P is for Presbyterian

April 18, 2018 Sally3 Comments

Both my mother and father were deeply involved in the Cooperstown Presbyterian Church.

From my mother’s obituary:

Perhaps most central to Elinor’s life was her steadfast devotion to the First Presbyterian Church of Cooperstown, for it was there that she faithfully blended her love of family and God. A member since 1969, Elinor sang in the Chancel Choir, served in church leadership as a Deacon and an Elder, as Treasurer and Clerk of Session, volunteered as a Sunday School Teacher, was a member and/or chair of numerous committees over the years, and participated fully in the women’s association. A generation of young people will remember Elinor as the one who prepared the food for the weekly Thursday school gatherings at the Presbyterian Church.

I was going to say that my father did everything my mother did at the church and then some — except he didn’t sing in the choir, and I’m not sure he taught Sunday School, and he certainly didn’t participate in the women’s association. He didn’t prepare meals either.

But he WAS a deacon and an elder and the Clerk of Session (I think). My sister, who is much more entrenched in the Presbyterian Church, could tell you what that all means.

I simply knew that he went to meetings there. A lot of them.

And he sold hot dogs at the annual Ice Cream Social.

From an old newspaper clipping on the refrigerator

The birthday cards from the church people often talked about his leadership, like this one:

My most powerful memories about you relate to the leadership you gave when several times over the years we found ourselves between pastors. You helped keep the ship floating and moving forward…

This was my favorite church story:

My most vivid memory … is of the congregational meeting relating to the arrangement of the pews in the sanctuary which were to be reinstalled after being removed for refurbishing. The temporary chairs used while the pews were worked on were arranged in a semicircle, and some church members wanted the pews to be arranged like that. Other members were determined that the pews should be placed in straight rows as they had been in the past. Supporters of both views expressed strong feelings, but you did a masterful job as moderator in keeping order, giving everyone opportunity to express their opinion, and guiding the factions to a compromise whereby the two center sections of pews were replaced in straight lines as before but the two side sections were angled to give an overall sense of a curve.

I can picture my father, patiently listening, patiently giving everyone a chance to speak, gently leading the way to compromise. Attentive listening is one of his super-powers.

Today, I stopped by the church to see the “curved” pew arrangement.

The angling is so slight that it’s barely perceptible. If I felt strongly about the curve, I might have felt cheated.

Or not.

Sometimes it’s enough to be heard.

In any event, the church stayed afloat and moved forward, thanks, in part, to my father.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad · poetry

O is for Old

April 17, 2018 Sally7 Comments

A Poem for Interns and Residents

To you, he is an old man
With hoary head and feeble mind
But look beneath the surface —
It may surprise you what you find

To you, he’s one who stutters
And struggles to find words
He knows the things he wants to say
But it’s like catching birds

To you, he oft repeats himself
In telling about his life
To me, his most repeated act
Was daily visits to his wife

To you, he’s hard of hearing
And he wears the yellow socks
That signal he’s a fall risk.
To you, he talks and talks
But you don’t listen —
You don’t know him —
You don’t care the way I do.
To you, he’s just some patient.
Oh, how I wish you knew!

In defense of young doctors, they really don’t know any better.

Plus, during this most recent hospitalization, my father kept throwing red herrings at them as he tried to diagnose himself for them.

My low point yesterday was sitting in the office of a woman I didn’t know terribly well, and bursting into tears. I simply wanted someone who knew my father to take care of him.

Medicine has changed SO much in the past 50 years.

I’m thankful there are still people there who know and love my father like I do.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad · family

N is for the Nurse Practitioners

April 16, 2018 Sally4 Comments

My father hired the first Physician’s Assistant and mentored the first independent Nurse practitioner in New York State.

I think he found the work with the nurse practitioners to be especially rewarding. Gevie Kent, the first NP, worked in a rural clinic in Edmeston, NY. Others followed in other rural clinics, dotting the map around Cooperstown, bringing healthcare to the people of rural communities.

In 1991, Maureen Murray, a Bassett nurse, wrote a history of nursing at Bassett and included this, which, though it doesn’t mention my father by name, describes the role of the nurse practitioner:

In 1971, the Carnegie Commission studied the quality of rural medicine in the United States. The Commission recommended a nationwide system of regional health centers, including schools and hospitals, providing easy access to quality care for the nation’s people. In its report, entitled “Higher Education and the Nation’s Health: Policies for Medical and Dental Education,” Bassett Hospital is cited as the ideal prototype for the regional centers. As a result, Time Magazine carried an illustrated article based on the Carnegie Foundation’s report.

Nursing played a key role in 1972 when citizens from the nearby community of Edmeston approached the hospital for help in providing health care services as a replacement for a community physician who had retired. The issue was discussed with the hospital Joint Advisory Committee and resulted in the decision to select a Bassett staff nurse, send her for further education as a nurse practitioner, and establish a clinic with the nurse practitioner available to provide certain types of health care and follow-up visits for the Edmeston community. Consultative help and referrals would come from the hospital medical staff. Miss Genevieve Kent, RN, an Edmeston native was selected from the Pediatric staff to be the first nurse practitioner in the Bassett system. This was viewed as an experiment in the delivery of primary care and a possible solution to health care access in small rural communities…. Over the next 12 years, 12 more clinics, six of them staffed by nurse practitioners, would become part of a multi-site outreach network.

One NP told me, “I am so thankful for the time your father put into precepting me and the other nurse practitioners. The burnout rate today for NPs is so high because they don’t have people like your father to oversee and train them for as long as I had. He made sure we were competent and confident in our roles.”

Another wrote to him, “Thank you so much for your foresight and leadership. You have been a great mentor to Nurse Practitioners.”

Still another wrote, “Your mentorship meant a lot to me and your influence shaped so much of who I am now and my clinical practice…. I still remember how kind you were to me when I was new and how much I looked forward to meeting with you weekly.”

Another wrote this:

Dr. Pollock has been a sincere, caring teacher, believing in talking and listening to patients, showing us the small, redeeming acts of mercy. He reminded us to listen to our patients. He honored the shimmering mystery of what we are even when in pain, even as life leaks away. Remember the awe, the sense of being in the presence of something greater than oneself. Be a part of the healing.

And one gave us this that sums it all up.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad · family

M is for Mentor

April 16, 2018 Sally1 Comment

If I saw a theme in the birthday cards for my father sent or given to him by other doctors, it was the word “Mentor.”

Over and over his fellow physicians thanked him for being their mentor.

One doctor said that my father was first his “mentor, then a colleague, always a friend.”

Another said, “You have been a remarkable role model to countless young physicians — certainly including me.”

There are many more, but my favorite was this one:

…Happy birthday to my mentor, colleague and friend. I don’t know if I have ever told how I feel about the mentor part — if not, it’s about time!

When I think about what it means to be a good doctor, and a good teacher and leader of doctors, the things that stand out as most important in my mind are the qualities of humanism that you have demonstrated — have lived and breathed — every day of your life — compassion, humility, science, altruism, humor, integrity, and an unwavering moral compass, I can’t think of anyone I have known in my 39 years as a doctor who more completely fills that description. So, though you may or may not have been aware of it, I thank you for being a role model that I cherish — both then and now — as you have faced aging with dignity and grace.

You are loved…

A mentor to many, and very loved. Yes, that’s my father.

No picture today. I scrolled through so many photographs, but nothing stood out to me.

I need to crank out another A-to-Z post, too, to catch up.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad

L is for Library Book Sale

April 14, 2018 Sally4 Comments

We have at least 3 copies of Grandfather Stories by Samuel Hopkins Adams — thanks to the library book sale.

For years and years, the Cooperstown Village Library has held their annual book sale over 4th of July weekend. Their large porch would be filled with tables covered with books, with boxes of books waiting underneath. That abundance of books overflowed onto the lawn where tents were erected under which stood more tables of books. The tents overflowed into a few boxes by the sidewalk labeled “Free.”

I love the library book sale. I still go every year, even though it’s now much smaller. I haven’t taken my father the past few years, partly because of mobility. The sale has been moved to the side of the building and is all in tents. By losing the sprawl and setting it on a slope, it’s harder to navigate with a walker.

We used to make it an annual thing though — the two of us waiting for the sale to open so we could be among the first to find the treasures there. I can think of few things more fun than poking around in piles and boxes of old books.

A few months ago, he was looking at all the bookshelves in the back room. “Where did all these books come from?” he asked.

“You bought them,” I said.

“I did?” He seemed surprised. “Well, I have good taste,” he said.

He tended to head toward the history section to find books on the Civil War, and then to the sports sections to find books on baseball.

Local history was always of interest to him. One year, I found a copy of an older book about the Loomis Gang, an outlaw gang in central New York, and showed it to him. He rejoiced, like I had just handed him a winning lottery ticket. Another year I found an obscure Walter Edmonds book that made him happy.

One year, he found a 1896 book called Max and Maurice: A Juvenile History in Seven Tricks by William Busch. Max and Maurice were the first names of my grandfather and his identical twin brother. Fortunately, the book was not about them. The story, all in rhyme, told of two boys who played horrible pranks on the people in their small town. In the end, they were ground up in a grist mill and eaten by ducks.

A gory story — but not a Gorey story. My brother buys those.

It’s not the same going to the library book sale without my father, but the books we already own are more than enough to keep him occupied.

In recent years he has read Mutiny on the Bounty by Charles Nordhoff and James Norman Hall at least three times, and probably from three different copies of the book, all thanks to the library book sale.

When he would find a favorite book, I watched him show it to the people around him. When none of them would take it, he would go ahead and buy it himself. I’m pretty sure he bought back some of his own donated books.

He couldn’t leave an old friend on the table.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad

K is for Kamp Kill Kare

April 13, 2018 Sally3 Comments

The rock is around here somewhere, I just know it.

It was here last week. Bud picked it up and asked me about it.

“No,” I said, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the Klan.”

Scratched on one side of the smooth rounded dark gray rock, the kind that’s flat enough to be perfect for skipping, were the letters “KKK.” On the other side “1945”.

KKK stood for Kamp Kill Kare, a boys camp in St. Albans, Vermont that operated from 1912 – 1960.

My father spent many summers working there as a counselor.

When he and my mother were dating, and the camp was in need of a nurse, he put her touch with the director and she was hired for the summer.

Here’s a newspaper page about Kamp Kill Kare that my father saved in his scrapbook.

A close up of one picture shows the lovely nurse:

And a close-up of another shows the riflery instructor:

But some of my favorites pieces from the scrapbook are these. A scored rifle target —

but the back of the target holds the real message.

And then there was this drawing —

Kamp Kill Kare is now a Vermont State Park. The Main House, shown in the first picture, still stands, and has been renovated.

If it was just a little closer, it might make for a nice day trip in the summer to see what he still remembers.

But it probably isn’t the same without that nurse.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad · dementia

J is for Jumble

April 12, 2018April 12, 2018 Sally3 Comments

My father was always an orderly man.

His ties were hung neatly on tie racks in his closet, his business affairs neatly filed in folders, his expenses written in neat columns in ledgers. His photographs are labeled, his stamp and coin collections catalogued.

One of the evidences of my mother’s dementia was her setting the table for an army of guests. Non-existent guests. I would get frustrated with it because it meant that I had to put away all the china and silver that she had gotten out. Someone suggested to my sister that we could use the table setting as a bellwether for how she was doing mentally.

For a while, she set the table properly — fork on one side, knife and spoon on the other, dinner plate in the middle. Then one day, it was set like this —
It made no sense.

And I knew that my mother had lost a bit more of herself.

My father’s indicator has been the Daily Jumble.

For years he zipped through it within minutes of sitting down for breakfast. Then it started taking a little longer. Then one day, he wrote the word TOTATO in the answer space.

“Totato” would make perfect sense if he had been reading Andrew Peterson’s On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. But it’s not a real word, at least not for Daily Jumble purposes. (Correct answer: TATTOO)

My sister and I laughed about it because, truthfully, when we had solved the jumble, we had both seen TOTATO before we saw TATTOO.

Of late, though, my father usually only solves two or three of the words. Occasionally all four. Sometimes with spelling mistakes.

He wrote PICKEL the other day.

Sometimes he makes up words. Like LORAY. When I told him that wasn’t a word, he responded, “Well, it should be!” (Correct answer: ROYAL)

Sometimes he just gets things mixed up.

He sorts through loose change, putting the coins into neat piles, but five quarters in a pile, not four.

And he sorts through pictures, throwing away photographs of people he can’t remember.

His neat and tidy orderliness has become a sieve through which bits and pieces of his life slip every day.

Word jumbles are just a part of it.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad · family

I is for Internship

April 11, 2018 Sally2 Comments

When I went in the hospital to have baby #2 or #3, one of the obstetrics nurses at Bassett told that she still remembered my father’s first day.

“He carried that black bag,” she said, and then laughed to herself at the memory.

He still has the black bag.

She ended up in the same nursing home as my mother. She was non-verbal and non-communicative. More than once, I thought about sitting beside her, taking her hand and asking her if she remembered. But I never did. I need to be braver.

My father saved all the correspondence leading to his coming to Bassett as an intern.

Letter dated July 17, 1954, from James Bordley III, the Director of Bassett Hospital — “In reply to your letter of July 14 I am enclosing herewith descriptive sheet and application forms for internships at this hospital…”

The descriptive sheet gives details on a total of 9 appointments that were available. Then, this paragraph:

Salary and Maintenance: Salary $110 per month. Room and laundry are furnished but intern pays for meals. If all meals are eaten in hospital cafeteria the average cost is about $60.00 per month. During the second year of Rotating Internship the salary is $135 per month.

On the back of the sheet, my father had written a rough draft of a letter to Dr. Bordley.

Dear Dr. Bordley,

Mrs. Pollock and I would like to thank you and the members of the staff for an especially delightful visit at the hospital in August. We were extremely impressed by the cordiality of all those whom we met and were equally impressed by the excellent facilities offered at the hospital.

Before submitting my application I should like to ask you a few questions which occurred to me after our interview…

He went on to ask those questions, and Dr. Bordley answered them in a brief letter dated October 6, 1954.

Letter dated March 14, 1955 from James Bordley III —

Dear Mr. Pollock:

We were delighted to hear this morning that you had been matched for a one-year mixed internship at this hospital beginning July 1, 1955…

Letter dated April 2, 1955, from V. Earle Nicklas, Assistant Director —

In reviewing the housing requirements for incoming staff I have noted from your correspondence with Dr. Bordley that you are interested in obtaining an unfurnished apartment with 2 bedrooms.

He goes on to describe a building that had been divided into 4 or 5 apartments, and a 2 bedroom apartment that “overlooks both the golf course and Otsego Lake,” and that would rent for $60 a month.

At the bottom of the page, in my mother’s neat handwriting, she had written: ? stove & refrigerator, ? heat

The final letter, dated April 16, 1955, from Earle Nicklas confirms their rental of that apartment:

The apartment at the hospital’s Lake Street building about which I wrote to you earlier is being reserved for you with occupancy to commence on June 1.

In answer to some of your other questions: the heat is included in the $60 a month rental. There are both stove and refrigerator included. These are part of a package unit which contains sink and cupboards as well. They are a fairly new installation having just been purchased and put in within the past year. This “kitchenette” has an accordion pleated door which separates it from the living room when not in use…

The accordion pleated door sounds awful.

Although they stayed in Cooperstown longer than that one year, they didn’t stay in that house.

Of course it was all before I was born.

My father also saved the National Intern Matching Program form. It turns out Bassett wasn’t his first choice.

But it was most definitely the right choice.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad · family

H is for Hamilton College

April 11, 2018 Sally2 Comments

My father went to Hamilton College, a small liberal arts college in Clinton, New York.

Just to confuse people, not far away in Hamilton, NY, is Colgate University, another small liberal arts school.

But, no — my dad went to Hamilton. As did my uncle. As did my oldest brother.

Hamilton College was so formative for him. He has nothing but good words to say about the school. Let me share, though, words that others have written to him about his Hamilton College experience.

David Wippman, the current president of Hamilton College, wrote a nice birthday letter to Dad. Here’s a tiny excerpt:

As the first member of your family to attend college, you, followed by your brother, Stewart ’54, attained prominence in your chosen field and remain an inspiration to all, especially our “first-gen” students who comprise 15% of the student body.

Ben Madonia, Director of Planned Giving at Hamilton, came to visit my father last summer. Ben wrote a follow-up letter to my father, reminding him of the various Hamilton College-related stories they had shared. I thought it was a brilliant idea to recap the visit to help my father remember. Of course, I can’t find that letter to include an excerpt, but Ben also wrote one for my father’s birthday celebration.

… You and Elinor were among the first to greet and welcome us into the Hamilton alumni community at Achievement Day in August of 1980. We have been forever grateful to both of you for your kindnesses to us and for all that you have done for Hamilton.

In addition, you earned the admiration of your classmates, contemporaries, and alumni across the generations for your efforts and leadership…

He went on the mention my father receiving the Bell Ringer Award, one of Hamilton’s highest honors. Dad has that award framed and hanging in the dining room.

Melissa Joyce-Rosen, the president of the Alumni Association, wrote this in 2006:

You arrived on College Hill from the Garden State of New Jersey, took up residence in the upper reaches of the Chapel, and helped covered your college expenses with a job soon to become obsolete — ringing the Chapel bell…

Last fall, one of my father’s friends drove him to Hamilton College and he climbed the stairs of the bell tower once more.

Melissa concluded her award letter with these words:

You once observed of your Hamilton education that, “Most of the facts I learned have long been forgotten, but the values I learned and the vistas that were opened have enriched my life beyond measure.”

On a different note, my father’s brother Stewart, who also went to Hamilton, wrote my father some letters in 1953 that have been saved these many years. In one, Stewart thanks my father for his help at Hamilton:

… Don, I really appreciate all the help and advice you have offered to me, and I am especially appreciative for your helping to start off on the right foot at Hamilton. I’m sure that if you hadn’t been here during my freshman year, the succeeding years would not have been as profitable for me.

As Dad may have told you, I burst forth from my cocoon of academic ignominy this past semester with 6 straight A’s…

In another letter, my uncle said, “…You will always remain somewhat of a god in my estimation…”

So, for Uncle Stewart, I include one last Hamilton College letter that my father has saved for 70 years. It was in the same folder as the Glen Cunningham letter, and was written by Winton Tolles, Dean.

I don’t know who wrote “Shame on you!” but I can almost bet they were laughing as they did.

I laugh too, because amid all the accolades, my father saved an academic warning letter. Maybe it’s the only one he ever received.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · About My Dad · family

G is for Generations

April 10, 2018 Sally3 Comments

I’ve been away for a few days on a much-needed retreat with my husband (and, as a result, have fallen behind in my A to Z Challenge). We traveled to one of my favorite places — Laity Lodge, which is in the remote hill country of Texas.

Meanwhile, back at home, my father’s grandchildren took care of him.

My father has nine grandchildren — eight of them are mine.

Helen, my oldest daughter, is an RN. She took time off, so I could take some time off. I think that’s pretty wonderful.

Every time I go away, it seems, my father needs to go to the Emergency Room. Each time it turns out to be nothing. Still, it was awfully nice to have someone with medical experience there with him. Plus four other of the grandchildren helped Helen — it takes a family to care for the elderly.

I remember when my father first held his first grandson. Dad took Philip in his arms and Philip promptly spit up all over him. I’m sure it had nothing to do with my father. Philip and I had just spent the whole day traveling and we were exhausted. After the initial whoops and clean-up, my father sat and held the sleeping baby for a long time.

Now I get great joy watching my father get down on the floor to play with his great-grandson.

When I think about my children taking care of my father, and about the special relationship especially the older kids have with him, it warms my heart.

Margaret Mead said, “Everyone needs to have access both to grandparents and grandchildren in order to be a full human being.”

I think she’s right.