When Harry Met Sally.
Not my residents, but too perfect of a picture to pass up.
Part of my job is to visit residents who are out of the facility for any reason, which is much more common than you would probably expect. An example: resident complains of a headache and touch sensitivity, staff notices the left side of their face drooping, stroke is assumed, paramedics are called, resident is transported to the hospital, stroke is confirmed, resident is admitted to the hospital for additional tests. It’s not uncommon for residents to be in the hospital, and then discharge typically to a rehabilitation center for more extensive care before discharging back to us.
Yesterday I was out visiting one of our residents at a rehab – I’ll call him Harry. Harry is the quintessential old man – wispy gray hair, thick glasses, always dressed in khaki pants with a pull-over. He’s 97, a little quieter, and is an avid poker and bingo player. If he doesn’t sweep blackout round at bingo, he calls it an off-week. I always thought Harry was a sweetheart and downright adorable, but I didn’t talk to him much. Like I said, he’s always been more reserved. One day, however, he was walking past me in the hallway wearing a bright purple polo. He looked so sharp! I asked him, ‘Harry, you’re dressed so nice – do you have a date tonight or something?’ He stopped his walker, turned to look at me, and replied, ‘Well, if you’re free later.’ I laughed all the way back to my office; I love when residents surprise me with their personalities.
Anyways, I went to visit Harry in rehab, and intended for the whole trip to last about half an hour – I had another resident to visit at a different rehab, and then some work to wrap up back at the facility. I ended up being gone for almost an hour and a half, and spent over an hour listening and talking with Harry about his past. He opened up and just started chatting and telling me stories, and didn’t stop. It was wonderful. He talked about living through the Depression, and getting drafted into the Air Force, and coming home a changed man afterwards. He talked about working with his hands all his life, and the value of learning the importance of money at a young age. I was fascinated; he’d grown up in a completely different world from me, but only miles from where I live now.
Selfishly, my favorite part to listen to was when he told me about meeting his wife. He slipped it into the story so subtly and gradually that I didn’t realize what he was talking about until he said the word ‘engaged.’ I’m going to recount his story as best I can remember it. Let’s call her Sally.
Harry was working for the Air Force in the Portland area, and he and his six friends (apparently they were all in the Air Force, all devout Catholics, and all devout whiskey drinkers) would go out on the town together. The dance hall they frequented was built on top of a liquor store, and one could purchase a pint of wine for a quarter (!) or a pint of whiskey for a dollar and a quarter (!!!) and take it upstairs to enjoy. They would sit around a table and occasionally ask the ladies to dance, but Harry admitted that he wasn’t the best dancer, and usually just watched and enjoyed his share of the whiskey pint. I asked him if he ever dropped a girl while dancing with her, and he got a stern look on his face and said, ‘I don’t think about those things.’ Which I believe is a ‘yes.’
One night Harry and his gang were out enjoying themselves, and Harry noticed the most beautiful girl sitting at a nearby table with some friends. He kept an eye on her all night, but he didn’t gather the courage to talk to her until they announced the last dance, and he realized he might miss his chance. He went over and introduced himself, and admitted he’d been eyeing her all night, to which she responded that she’d been eyeing him, too. He asked her to dance, she accepted, and he didn’t drop her (I don’t think). After the dance, he offered to take her home, like the gentleman he was, and she accepted. He joked that he didn’t really think that through, saying ‘We had six in the car on the way over, and somehow fit seven in the car on the way home.’ When he dropped her off at her door, he asked for her phone number, and to see her again. He was a little vague on the details after that, but he mentioned that he was getting deployed in six months, and that they were engaged and married before he left.
He talked about writing her letters during the war, and how he couldn’t tell her where in the world he was, so he would use code. He was deployed to Africa, so he wrote about being in ‘A,’ and when he returned home after the war he discovered that Sally thought he’d been in Australia the whole time!
Harry and Sally made a life together after the war. They settled in, they bought a home, and she was constantly asking him to adjust it. He said he would go to work and work with his hands, then come home and work with his hands some more to build her shelves in the kitchen, or cabinets in the bathroom. They had a family, and they traveled all over the world. He took her back to the places he’d been in the war and told her everything he’d been through. He said that Italy was her favorite place to visit, and then he rolled his eyes and said it was due to ‘one of those romance movies.’
Harry told me that he and Sally were married for 59 ½ years before she passed away. His eyes still lit up when he talked about her, and he still laughed about the things she said to him, or shook his head when he explained what a pack rat she was. I asked him what the secret was to nearly 60 years of beautiful love, and he said, ‘I asked her to make me a home because I never really had a good one, and then I’d do anything for her. And she did, and I did.’
