A Moving Story

July 1, 2002

This is my second full day of residence at the Beneva Park Club, an assisted living facility.

I’m very grateful for Sara’s important help in planning the best use of limited space, her muscle power along with her grandson, Ian, in moving things around, and removing items from Jefferson Center. Ian, with today’s young man’s knowledge of computers, sorted out the maze of wires, hooked up my Dell, the TV, and the VCR.

Earlier in the month, son John spent much time and energy removing and storing items and getting me ready to move.

Temporarily I’m quartered in #124, while my permanent room, #119 is awaiting the arrival of a replacement air conditioner. All my books and many other items are stored in another room on this floor. It makes no sense to shelve them only to repack them when I am moved to #119, which I hope will be within two weeks.

I am comfortable. The food is institutional, but good. Breakfast is the best meal. It is partially that I have little taste or strong desire for meat dishes. The courtesy of the serving staff is A-one. The whole staff – office, nursing, cleaning, housekeeping, as well as dining room personnel, not only do their tasks efficiently, but also their cheerful, helpful attitudes make for a pleasant day. Just consider one item – my bed is made every day. That is just one convenience that I have not enjoyed for years.

I was assigned a seat in the dining room with three men. If I wished, I could ask for a change of seating. I don’t think I will. I am interested in their life stories, although constant repetition sometimes makes me wonder if the events were real or are augmented by creative imagination.

Fred, 97 years old, is the oldest man in the Beneva Park Club. He has been a marine, sheet metal worker, world traveler and hobo. He seems to take most pride in his adventures as a hobo. He seems well-read. He summed this quality up by saying whenever he arrived in a new city he always went to the library first before going to the brothel.

Bob, the youngest of our quartet is only 84 years old. Within 10 minutes of meeting him, he forcefully asserted he was an atheist. He was an officer on a submarine during World War II. Later he worked for the Department of Agriculture. His work there had something to do with the mating habits of primates – monkeys, chimps, etc. I do not understand why such research was a part of the function of the Department of Agriculture. When I see my son, Bill, perhaps he can enlighten me. Anyway, Bob knows the Latin names of all the primates and readily trots out that knowledge.

Hugh, who is a year or two older than I am, is also an interesting person. He was born and reared in India where his parents wtiere Christian missionaries. Hugh, I gather, was a teacher in Asia. In World War II when Japan conquered Singapore, Hugh became a prisoner of war for three and a half years. He only hints at the agonies he must have experienced. He did remark that rats were not bad eating. “Tastes something like chicken when fried in a little palm oil.” Hugh addresses me as “Padre.”

I am pleased that my first friends here are Fred, Bob, and Hugh. However, already one woman stopped me in the hallway and asked, “How can you stand those three characters?” I assured her that I was enjoying my meals with them. She looked at me skeptically and moved on. I had the temptation to quote Shakespeare to her where in TWELFTH NIGHT, Toby says to the clown, “Dost thou think because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?” I resisted the temptation to cite that famous quote, fortunately for me.

So went the first two days of my living here. If they are any harbinger of days to come, I will not be bored or have time hang heavy on my hands.