality, I began to look forward to seeing Veronica every day just so that I could spend a few moments talking to her.  However, it was hard to see her bright eyes turn sad as she talked about the devastation that Hurricane Maria brought to the island two years ago and the poverty that came as a result of the calamity.

If I had to pick one moment that was the highlight of our trip to the Caribe Hilton, it has to be when they brought out our New Year’s Day dinner at “Rustica.”  Tracey picked this Italian restaurant to bring in 2021 and she preordered the meal as a surprise to me.  To add even more class to the event, Tracey paid with cash so that I couldn’t find out how much the meal cost.  We shared carpaccio for an appetizer, a tomahawk steak for two as the main course, and tiramisu for dessert.  The meal was paired with a bottle of Chardonnay.  It was the best dinner that I have ever had and it meant more to me because Tracey went out of her way to make it an event.

There were so many small moments, so many memories that made our vacation special.  If there was anything that was negative during our week in Puerto Rico, it was that so many businesses had shuttered their doors.  The hurricanes and the pandemic had left the restaurants and hotels wanting for customers.  We never left the tourist area so Tracey and I didn’t see the devastation on the rural areas of the island but Veronica said that she lives in the city and her electricity was off for eleven months.  It is my hope that this pandemic will be over soon and people will feel comfortable travelling again.  And if there is anything that I can do to encourage you to visit Puerto Rico then please let me know.  It is a wonderful place and I want to see the small businesses flourish again.             

    

Pacifc Coast Highway

The Pacific Coast Highway

My tour of the Pacific Coast Highway began on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  Many small things made this trip special.  For example, when I flew to Chicago to meet my connecting flight, the flight attendant said that there were seats available in first class.  I took advantage of this opportunity because I have never been in a first class seat before.  The next flight, which took me to Seattle, was uneventful except for the baby crying and the dog barking.  I smiled to myself because I was far enough away that the noise didn’t bother me.  The best part of the flight was the view of the Rocky Mountains.  Once I landed, I picked up my rental, an Acura Infiniti Q50, a sporty little sedan, and then I was ready for my Pacific Coast Highway adventure to begin.

            Between the COVID virus and the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, there were few businesses open along the highway.  I knew that this was going to happen and that is why I chose to do the bulk of the driving on Thanksgiving Day.  Once I landed in Seattle, I decided to avoid driving into the city because of the heavy traffic.  Instead, I drove to the heights on the west side of the city and, for the first time, I took out Tod Knight’s shirt and held it in front of me.  The shirt said “Team Tod’ on it and I had my picture taken with Seattle in the background.  After a brave fight with cancer, Tod succumbed to the disease two weeks before I left so I decided to dedicate my trip to him.  I wanted to honor Tod so, at every major attraction on the highway, I took his shirt out of my backpack, unfurled it, and had my picture taken with it.

            On Thanksgiving Day, I drove the Infiniti for twelve hours straight, stopping only to refuel and to go to the bathroom.  Since all of the restaurants were closed, I bought two boxes of dry cereal and some bottled water, and this is what I lived on for two days.  It wasn’t a trip for everyone; my wife and kids would have been miserable on it, but I was in my element.  My hyperactivity, which had caused me a lot of problems over the years, worked for me on the long drive.  Also, the skills that I honed while training for the Ironman, like organization and taking the trip one-step at a time, really helped me to not become overwhelmed.  I found true happiness as I drove, with the Pacific Ocean crashing into the rocks off to my right and the Cascade Mountains, filled with Spruce trees, off to my left.  When I drove through the Redwood Forest, where the road was literally built around the trees, I took the curves as fast as the Infiniti would take me, and I felt alive.

            When I checked into the hotel on Thanksgiving night, the clerk told me that breakfast would be served at 6:00 am.  I told her, with a glint in my eye and a sly smile, that I would have been on the road for two hours before breakfast.  She looked at me like I was crazy, which was exactly the reaction that I was looking for, becauseI knew that this whole trip was beyond the boards.  Still, on both Thursday and Friday, I was on the road for three hours before the sun came up.  It was so dark that I could not see a thing; fortunately, there were literally no other cars in the road, so I could drive at my own pace.  After five hours of intense driving, and the feeling that I had melded into the seat of the rental, I turned in the Infiniti to the Enterprise station that just happened to be located in the Tenderloin section of San Fransisco.  Only later did I learn that this was the worst section of the whole city.

            After living in the rental for two days, all that I wanted to do was to get out and walk, so I slowly made my way down to Fisherman’s Warf, stepping over the homeless as I started out from the Tenderloin.  On the way to Pier 39, which is the main tourist area, I stopped at the top of Lombard Street to take a picture with Tod’s shirt while overlooking the city.  It was all downhill from there and I decided to reward myself with a big lunch at a nice restaurant after eating dry cereal for two days.  As I was enjoying my burger with a beer, I heard “Hey Jeff!” from behind me.  I almost didn’t turn around, thinking that no one in San Fransisco could possible know me, but there was Carolyn Nunn, my wife’s best friend, who happened to be in the city to visit her brother.  We both laughed at this strange turn of events, had lunch together, and then went down to the docks to watch the sea lions for a while.  Before we said our goodbyes, we remarked on how weird it was for us to run into each other 2,000 miles away from Louisville.

            Later that afternoon, I took a catamaran tour of the San Fransisco bay.  One of the other passengers saw my Ironman jacket and he told me that he competes in Ultra Marathons.  We passed the time by comparing the different competitions and bonded over the fact that we both played rugby in college.  It was fun to relax and share stories while sailing underneath the Golden Gate Bridge.  After we docked I walked to the Hilton in the financial district, but even I had to admit that three days of unremitting travel was beginning to wear on me.  As I said, this trip wasn’t for everyone.

            On Saturday, I decided to take a small group tour on the bay area and it did not disappoint.  Benny was my tour guide and we met at 8:00 am in order to beat the traffic.  There were only two other people in the small van with us so the tour could not have been more personal.  We started off at city hall, in the Tenderloin neighborhood, and Benny showed us a huge homeless camp right across the street from the main government building.  He drove us down Lombard Street and through the Pacific Heights neighborhood, which is the most exclusive part of San Fransisco.  We took a break at the park where the opening credits of the television show, “Full House,” was filmed.  I didn’t think that it was that big of a deal but the couple taking the tour with me about lost control.  Benny sang the theme song to the show because he was really enjoying himself as well.  We also saw the “Mrs. Doubtfire” house and then visited the residences where Jerry Garcia and Janis Joplin lived in the Haight Ashbury neighborhood.  Benny played “Touch of Gray” and “Bobby McGee” while driving the van. 

            Benny gave us a lot of information about how the hippies moved into “The Castro” during the 1967 “Summer of Love.”  He told us how they crammed as many people as possible into each house, and then they refused to leave, so the local government decided to stop all municipal services until the blight of hippies got out.  They stayed anyway, until they could no longer afford the rent.  Benny said that the average two bedroom apartment goes for about $3,700 a month in Haight Ashbury, well above what the hippies could pay, so they moved out and the “Yuppies” moved in.  The last neighborhood that we saw was “The Presidio,” where my sister used to live.  It is an old Army base that has been turned over to the National Park Service.  Once again, the rent is too high for the average citizen to live there, but the residents have a great view of the bay and the city.

            Our final destination was the “Muir Woods,” located at the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Benny warned us that, in order to prevent ourselves from getting lost, we should turn left at every intersection as we hiked the trails, and that way we would naturally come back to the visitor’s center without losing our way.  After reviewing the map, and realizing that the trail that Benny suggested was too easy for me, I decided to be a rebel and take the trail off to the right.  The “Canopy Trail” proved to be almost too much for me as it was a 40 minute hike straight up to the summit and then an equally challenging 40 minute hike back down to the main trail.  I had to sprint to finish the trail in the allotted time but I made it back with seconds to spare.  When I bragged to Benny that I went straight up the “Canopy Trail,” which was exactly what he told me not to do, he said “So you went to the right!”  I think that he was irritated that I ignored his most basic instruction but I didn’t care; if I hadn’t been a rebel then I would have missed the prettiest part of the “Muir Woods.”  He blew it off and I gave Benny a twenty dollar tip because he was such a great guy.   

Tod’s Eulogy

The last time that I saw Tod, my best friend for forty years, was about an hour before he died.  I was struck by how young he looked, laying there on his death bed, tubes attached to his nose and his skin had turned yellow.  It may sound incongruent now, but I remember thinking, "You can't die.  You're just a kid."  He was 58 years old but whenever we were together it felt like we we still teenagers and not two middle aged men

I couldn't think of what to say to the man who I knew so well, but who now unresponsive and in a coma, so I held his hand and said the "Our Father" and "Hail Mary" a few times.  This was a level of familiarity that we never shared while he was alive, but it just felt right now that he was close to death.  The last thing that I said, as I squeezed his hand and then let go, was "I love you, brother."

Less than two weeks before he passed, Paula texted me that Tod's cancer was back and that it had invaded his bones and bladder. I texted her back and wrote, "I will never understand why bad things happen to good people!"  Tod was a good man; the best man that I ever knew.  This is such a simple thing to say, an easy thing to say, so I want to give a couple of examples of why Tod was such a good man.

First of all, Tod was the only person who I had met who had read the whole Bible.  He sat in his car before going into work and after dropping off Melissa at St Rita, and read the Bible for an hour before he had to clock in.  After he had read through it once, then he did it again, and for this reason alone he should be sainted.

Secondly, Tod sacrificed for his family.  He wanted to be a meteorologist and referred to himself as a "weather nerd," but gave up his dream to take a job with the FBI and then, a couple of years later, he started to work for KFC corporation.  He was a good man because he kept those jobs, even though he hated them, because work gave him steady pay so that he could afford to raise a family. I don't think that it is too strong to say that he suffered to put food on the table.

He was a good man because he loved his wife and kids.  An example of this is when his daughter, Kristen, attended Western Kentucky University, Tod wanted to support her.  Everyone who knew anything about Tod knew that he was a dyed in the wool U.K. Fan, but he wanted to support his daughter so he wore shirts that were red and white, WKU's colors, but they are also U of L's colors and he took some good natured grief from his friends and family for being a turn coat.  He took the ribbing because his daughter was more important to him than any basketball team

More than being a good person, Tod was just fun to be around.  I think that was because he gave so much of himself at work, he needed a release on the weekends and on vacation.  The first road trip that we took together was to Pensacola to visit my sister.  We went to watch my brother in law play softball, and we were so bored that we drank too much beer, and we started to sing Camp Tall Trees songs behind the batting cage.  He named our trio of singers, "Jeff and the Monotones" because we sang so badly but with gusto.  Later, at Woody's, we belted out "Pink Cadillac" by Bruce Springsteen whenever it came on the juke box and then did a little dance as we sang.

There is no doubt that drinking beer had a lot to do with our nights out.  We drank at his grandfather's bar in Jeffersonville, a place called "Buddy's," and listened to his grandfather sing, in a scene that could've  come from the 1950s..  Over the years we met at different places to bend a elbow; Rose Bowl South, Pasquali's, Woody's, and then later at the "Bats" home baseball games.  All he wanted to do was to relax and talk for awhile, so we philosophized about politics, religion, and how much we hated our jobs.  Mostly, though, we talked about our wives and kids.

We shared a long history together.  For example, I was the one who told him that International Harvester was leaving Louisville.  This hit home because Tod's father, Buddy, no longer had a job in Louisville with that company and had to move to Indianapolis in order to work a couple more years to earn his retirement.  I was in his wedding and he was in mine.  We each went to each other's parent's funerals and then we went to each other's children's weddings.  We both had three kids; a boy and two girls, in that same order.  I was Michael's godfather, his sponsor for his first communion, and attended his graduation ceremony when he became an Eagle Scout.  

We struggled in careers that never took off, we were had proud of our children and loved our wives.  We watched each other grow from young men to middle aged as our marriages matured and as we moved out of our apartments and into a house; and then we each bought an even bigger house.  We compared 401Ks. 

We shared a lot of small moments together.  I remember one Friday nightwhen, as usual, we met up at the Rose Bowl, and Tod wanted me to see the new girl that he was dating.  I knew that Paula was special to him because Tod was a little nervous about what I might think about her.  Paula was a few lanes down but she saw us from a distance.  She knew that we were checking her out because she smiled before she turned away.  I remember telling Tod, "She's beautiful.  You are a lucky guy."   He beamed with pride as he looked at the girl who would become his wife. 

Much later in life, I remember sharing that same pride and excitement with him when we went to see his oldest daughter dance with the Lady Birds.  The game was almost over when we finally got her attention by waving our arms and jumping up and down.  Tod and Kristen exchanged smiles, she on the field and he in the stands, and he beamed with pride at his oldest daughter.

He was always talking about his family and how proud he was of them.  
• Proud of his father for taking on the responsibility of caring for Aunt Janice
• Proud of Paula for acting as the contractor when they built their current house.  
• Proud of Kristen for becoming a dance instructor.  
• Proud of Michael for getting his first career building job as a pharmacists assistant.  
• Proud of Melissa for becoming a nurse.  She used her training to administer morphine to her father in his final hours and to ease him into the next life.

On Tuesday, Election Day, cancer took all of that away from Tod
• Cancer took away Tod's time.  Time that would have been well spent with his father, his wife,  his children, and his grandchild.
• Cancer took away Tod's chances to watch his beloved UK Wildcats win another national championship or his Miami Dolphins go to another Super Bowl.
• Cancer took away Tod's well earned retirement.  Paula said that the happiest that Tod had been in years was when he was laid off from his job for five weeks this past spring.  He truly enjoyed taking long walks with his wife, something he could have done every day in retirement, but his reward for enduring his office job for over three decades was taken away from him.
• Cancer took away Tod's life.  However, if there is such a thing as a good death then Tod had one.  It was a blessing that he was given the time to say goodbye to his family and friends before he lapsed into a coma.  On his last full day on earth, he was surrounded by the ones who loved him and had Amelia, his brand new granddaughter, sitting in his lap.  That, my friends, is the definition of a good death. 
• 
And now, he belongs with the angels.  Let us say goodbye, in the language of another time:  To Tod Knight, "Good soldier, faithful friend, great heart, hail and farewell!"

Boston and Washington, D.C.

There are many reasons to travel. One of the main reasons is that I feel the need to move around a lot when I have time off is because I do a lot of sitting at my job. A second reason is that my job isn’t intellectually challenging so. I can feel my brain turning to concrete and I need to aerate it; to turn this gray and dull thing into something that is alive and pulsating. Not that I am complaining; I have a great life and I know it. Still, every once in a while I need something to knock me out of my complacency and a road trip is just what the doctor ordered. My final reason for travelling is "why not?” I have the time and money and what better way to spend the both of them than by hitting the open road.

Our first stop on my fall break was Boston. I had ordered tickets for the hop on and hop off tour bus but since out tour didn’t start until10:00, Grant and I had some time to kill. We walked around Quincy Market and took some cheesy selfies in front of the Sam Adams statue before making our way down to the waterfront. ‘Coach’ was our tour guide and he was really good at his job, which was fortunate for us since we took the same tour with him two and a half times. On the second time around, we got off at the stop for the USS Constitution and, since it was closed, we walked up to the Bunker Hill monument. It was such a nice day with no rain, a full sun, and seventy-degree temperatures, that I laid back on the grass and took a little nap in front of the obelisk. It was one of the many small moments that I experienced that made the trip worthwhile.

We took the tour a third time in the afternoon to kill an hour before we met up with JT, Grant's best friend from his school days, at the Hard Rock Cafe. It was a huge restaurant but, because of the virus, we had the place to ourselves. A second moment that I will treasure is when JT sheepishly told us that it was his birthday. Clearly, he hadn’t made any plans, and was excited to spend his big day with his friend from Louisville.

On Friday, I took a side excursion to Martha's Vineyard while Grant spent the day with JT in Boston. The bus took two and a half hours to get to the island, then there was a forty-five minute ferry ride, and then I took a three-hour tour of the island. It was an endurance race and I think that is what attract people to Martha's Vineyard; it is very difficult to get to, expensive (the ferry ride alone is $120 for a car), and the residents are ensured a lot of privacy. There are no streetlights, no industry, and very little commerce. I imagine that the people who buy a house on Martha’s Vineyard need a break from the hustle and bustle of Boston or Providence and need a place to do nothing for a couple of weeks out of the year. The island is packed during the peak season of June through August but it is dead for the rest of the year because it is cold and wind.

Tom was our driver and he liked to drop a lot of names about who lives on Martha’s Vineyard. Past residents include Walter Cronkite, James Cagney, Billy Joel and Christy Brinkley. People who currently own a place on the island are Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg, Carly Simon, James Taylor, and Dan Ackroyd. Seth Meyer and Amy Schumer have been broadcasting their shows from their houses on the island since they cannot have a live studio audience during the time of the plague. John Belushi is buried there. Finally, Barack Obama bought a fourteen million dollar house from the owner of the Celtics and has had Michael Jordon stay with him. The two luminaries play golf on the course that abuts the former president’s property.

Martha’s Vineyard is where "Jaws" was filmed and Tom tirelessly pointed out the spots where the movie was filmed; Quint’s shop, Chief Brody’s house, and the bridge where the shark swam under to feed on the people in the tidal pool. He had been a tour guide for a long time and got to know Bill Clinton when he visited the island during his presidency. With a little prodding, Tom showed us some pictures of himself with the Clintons and let it be known that he was at Chelsea’s wedding. I knew that the Clintons often came to the island, which is why I thought that it would have one mansion after another, but really there were just a couple of cottage towns spread out over the island, and that added to its charm for me.

On Saturday, we took Amtrak from Boston to D.C. just to see the fall colors. It was a seven-hour train ride and we had to travel light, with just the backpacks and nothing else, because we would not get to the hotel until late in the evening. It felt like we were in an episode of “The Amazing Race” because we were constantly in motion and carried all of our possessions with us as we rode the rails through the most populous cities on the eastern seaboard. At one point I turned to Grant and said, “I am proud of us” because this was our fourth day of hard travel and we endured without getting sick or turning on each other.

Once we arrived in D.C., we left Union Station and then walked to L’Enfant Plaza to meet up with our Segway tour. Emily was our guide and the two young women who joined us, Mikayla and Kaitlyn, were clearly nervous about getting on the Segway. Mikayla was so afraid that her hands were visibly shaking as she grabbed the handlebars for the first time. Kaitlyn apologized at every intersection because she was too scared to power her Segway up the ramp to reach the sidewalk. We heard “I’m sorry” at each traffic light. When we turned around, we saw Kaitlyn at the bottom of the ramp, looking up at us sheepishly, because her machine had stopped half way up and she had to get off and walk. Meanwhile, Grant was clearly enjoying himself, chatting up our tour guide while riding the Segway, because they had found common ground. Emily was a self-proclaimed science fiction nerd and they talked about the Comic Cons that they had been to.

D.C. looks a lot different at night and, although I have been there several times in the past, it was a very different experience in the dark. The highlight was stopping in front of the Lincoln Memorial and walking to the statues of the Korean War soldiers. By the end of the tour, however, I was visibly tired and ready to go back to the hotel. We had reservations on an early flight back to Louisville on Sunday. Still, I had accomplished what I had set out to do and that was to travel as much as possible over the course of a five-day weekend to see as much as I could see. Given the chance, I would do it all over again.

The Night My Mother Died

The Night My Mother Died.

My mother's eyes had become hollow. She was always looking around but since she didn't wear her glasses anymore, and because she was as blind as a bat without them, her eyes were always searching yet unable to focus on anything. In those eyes was the constant look of fear. Fear of what, no one could say, especially Mom, because she couldn’t verbalize her thoughts. The look of anxiety was always on her face. While her mind was somewhere else, her body became a wreak. Her back formed a perfect "C" as if it had been molded into the wheelchair. Her shoulders had become thin and hunched; her legs turned into big bags of jelly from lack of exercise. My mother’s bottom had become huge from sitting all day long. Sometimes she forgot that she could no longer stand and when she tried to get out of the wheelchair by herself, she fell. Her face and arms were full of bruises from when she came tumbling down to the floor.

When Mom could no longer do her own toileting and had difficulty feeding herself, she was moved to the advanced care wing of the nursing home. All of her personal items were moved to her new room and anything that she couldn't take with her were donated to charity. The nurses in the advanced care unit simply could not attend to everyone’s need every minute of the day, so Mom had to wear diapers all of the time. She was given plastic pants to wear for easy access to the toilet. Aside from those pants, Mom always wore a t-shirt or sweatshirt, and an old pair of worn out shoes. The shoes were given to her by the nursing home because none of Mom’s old shoes fit. Her feet had become bloated, and otherwise disproportionately large, because of lack of use. It was a sad sight to see; a once proud woman who now looked like a homeless person in a wheelchair.

The other residents of the advanced care unit were even worse off. For example, one sweet looking old woman sat by herself in a corner and cussed like a sailor. Mostly, though, they were herded together in groups of five or ten wheelchairs, and they just sat there or slept. The wheelchairs were positioned to form circles so the residents could stare at each other all day. Very few people came to visit because what would be the point? There was not even a glint of recognition when a visitor entered the enclosure. I continued to see my mother out of a sense of duty, but I understood why other family members did not want to visit their loved ones in the nursing home. No one wants to see his or her parents live in purgatory.

Visitors cannot just walk into the advanced care unit when they want to see a resident. It is a secured facility and visitors have to ring a doorbell and wait for someone to let them in. However, the doorbell is difficult to hear, and a sign had been posted stating all visitors are to knock if no one answered the doorbell. In much smaller letters, the sign says that the visitors are to wait a few moments because the staff may be busy with the residents and it may take a few minutes for them to unlock the door. It always took a while, but eventually an over-worked, and apparently frustrated, nurse’s aide would open the door. There, in the middle of the common area, were all of the residents. The wheels from their wheelchairs are touching together and the residents were arranged in one large circle. They stare at each other all day. No one bothers to break away from the group because they had nowhere to go. It was an endlessly monotonous existence but the residents didn’t seem to care, probably because they had already lost their minds and nothing bothered them. They were in heaven’s waiting room.

When I find my mother among the other residents, I wheel her away from the larger group. No one notices that the circle has become broken and that one of the members is missing. Since I am not allowed to take my mother off the advanced care wing, I wheeled her over to an adjacent common room and try to strike up a conversation. Inevitably, after a few minutes, Mom asks me to take her to the bathroom. The only time that she speaks to me is when she needs to go to the bathroom. When I ask a staff member for assistance, she invariably tells me that my mother just went to the bathroom and she will have to wait in line. Several over residents had already asked to go and there were only two staff members working the floor. When I told Mom that she had to wait in line, she became irritated. She asked to go again but this time she was more demanding. Rather than cause a scene, I decided to say goodbye to my mother and make a quick exit. Every visit at the advanced care unit began and ended this way.

A good death is when the old person dies while surrounded by her family and friends. My mother did not have a good death. In fact, she had one of the worst deaths imaginable; alone, in a nursing home, miserable because she was in pain, and undignified because she was wearing a full diaper. She had taken all the precautions for a good death by making her wishes clear in a living will, so at least Mom did not have any tubes shoved down her mouth. Also in her favor, was my sister, Cheryl, who took a leave of absence from work to start a deathwatch. Cheryl stayed with Mom in her final days when she became comatose. I decided that there was no use in visiting Mom on her last days on earth because I thought that she was all but dead already. Besides, Cheryl is a nurse and could shepherd Mom through her final hours and I would simply be in the way.

Cheryl called me late at night. As soon as I heard her voice on the other end of the line, I knew what she had to say even before she had a chance to share the news. “Is it over,” I asked, plaintively. “Yes,” said Cheryl. “Mom has passed.” “I’ll be right over,” After a quick drive over to the nursing home, I entered my mother’s room and saw the corpse on the bed. The scene was so much like it had been over the course of so many Sunday visits; the same lifeless body and the same translucent skin devoid of any color. It was the same sight that I had seen so many times before, but now it was clear that Mom really was dead. Her head tilted back a bit, and her mouth was wide open, but the image that remained with me was that of Mom’s nose sticking up prominently from her face. It stood out like a lighthouse on top of the shoals of her face and body.

It was anti-climactic. There were no dramatic goodbyes; no deathbed confessions or anything like that you would see in the movies. I stood over Mom’s body for a while, awkwardly looking down at the corpse on the bed. Finally, after a long and empty pause, Cheryl returned to the room after having left to call for an ambulance. “It should arrive any minute to take the body away.” That was my cue to take my leave from the death room and let my sister finish her duties with preparing the body for transportation. My first thought, as I left the nursing home, was that I needed to go to the laundry so that I would have clean shirts for the visitation and funeral. Then, on the drive home, I silently cursed myself for thinking of only practical things when I should have been grieving the loss of my mother. I had mourned her dead on so many Sunday visits that I could not dredge up enough emotion to weep when it mattered the most. Silently, I drove back to my house, wondering what it meant that I couldn’t cry on the night my mother died.

Trinity Alum Magazine Article

While training for the Ironman, I make sure that I put the campus of Trinity High School on my route. I turn off Shelbyville Road, run down Sherrin Avenue to Marshall Stadium, and stop at the gates. When the gates were originally put up the contractor added the Power T to them to mark the entrance as the home to the sports program of the Shamrocks. By the time that I reach the gates, I am a sweaty mess and I like to take my fist and wipe it on the Power T. I do not mean any disrespect by this gesture; in fact, I feel the exact opposite, that the imprint of my sweaty hand shows the respect that I have Trinity and its academics and sports program. It is the sweat that I poured into Trinity that has made me into the person that I am today. My four years at Trinity marked my transition from boy to man; from what I was to what I am.

When I was in grade school, I had undiagnosed ADHD. This was before anyone even knew anything about this affliction and I had difficulty concentrating for even short periods, much less reading lengthy books. Fr. Zettel was my admissions counselor and he took a risk on me by allowing me to attend Trinity even though my entrance exam score did not warrant a place for me in the incoming class, and for that, I am forever grateful to him. During my four years, I participated in three sports. I learned the satisfaction that comes with long distance running by participating in cross-country and Mr. John Kahl was one of my coaches. Mr. Bradford ran the theater and I was involved with every production during my time at Trinity. I learned how to speak well and how to carry myself with confidence by Mr. Bradford. Finally, Mr. Dubay was the sponsor for student government. I ran for office, and lost twice, but the experience proved to be invaluable for me in that I was given the chance to speak in front of the whole student body. Mr. Dubay was nothing but encouraging and he let me participate in government activities even though I was never elected to an office.

To thank all of those teachers who meant so much to me, I have started a scholarship fund at Trinity. After all, I am proud of a career that was kick started during my high school years. I have been a teacher for 32 years, and have been right down the road at Sacred Heart Academy for 28 of those years. In addition, the skills that I learned while on the cross-country and swim teams have helped me train for my tenth Ironman Louisville. I would not be who I am today without Trinity and the sweat that I put into my academic and sports career. So I imprint the Power T with my sweaty fist, gaining strength with the knowledge that I owe my loyalty to my high school, and to Fr. Zettel, who took a chance on a skinny little incoming freshman with learning differences.

Cheerleading

I have always craved attention. An amateur psychologist might say that I felt ignored because I was the third child in our family. I needed a lot of attention and would go anywhere to find it. For example, even today I update Facebook every morning and obsess over how many “likes” that I get on my posts. Back in high school, I read the morning announcements and was an actor in the theater. When I was a counselor at Camp Tall Trees, I loved to tell the campfire story and lead the kids in song. But the most blatant example of me looking for the attention of my peers was when I became a cheerleader in high school and college.

The year was 1978 and my sister had decided to run for homecoming queen at Eastern Kentucky University. She won first runner up that year but what I remember was that she got to ride in a convertible down the main street of Richmond, the heart of E.K.U. One part of that parade was a group of cheerleaders who were screaming their lungs out while riding on top of a fire engine. The girls were so pretty and the guys looked like they were having so much fun that I remember thinking to myself, “I want to become a cheerleader, too!”

My first stint as a cheerleader came in 1979 at Trinity High School only we didn’t call ourselves cheerleaders; we were the Yell Team because it sounded a lot more masculine. We were at an all boy school and looking manly was important to us. What was great about being on the Yell Team was that we got to be on the field during the football games at Cardinal Stadium. Karen Spears was my partner and my job was to stand behind her and clap a lot. The guys on the squad didn’t know any gymnastics, and we didn’t do any stunts, but it was still fun to cheer in front of thousands of people. I remember a lot of campers from Tall Trees came to the rail to get my attention during the football games and the girl that I was dating at the time thought that it was cool to have a boyfriend who was a cheerleader.

In 1980 I attended Xavier University and thought that the best way for me to become socially active was to become a cheerleader. When I tried out for the squad, no one was more surprised than I was that I had made the team. The best part of being a cheerleader at Xavier was the road trips. We travelled to DePaul in Chicago and stayed in their dorm rooms over break. Our game was in the evening so we spent a day in downtown Chicago. I remember looking out of the bus at staring at all of the high-rise buildings, one after another, and I whispered to myself, “Gosh!” with my mouth agape. Loraine said, while laughing at me, “you have never been in a big city before, have you, Jeff?” I must have looked like a rube, gawking out of the window with my eyes open as wide as saucers. While we were in the downtown area, we did a cheerleader pyramid in front of the old water tower building. It was all in good fun as we were so excited to be in the big city to cheer on the Musketeer basketball team.

The other big road trip that we took was when the Xavier Musketeers took on the Evansville Aces. The Aces were a powerhouse in the 1970s but they were also known for a tragedy. Three years before I travelled with my team to southern Indiana, the University of Evansville Aces basketball team suffered a calamity when the plane that was carrying the basketball team crashed and all 29 people on board died. A memorial, built in the shape of a weeping basketball, had just been built in the middle of the campus. It was a somber reminder of what the university had just been through, but the tragedy had made their basketball program even stronger.

Emotions ran high as the Aces played to sold out crowds. The Musketeers were their first home game of the season and I had never seen anything like the preshow that the Purple Aces put on. They turned off all the lights in the arena and then shone a spotlight on Mr. Ace, the team mascot, who drove a mini-car around the court. When the floor was cleared, the announcer introduced each player and the spotlight shone on the him when the player’s name was called. The crowd yelled “Aces! Aces!” after the introductions were made and I thought that the arena walls would come tumbling down because the whole place seemed to shake with noise and excitement. Streamers and glitter fell from the ceiling at the end of the program. It was quite a show.

The Evansville cheerleaders put up the Xavier cheerleaders in their dorm rooms for the weekend. One of the girls threw a party for us at her parent’s house after the Saturday night game. The family had made a lot of money off coal and their father had the resources to build in an indoor pool and a billiards room with a television and VCR. This was in 1980 and, back then, very few people had a VCR in their house. I remember being so impressed that I could watch “Alien” or any other movie, whenever I wanted, when previously I would have to go to a theater to watch a full-length film without commercial interruption.

I was the youngest one on the squad and was intimidated by the cheerleaders, most of whom were two years older than I was. Usually two years doesn’t mean that much but there is a wide gulf between a freshman in college and a junior in college. They were adults and I was just a kid. In addition, Xavier attracted the best and the brightest and these ambitious people were going to be something someday. Playing against type, these cheerleaders didn’t party on the road trips but instead studied their textbooks on the team bus.

Tom Burkhardt was our captain. He was a short man, built like a refrigerator, and was attending Xavier on a ROTC scholarship. He openly declared his love for Lorraine, a beautiful cheerleader and pre-med student who was way out of his league. She was wicked smart, had long blond hair, and Tom’s crush was so deep that he often referred to Lorraine as “a goddess.” Tom’s buddy on the squad was Steve Kaitenowski and the two couldn’t be more different. Where Tom was hyper active, constantly spitting out his opinions on politics or sports, Steve was laid back and would calmly say, “Okay, Tom” when his buddy got too fired up. The two guys traded barbs with each other but as different as they were, I could tell that they really liked each other.

Jennifer was a little Italian ball of fire, with long black hair and an athletic physique, and she was madly in love with Chris Groefer, the rakishly handsome pre-med student. Maloo was a tiny little girl from the Philippines who was our flyer. She partnered with Tom, who was as strong as an ox, and those two turned out to be the best on our squad because Tom could toss Maloo high in the air to do many great tricks. On one long road trip, Maloo fell asleep on my shoulder when she was done studying in the bus. It wasn’t about romance, it was one friend being comfortable enough around another friend to let her guard down. She felt safe and I felt like I belonged.

My partner on the squad was Andrea Tryba. She was a popular freshman but was too tall and too heavy to be a cheerleader but she brimmed with confidence, and that made up for a lot. The problem was that I could barely pick her up at the beginning of the season and, when Andrea gained the ‘Freshman Fifteen’ pounds, I couldn’t pick her up at all. I was already strong but began to lift weights in earnest to build the muscles need to lift Andrea off the ground. On our last road trip, the whole squad went out to a bar and I was so frustrated at my inability to do any tricks with Andrea that I called her a heifer. She was a city girl who had never left Chicago, so Andrea didn’t know what a heifer was, but she glared at me with rage in her eyes when Tom told her that a heifer was a female cow. To this day, I feel badly about hurting her feelings. Andrea barely spoke to me for the rest of the year and didn’t try out at all for our sophomore year.

One of my regrets is that I only cheered for Xavier for a year. I was frustrated, tired of the politicking and gossip, and just wanted to play rugby. If I had the chance to do it all over again then I would have stayed at Xavier and cheered for all four years. Instead, after two academically and socially frustrating years, I transferred to Bellarmine University, and thought that I could meet a lot of people quickly by becoming a cheerleader again.

It just wasn’t the same. Where we didn’t take ourselves too seriously at Trinity, and at Xavier we were professionals; Bellarmine was somewhere in between those two opposite poles. Since I was a transfer student, it was clear that I would have to find my own way to fit in because the others had already established their friendships. Most of the guys were in ADG together and the girls were in the Little Sisters program associated with that fraternity. Also, there wasn’t a lot of leadership on our squad. Marilyn was our sponsor but wasn’t a coach. We had a team captain but he was more of the problem than the solution. The whole situation stank of amateurism and I longed to go back to Xavier where the squad took cheerleading seriously and we had a good coach. After a single season on the Bellarmine squad, I stopped cheerleading all together, finding it much more gratifying to work at a part time job and earn some money.



Trinity Yell Team: Steve Tompkins, Matt Higgins, Mike Higgins, David Hobbs, Brigid Sheridan, Jill Joseph. Karen Spears was my partner and our sponsor was Mr. Spitzer

Xavier Cheerleaders: Steve Kaitenowski, Steve Johnson, Tom Burkhardt, Tim Beno, Julie, Lorraine, Jennifer, Edie, Maloo. Andrea Tryba was my partner and our coach was Chad

Bellarmine Cheerleaders: Mike Epperson and Suzanne, Jack Horn and Susan, Rick Olgine and Lisa Young, Doug Strothman and Doris Swenson, Paul Garner and Brigid Sheridan, David and Mary. Helen was my partner and our sponsor was Marilyn.