Old Folks + The Sea Captain
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Norman Rockwell
I’ve always had an absurd habit of taking notes about everything on anything - receipts, gum wrappers, banquet tickets, and used index cards. My phone is filled with random letters and notes, oftentimes voice texted rapidly at redlights on the drive home from an old timer's breakfast, a hospital visit, or a house check in. Usually written train of thought. Little things I want to remember.
These notes catalogue the ordinary days with my vets. The ones that don’t make it on “the gram” because they are too precious or just too - ordinary. But then I remember that this is how it all started, the driving force behind Operation Meatball. More than just a record of war, but a desire to give my future children and descendants a glimmer into what it was like to grow up surrounded by the last veterans of WWII: the charm, the humor, the idiosyncrasies… the ups and the downs. The beautiful moments and the sad ones. The phone calls, letters, and even text messages. What does a friendship look like between a 17-year-old girl and a 95-year-old man? One just beginning to experience life, the other in the twilight of his years - a few moments left before sunset.
There’s an old song from the 1930s called “Old Folks.” It’s the tale of one of the last Civil War vets.
“Everyone knows him as old folks
Like the seasons he comes and he'll go
Just as free as a bird and as good as his word
That's why everybody loves him so.
Always leaving his spoon in his coffee
Tucks his napkin up under his chin
And his own corn cob pipe is so mellow, hits right
But you needn't be ashamed of him”
The song (look it up: Bea Wain “Old Folks”) is delightful and gives a peak into the crossover of the antebellum and pre World War era. It was actually introduced to me by a WWII vet who had heard it as a little boy and had come to the realization that he was now “Old Folks.”
One of the last civil war veterans
Next year, Operation Meatball will be turning 10 years old. In the spirit of this, I want to start sharing some of these little memories and nuggets. I’ll warn you - they are scribbles… but they tell a little of the story of my Old Folks. And they are some of my favorite memories.
The Sea Captain
Norman Rockwell
Last year one of my OG vets passed away. RW was a fascinating old sea captain who had taken a cold call from 17-year-old me, inviting him to the first event my sisters and I ever hosted.
I was nervous. Very nervous.
But he very sweetly calmed me down. “Honey,” he said in a raspy voice “Take a few breaths while I go get a pen and paper.” He listened to my pitch about why he needed to come to my party and accepted. We were steady friends after that.
He was brilliant. Always reading, always improving his mind. Before his health failed, he was reading Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire for the 3rd time. The Sea Captain also gave me some of the best life advice I ever received, “Liberty, the most important word you need to learn is ‘No.’”
In the last few weeks of his life as he valiantly fought hospice (trying to make it to 100) I would go out to visit him as regularly as I could. My poor attempts to cheer him turned into a form of therapy, and I always left feeling refreshed and renewed. A parting gift from The Sea Captain.
Here are a few notes from one of my visits… a couple of weeks before he passed away.
Scribbled notes from 2022:
“The Sea Captain is sitting in his chair. Wrapped up in blankets. He hasn’t eaten hardly at all. He’s frustrated because he’s an active man. His whole life he’s been active. And now he feels weak and unable. I sit and chat with him for a few minutes. I remind him we’re supposed to talk about Lord Nelson and his lady friend. My note regarding this from last visit is still on his desk. “Talk to Liberty about Lord Nelson next visit.”
After I’m there for a few minutes he starts to tell me about Lord Nelson. Initially he says he’s too tired… But the storyteller in him can’t resist the opportunity. His stories are interrupted by WW2 Marine and Peleliu survivor, Mac and his wife Maggie. Maggie is impeccably dressed. Floral shirt, blue blouse, denim jeans rolled up and cuffed at the bottom. Her hair is perfectly coiffed. Mac looks good himself in gray joggers. They are a charming couple, married 76 years. They sit down and try to talk with the Sea Captain for a while but it’s a little bit chaotic. No one can hear anything. All the old people are deaf. But they sit and chat. Go over the ailments. Talk about breakfast. Before they leave, Maggie offers to make anything for The Sea Captain to eat (rumor has it she’s a spectacular cook).
I sit and talked with The Sea Captain a little bit longer. Hardly has Mac and Maggie left and he picks up the story exactly where it was interrupted. He finishes the story… Discussing the life of love of Lord Nelson and the triangle relationship he had. He’s tired. I offered to read to him. I list off of number of books in his library. Most of them he’s ready many times over - like 1776 by David McCullough.
We settle on Gulliver‘s travels. He adjusts himself and closes his eyes. I read several pages out of Gulliver‘s travels. Periodically The Sea Captain readjusts himself. His hands are cold so he puts them under the blanket. Then he gets warm and he takes him out. He stretches his legs. He’s stiff. I offered to rub his foot for him. It’s itchy. And stiff. I tell him my dad used to exchange foot rubs for cartoons. I rub his feet for a few minutes. I keep reading Gulliver’s travels. He goes in and out of dozing… But I know he hears it.
Finally, I have to get up and go. I tell him I’ll come back. I watch him drink a little bit more of the shake. I gave him a big kiss on the forehead. He brightens up and squeezes my hand. He tells me he’s looking forward to me coming back tomorrow.
As the days got shorter for the Sea Captain, it became harder for him to move to his library (which, by the way was fitted out in proper nautical style), so some mornings I’d just sit at the end of his bed and read him papers, show him old war time postcards, or help him put his socks and shoes on -even if he wasn’t going anywhere. A common element I’ve witnessed at the deathbeds of so many of my beautiful seniors is the desire to maintain one’s dignity as long as they are cognitive. Sometimes this means something as simple as combing the hair.
I remember the day my Marine Fred died, his niece and I (unaware it was the final day), decided that after two and a half weeks at the VA it was time to give him a shave. I’d never seen him with scruff before that time. Fred wasn’t able to communicate much, but his face expressed appreciation.
March 4, 2022
I popped in to see The Sea Captain for a few minutes before going to work. Timing was good… I helped him put his socks on and his shoes on. I really treasure little things like this. It makes you feel good to help out someone who can’t help themself. And I feel like they’re small decencies. I remember Colonel Skardon (A Bataan Death March Survivor) talking about his friends who would rub his feet for hours to help with the pain when he was in the hospital. Small decencies.
I sit at the end of his bed and we talk. I throw the ball for the dog. The dogs run around like crazy animals… One ball goes too far and the dog takes out a fake plant. He laughs. We talk a little bit about Bill Mauldin‘s cartoons… The whimsy of Willy and Joe. Then we just talk about stuff in general. Finally, I have to go. I hate to say goodbye… Situations like this I never know if it’s the last. But I tell him I’ll be back. I have a marathon this weekend… But after that I will be home. And I’ll come see him. He says, “thank you. No really… Thank you so much.”
I give him a kiss on the forehead and tell him I’ll be back soon. I say maybe I’ll bring so-and-so. He’s a good egg. RW says, “as opposed to rotten egg?” I say, Yes, we throw the rotten eggs out.”
Perhaps these notes and recollections seem mundane. A lot of life is mundane. I like mundane. It causes you to sit ad be still. Enjoy. Breathe. Take a few moments to see life through the eyes of someone who has already lived so much of it.
The day the Sea Captain died
The Sea Captain went home to be with his Christ and his beloved wife today. He missed his wife of 71 years so much. When I was talking with him yesterday, he kept staring ahead and saying, "Liberty, Isn't she so beautiful. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” At first I thought he meant the watercolor painting on the wall. But then I remembered his eyesight was almost completely gone. He was blind. It was then I knew then he was going home soon - to be with his “great lady.” So much - but so little is known about the passing of life. We hear "rumors". But we'll never know till it's our turn. Still - little moments like this make death beautiful. Almost like God sends his emissary to walk the last few steps of life, fear free.
I miss my intellectual chats with the Sea Captain… discussing all things Ceasar, the Gallic Wars, George Washington’s particular sense of humor and the pros and cons of one crossing the Rubicon. We had fun, but I was definitely left with a lot of homework. The Sea Captain gave me a list of books to read, including Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. “Take your time. It’s a difficult book. I don’t normally like audiobooks, but Decline might be a good one to listen to,” he says. I have a painting hanging on my wall of Lord Nelson’s ship, “The Victory.” It reminds me of him.
I’ll leave you with one of my favorite things the Sea Captain told me: At one of the last old timers breakfasts he made it to, he got into a debate with a retired Army General. The Army was advocating getting rid of scoring in a particular field of competition. “Too much pressure. People shouldn’t be forced to get the highest scores,” was the opinion.
Despite being 99.5 years old and not feeling par to the course for some time, this line of reasoning fired the Sea Captain up. “Why not?!” He rebutted with energy. “Why shouldn’t we try to be the best. Doesn’t matter if we can’t be, but we should at least try.”
And I agree.
"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking."John Masefield
O P E R A T I O N M E A T B A L L
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today
