My Dad, Hard to Please, Oh Yea

Like many fathers, my dad Carl Beck wasn’t the emotional type by displaying hugging, crying, or even willingly be able to say “I love you.” Looking back, his way to love was the quiet, steady love of going to work to provide for his wife and three children. After doing his duty in the US Army during WWII, he worked in the low seam coal mines of Melcroft, Pennsylvania. He was later hired to work the drill presses at Walworth Valve Company of South Greensburg where they made valves of brass, iron, and steel. The foundry would cast the metal and the rest of the plant would machine the parts and assemble them to form wedge or ball valves from 2 1/2 inch to 36 inch sizes.

The memory I want to share with you is about a Christmas gift. Dad decided to join the Saltlick Volunteer Fire Department. Each member had just purchased a firemen’s jacket with departmental patches and names to represent the company. He was discouraged to find that they couldn’t order any more. He wanted one so badly. With help from my brother Kenneth Beck, we tracked down an extra plain jacket, found the necessary patches, and had his name embroidered on the front. The jacket was a silky material of shiny olive green color with yellow-gold bands at the waist and wrists.

In the past, my brother often bought hunting coats etc for my dad and I told him, “I want to pay for this gift myself.” Ken said okay. Dad was never the type to fuss over any gift. He would accept each present without much emotion, nod, and barely give a thank you. I anxiously waited for him to open the gift wrapped box on Christmas morning. When he did, it was as though a light turned on inside of him when he saw the jacket. A huge smile spread across his face and he quickly slipped into the jacket. I can’t remember if he said thank you or not, but that huge smile was all the thank you that I needed.

When I would say good bye after visiting him, whether at his home, a phone call, or when he finally lived in a personal care home, I would say, “I love you, Dad.” He would always smile and nod, but little else. One day, a few months before he died as I said my good bye, he said those words, “I love you.” It was soft and almost sounded like a rusty hinge that grudgingly opened just a bit, but it was some of the sweetest words I’d ever heard.

Not Always Enough to Have a Good Heart

One evening at Frick Hospital, the emergency room received a call from an ambulance crew that they were bringing in a gunshot wound to the chest. When something unusual, it was Dr. Vance who happened to be on duty as emergency room doctor. Dr Vance was a surgeon at our hospital who also did rotations in the emergency department. When this patient arrived, the man had a self inflicted wound to his thorax near his heart. We immediately recognized the person as a local political celebrity.

Doctor Vance had us call the laboratory for multiple units of unmatched blood, when he heard the ambulance call and set up a chest trauma tray, placing on a bedside table ready to be opened if needed. After assessing that he might still be able to save the man, he tore open the pack and called for the rib spreaders. He quickly gowned and gloved. As he reached for a scalpel, we splashed Betadine disinfectant on the man. He planned on opening the man’s chest in the emergency room cubicle.

Making an incision between the ribs, he allowed the accumulated blood to escape. It rushed out in a crimson torrent that covered the doctor’s shoes, splashing him to about ankle high on his pant legs. Inserting the rib spreaders, he widened the opening to allow access to the heart.

We suctioned the blood from the cavity so that the doctor could see what he was doing. He started to repair the holes in the heart quickly with large, looping stitches. With the wounds temporarily closed, he began to do open heart massage trying to restore the circulation. The doctor’s sutures held leaking slightly, but all of his heroics came to naught. He could not undo the severe damage to the man’s heart muscles.

Dr. Vance stood dejected with blood halfway up his arms in the middle of a congealing pool of blood. The toes of his shoes were covered and the red splatters dotted up his lower pant legs. Even though Dr. Vance had done his best sometimes a person’s best is not good enough.

Feeling Sheepish

Joan was a Licensed Practical Nurse at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. She was the perfect example of a good, old-world Italian daughter. Whatever her parents asked her to do something she was ready to do it. Joan had a reputation of being an unbelievably fastidious, spotless housekeeper. Let’s just say, Mr. Kleen had nothing on her. She would be on her hands and knees to scrub the cracks of her basement floor with a toothbrush. White leather furniture filled her family room. Everything was spotless and there are a myriad of tales about her cleanliness. This is one of them.

Joan’s parents lived nearby on a small farm and raised a few sheep. Her father asked her to haul two sheep to a local slaughter house. Hurrying to the farm, she helped him truss two sheep and toss them into the large trunk of her new red and white Cadillac. She told this tale to us one evening.

Later in the week, two young men that she hired to detail and wash her car brought a patient to the emergency department on an ambulance run. I pulled one of them aside and shared Joan’s story with them. I said, “When you talk to Joan, tell her you smelled sheep in the trunk of her car.” With a conspiratorial chuckle he sauntered over to Joan and said.” Joan, the last time I cleaned your car, I smelled something in your trunk.”

Joan put a hand to her breast looking mortified.

The paramedic continued, “It smelled like… sheep.”

Now she really looked upset. As particular as Joan was, I knew that she’d removed and cleaned the carpeting and mats from the trunk as soon as the sheep were unloaded long before she turned the car over to be detailed.

When she saw him smile, she glanced at me. When I was smiling too, she knew that I’d spoofed her. She let out a huge sigh and said, “You had me fooled. I thought that I had missed something when I cleaned out the trunk.”

I was correct. Joan did clean her own car before she allowed “the boys” to detail it.

Nehemiah’s Sadness

Nehemiah was the cupbearer for King Ataxerxes of Persia. When it was reported to Nehemiah that the walls of Jerusalem were laid waste, he was saddened and wept. The King saw Nehemiah’s fallen countenance and asked what the problem was? Nehemiah said that he was sore afraid because the gates of Jerusalem were burned and the city destroyed. The King sent him back to his country with a blessing.

In secret, Nehemiah toured Jerusalem to see the distress the city was in. Without walls, the city laid in reproach. Without the walls, there was no protection. Without the walls boundary, the city was little more than a memory of a culture and country. The walls were little more than scattered debris, but Nehemiah began the gigantic task of restoring the gates and ramparts to keep enemies out and to protect those inside. He prayed that God would strengthen the workers’ hands to complete the undertaking.

When the would-be enemies laughed and derided Nehemiah, he said to them, “The God of heaven, he will prosper us; therefore we his servants will arise and build: but ye have no portion, nor right, nor memorial in Jerusalem.”

Different groups were assigned portions of the walls and certain gates to restore. As they worked the enemy mocked them and asked how you Jews will revive the stones from the rubbish which are burned saying that a fox would break it down. They earnestly worked until nearly half the wall was joined together. The enemy became very wroth as the breaches were repaired and conspired to fight against Jerusalem to hinder the progress.

Nehemiah set a watch both night and day. The enemies made plans to ambush workers and cause them to cease their labor, yet by keeping their swords and spears ready while they worked, they were able to continue. Half of the men worked while others held spears, and shields wearing chain link armor. It eventually became necessary for builders to have a sword girded to their sides as they worked. The area of the wall was great and separated. Nehemiah implemented trumpeters to summon the men to come and protect any areas of attack.

Even though enemies of Jerusalem tried to stop the Jews from reconstructing the walls by the ways of threats, trickery, and outright attacks the wall was finished and Nehemiah gave the glory to God.

Things That Aren’t There Anymore

As I drove to lunch on Tuesday with my Connellsville Senior High School classmates (and one cougar) I passed many places that hold special memories. Some of them have changed while some are no longer there. The first memory I passed is Fred Brown’s store at the crossroads of White, Pennsylvania. The building is still there, but now is a private residence. The next place is a farmhouse and barn that has burned to the ground, injuring several horses. Less than half mile away was another shell of a house consumed by fire leaving two brothers homeless.

A newer brick church has replaced the old white clapboard Clinton Church of God where my family attended for so many Sunday. Straight-backed, brown-painted, hard wooden pews faced a raised dais surrounded by a fence-like altar rail. A rough hemp rope hanging in the offset connected to a bell in the belfry above.

Across the road was a small store. Soda pop, candy, chips, pretzels, household canned goods, and supplies were available. The old owner kept it open on Sunday to collect the children’s coins for goodies.

Another memory place was from my adult life, as a member of the Springfield Township Volunteer Fire Department. It was the hottest fire I’d ever fought. The wind was pushing the heat and flames along the side of the house. Three of us firefighters were spreading a heavy mist to prevent a garage and vehicles from burning while others tried to knock down the flames.

Across the road was a car fire on another day. I arrived before the fire trucks and as I put on my bunker gear, I heard water gurgling in a nearby stream. Gathering buckets from the homeowner I started a bucket brigade, dumping water on the windshield. The water flowed under the hood and the fire was nearly extinguished before more firemen came.

Another memory spots was a building where we made hoagies, parties, and sold dinners for the church. The building remains, but a nearby picnic pavilion where more fund raising dinners were served is no longer there.

What brought this influx of nostalgia to surface happened because I showed my silver, turquoise, and coral ring to a friend. It was the first wedding anniversary gift to me my wife Cindy gave to me. I hadn’t seen it after Cindy’s death until the first anniversary of her passing. When I found it, it was a sign to remove my wedding band. I did and still wear it today. On my other hand I wear a silver Celtic knot ring which was the last piece of jewelry she gave to me.

Dining With a Cougar

I’ve been busy since Sunday with the usual church services and choir practice. Monday I spent stacking firewood for the coming winter and signed a contract for replacement of several windows and outside door, and to clean and replace the caulking in the rest.

Tuesday I went to lunch at Bud Murphy’s Restaurant with other classmates of the Connellsville Area High School of 1967. About 10 of us claimed several tables to talk and eat. I promised to mention the cougar in today’s blog. She is a very amusing lady and her boss says she’s a cougar because she has a friendship with his son. All through the meal we teased her about it and we teased the server about it too. He actually blushed. It was all in fun. I managed to finish stacking the firewood and may breakdown to order another cord.

Tuesday evening I drove to the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society to hear Dale Dix speak on his cross country bicycle excursion. He narrated a slide show presentation of the journey.

The rest of my week is lining up to continue the busyness of my retired life. A volunteer workday at the Historical Society and Wednesday night prayer service will claim most of today, maybe squeezing in the mowing of my lawn and my neighbor’s.

Thursday is my annual trip to the urology clinic for my prostate exam, lucky me. At least I am blessed to have a female physician assistant with small hands. I wonder if she still has the framed poster that says, “If you don’t believe in the trickledown theory, talk to a man with BPH.” (Benign Prostatic Hyperplasia.) Then I need to help set up my friends book selling station for Saturday. I was to share the table, but my niece’s wedding took precedence.

I’m blessed to have Friday off, but may have to do the laundry and complete the household chores. Anyone like to dust, vacuum, and clean bathrooms?

I Don’t Want Her You can Have her  

Several years after my wife died, Mandy’s common-law-husband passed away. Mandy was a tall, full-figured, and slovenly woman. Because of her frequent visits to the hospital, she knew my wife had passed away. When she would bump into me, she’d say, “I heard your wife died. I am so sorry!” and I was given a bone crushing hug.

So when I found out that her common-law-husband died, I extended my condolences to her just as she’d done to me, minus the hug. Tears came into her eyes and she said, “I know you understand what I’m feeling, Tom” and she gave me her usual hugs. She was the same person dressed in her dirty Banlon shirt and double knit pants, but she was going through hard times. It was a tender moment and I wouldn’t allow my squeamish feelings of being squashed to intrude.

After that wherever she met me, I was greeted with the usual bear hug. I began to keep an even sharper eye out for her and ran in the opposite direction before she came within arm’s reach. Sometimes she’d catch sight of me and call out, but I’d only wave and do a ninety degree turn down a hallway to escape.

This worked for several months until one night. I was in the main lobby waiting for the elevator, when the doors popped open, there she was… standing in front of me in all of her glory. I couldn’t avoid her without seeming grossly offensive and rude. I cringed inside knowing that the inevitable hug was coming. And it did. We talked for a few seconds before I made my escape. She waved to me as I walked past her and into the elevator.

Later that evening, I tried to stick my pen into my shirt pocket. It snagged on something. I found a folded piece of paper. On the slip was Mandy’s name and telephone number. “How did she get it there without me feeling it?” I thought, “She had to be planning this for some time.”

This was too much not to share with someone else. I hurried to the medical records department to see Bill, another nurse with whom I’d worked in the emergency department. He’d transferred to medical records when he got “burned out” in the emergency room.He looked a lot like me and some patients got us confused when we still both worked in the emergency department. Mandy was one who was confused us. She’d sometimes call me Bill or call Bill by my name. That was okay with me. Maybe he’d get blamed for something I’d done.

When I showed him the note he said, “She’s all yours buddy, I’m already married.”

Putting a Cap on It

Early in our nurse’s training, we were assigned practical hands-on learning classes in a nearby nursing home. We were required to correctly change bed linens, give patient care, pass medications, and properly chart. Why does nursing education start with the elderly? Do they think that if a student nurse should make a mistake… well they’re old, right?

After we were there for several weeks and the routine became more comfortable, one of the nurses allowed her mind to wander and asked me, “Where is your nursing cap?’

Female nurses were required to wear caps. You could distinguish from which school a nurse graduated by the cap she wore. Men weren’t required to wear the cumbersome caps.

I replied, “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the dean of nursing.”

She didn’t say a word, but disappeared only to return a few minutes later. She’d gone to the kitchen and returned with an institutional sized coffee filter, and used several white bobby pins to secure it to my hair. Yes, I had hair then.

It was nearing the end of the shift. The other students and the nursing home’s residents thought that it was funny, so I kept the “cap” on my head until the end of class. It wasn’t a big deal and if it brightened the elderly residents’ day while keeping the female students from fussing at me to a minimum, it was worth it. If I would have complained and made a big deal out of wearing my “nursing cap,” I would have quickly become the target of harassment from the female students. From my hitch in the Navy, I learned that it was always easier to laugh and go along with the joke than making a big stink and complain about it.

At the next class session in the nursing home, I arrived bare headed. Immediately I was confronted by the female students, “Where is your nursing cap?”

Thinking quickly, I replied, “You know, it got dirty. I washed it last night and it fell apart.”

They laughed and shook their heads at my wise crack, then walked away.

I’d dodged the bullet. By using a bit of humor, I escaped being teased about not wearing a coffee filter for a second day.

Kidding Around at Halloween

I remember celebrating Halloween as a child. I can’t recall my parents decorating or making a costume for me until I started grade school. The elementary school had a party with cupcakes or cookies, a few decorations, and Kool-aid. The Halloween parade was sponsored by the volunteer fire companies and prizes were awarded for the best costumes and the best float. Floats either filled the bed of a pickup truck or covered a hay wagon. The floats were never anything fancy, but painted cardboard, corn shocks, hay bales, and costumed people.

Costumes weren’t gruesome zombies, mangled people, or ghouls that are prevalent today. Ghosts were old bed sheets with eye holes cut in them. Witches wore pointed black hats and carried brooms. The hobo was judged for originality and cuteness. Clowns weren’t scary beings like today. Some kids dressed like animals: lions, dogs, cats, etc. One costume category that would be banned today, it was Gold Dust Cleanser, a scouring powder. The advertisement picture is unacceptable today and probably should have been back then. The shape of twin children logo on the bright orange label stood side by side holding a bucket between them. The twins of the cardboard container were black except for the white their eyes. Those who competed for the prize wore blackened faces, carried a bucket, and perhaps a scrub brush.

Trick or treat night was one night only and kids visited relatives for the most part. Children from two towns away didn’t descend on other communities to gather enough candy to last for months. Another tradition for those passing out treats was to guess who was hiding behind the masks. The kids were all local and identifying the child was part of the fun. It wasn’t a grab and run event.

“Halloweening” was another youthful “sport” soaping windows. Old slivers and scraps of soap were rescued from kitchen and bathroom sinks. Liberated Lifebuoy, Ivory, Dial, all became artist’s tools at Halloween. Full soap bars were too expensive to use. Wax allowed the artist’s touch to last longer, but it was too expensive and difficult to remove. Kids who used wax were often hunted down like the graffiti criminals they were.

Older youths also “corned” cars. Only the most daring attempted this, because the excitement and danger increased. Selecting a hiding spot with an easy escape route was absolutely essential. “Shelling” kernels from dried field corn ears, kids held them in hand, and waited for a vehicle. Kids would hurl the corn to hit the car. The loud noise would cause drivers to slow. If they stopped, it was every kid for Themselves to escape without getting caught. Halloween memories.

Disagreeing in an Agreeable Way

What has happened in America today? Are we reverting to a time in our past when someone who disagrees with your view on an issue calls for bloodshed in a duel? Is that confrontation so severe the ability to discuss a point of view no longer matters. Have we allowed change to physical violence to batter their opponent into conforming to their view? Have we lost the ability to argue our ideas, present our points, and to listen to another person’s thoughts on a matter still being willing to weigh what the other person has to say?

Have we regressed to the point when people with dissenting voices shout down an opposing point of view are being presented without giving the speaker a chance to lay out his reasoning? Anarchy and mob violence have replaced the person on a soapbox at a street corner preaching, sharing a different concept, or even sharing a new point of view. Whether the views expressed are reasonable or rational, the individual has the constitutionally guaranteed right to speak freely. What we have so recently labeled as hate or offensive speech was ignored and allowed to die without laws. Ideas that have no basis of truth, fail if not promoted or encouraged by media. In today’s society, a person sharing the absolute truth found in God’s Word the Bible, is ridiculed and labeled as intolerant. That person is branded as a hatemonger, narrow minded, a bigot, or racist even though the view isn’t against a nationality or skin color.

Galatians 4:16 says, ^“Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?” Today, the Liberal crowd has turned truth upside down and with a warped logic and distorted view of facts. In Isaiah 5:20 and 21, God’s Word says in the last days, “Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter! Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes, and prudent in their own sight.”

Tried and true morals are being cast aside, replaced with the “If-it-feels-good do it” perception of life. Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it” Jeremiah 9:5,6, also says, “And they will deceive every one his neighbour, and will not speak the truth: they have taught their tongue to speak lies, and weary themselves to commit iniquity. Thine habitation is in the midst of deceit; through deceit they refuse to know me, saith the Lord.” In the last days…?

Revisiting Retiring Thoughts

Retirement wasn’t an easy decision to make. I worked almost thirty-seven years at the same place and agonized over it for months before I finally chose to call it quits. I made tentative moves to retire six months earlier. So many decisions had to be made. What type of health insurance? How much would it cost? I tried to apply for Veteran’s health care, but I made too much money. Should I find private insurance or because of pre-existing health problems, should I continue under COBRA?

What should I do with my 403 B? When should I apply for my Social Security benefits? How should I select the payments for my retirement pension? It was a frustratingly slow process. If I had a question, I would ask human relations office. They answered my questions, but offered no real guidance.

When you are driving, how do you know what direction to go? Either someone tells you or you have a map.  This was what I was thinking as I went for my exit interview. Near the end of my interview, I was asked if I had any suggestions.

I said, “You now give each new employee months of orientation and shadowing. You give employees who move from one area of the hospital to another and extended orientation period. Why doesn’t the hospital offer a day of “orientation” for employees who are nearing retirement age?

“It would be optional. You could have representatives from the different health care companies, from Social Security office, Veteran’s Affairs, financial planners, legal advisors, retirement communities, activity groups, volunteer organizations, health clubs, etc. The representatives should be able to or schedule appointments for one on one consultation episodes.” I specifically did not include A.A.R.P. They claim to look out for the well-being of the senior citizen population, but whole heartedly supported national health care. I feel they chose national health care so they could make millions by selling supplemental health insurance.

I continued, “If management feels it was important and necessary for each employee to have a thorough orientation at a new position, shouldn’t they feel it’s important to help valued and long time employees make one of the most important choices in the employee’s life? This will be the last orientation class that management would give us. Shouldn’t it be a good one? Shouldn’t the employee leave with a great lasting perception of their employers?”

My interviewer agreed and wrote my comments for others to read.

Boo Who?

This next story isn’t quite a ghost story, but it is in the same venue and I will tell it just the same. I’d just taken the body of a deceased person to the morgue, placed the cart in the cooler, and was doing the paper work in the log, when I heard voices from the storeroom through a vent high on the wall that connected it to the morgue room. It was our maintenance man, Franko and one of the female central supply techs, Niecie. They were retrieving a bariatric bed for a patient. Bariatric beds are oversized beds for the larger clients. The bed had been stored directly beneath the vent.

I moved across the morgue until I was underneath the vent, then cupped my hands around my mouth and made a funnel. I moaned, “W-O-O-O-O-O-O! W-O-O-O-O-O!”

They immediately stopped talking. Then I heard Niecie ask, “Franko, did you hear that?”

When Franko didn’t answer right away, she persisted, “I said, did you hear that?”

Franko said “Yes! Yes I did.”

“What was that?” She asked.

I heard Franko shush her.

They were quiet and I could tell they were listening for more. So I waited. When I heard them start to move the bed in the next room, I again moaned, “W-O-O-O-O-O! W-O-O-O-O-O!”

Niecie said, “Let’s get out of here!” I heard the supply room door pop open and the bed rolled out of the room at a high rate of speed.

Later, I met Franko in the hallway and told him what I’d done. He laughed and said, “I didn’t know what that noise was. I knew the morgue was next door, so I thought at first it could have been a ghost. The second time you moaned, Neicie’s eyes bulged out. She grabbed my arm and almost climbed up onto my shoulders. I think she would have if I would have let her.”

We never told Neicie and if you by chance read this, I apologize.

Confused Cantankerous Stubborn

There are times when you are never sure whether a person is confused or just stubborn and cantankerous. While a nurse at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania, an elderly man was frequently admitted for Chronic Heart Failure. Living at home, he refused to follow the doctor’s instructions to limit the amount of fluids he was allowed consume. This would cause fluid to build in his circulatory system and he would return to the hospital with severe shortness of breath and a need be readmitted.

Each time after a period of drying out in an intensive care unit, he would be transferred to a med/surg unit. Even there, he refused comply with the fluid restrictions. In his bathroom of his room, he had easy access to water and was on the verge of being transferred back to ICU. The nurses moved him into a private room and had maintenance shut off water to the sink. They thought that he could only get the fluids that the they gave him. Not so, a nurse caught him getting water from the bedpan sprayer and when that was cut off, he actually dipped water from the commode with his drinking cup.

We finally forced him use a potty chair by completely shutting off all water to his room. After many changes in his treatment and in spite of himself he improved to the point we could send him home again.

I guess my own loving grandmother Miner would fall under the confused and stubborn category. She was admitted to the hospital with a medical problem that required an intravenous antibiotic. She was a farmer’s wife, raising eight children and was never used to staying in bed. For several years she had lived in a nursing home because she no longer able to care for herself. We tried to allow her to stay in her home with a caretaker, but that didn’t work out.

In the hospital bed, my grandmother constantly tried to pull out the needle from her I.V. To keep the I.V. site intact, the nurses were required to restrain her arms, only freeing her at each mealtime to eat unencumbered.

As supervisor and grandson, I got a page from one of her nurses to please come to the floor. Once there, the nurse showed the straps to my grandma’s restraints and a butter knife. Gram had secreted the knife from her lunch tray and had begun to saw her way free from the restraints. Frayed straps were the evidence, but that was my grandmother Miner, intelligent, resourceful, and stubborn.