Travels with Bob, my favorite octogenarian

My great fortune was that my father-in-law became my best friend. For over three decades, I enjoyed his company, learned from his wisdom and example, and observed and assisted this member of the Greatest Generation as he aged gracefully despite humble circumstances and multiple severe morbidities. We bonded quickly after my future wife brought me home to meet her parents. However, it started out awkwardly. Bob was a tall, burly, gregarious dockworker. I was a short, slight, introverted medical student. Nevertheless, within minutes, his cheerful smile and hearty welcome put me at ease. In many ways, he became the father I never had. I affectionately called him “Dad.” Over the years, we became so close and spent so much time together that members of his own family may even have become a little jealous.

Two dramatic events made it unlikely that Bob would live to age 88. First, during WWII as a 22-year-old infantryman, his stubborn refusals to wear his helmet pushed his commanding officer to teach him a lesson about the importance of head protection in an active combat zone. At dusk, he and his equally stubborn compatriot were given a heavy radio set and ordered to cross behind enemy lines and serve as the forward observers for the night. Several times they encountered enemy soldiers, dodged volleys of bullets and their own side's mortars, and narrowly escaped into nearby brush cover. After finally receiving permission to return near dawn, they stumbled into camp, muddy and exhausted. In the dim light, Bob laughed nervously as he pointed to a bullet hole in the radio set his partner carried. But they both paled when his partner then pointed to the fresh bullet dent in Bob's helmet. Later, when they were unable to find their foxhole where they would have slept that night had they not been afield, they were informed that an incoming mortar blast had obliterated it.

Second, at age 52 while on vacation, Bob had a massive heart attack. He spent 6 weeks recovering in a small rural hospital. At Johns Hopkins, he was found to have severe, inoperable ischemic dilated cardiomyopathy. My father-in-law undertook several behavioral changes that I believe contributed to becoming a rare 36-year cardiomyopathy survivor: smoking cessation, regular physical activity, an optimistic, cheerful outlook, generously helping others, crossword puzzles, and regular afternoon naps. He also participated in the first clinical trial of beta-blockers, which became the most potent survival-improving drug.

Bob loved to travel. However, his wife, recalling his multiple out-of-hospital cardiac arrests, wanted him to stay close to home. However, after I joined the family, she allowed him to accompany her cardiologist son-in-law on business trips, opening up a world of adventure and deepening our friendship.

Our trips together took us to three different countries and eight different US states. In Germany, we visited the Berlin wall and Checkpoint Charlie where the American guard saluted Bob smartly and asked if he would like to help him lower the US flag for the evening. In Puerto Rico, my friend and I swam in the Caribbean, toured the Bacardi rum factory, and watched salsa dancing. In San Diego, he snorkeled for the first time, marveled at the marine life, and fed the dolphins at Sea World. In Washington DC, we visited the recently completed WWII memorial, where Dad shared details of the battles he was in, including the Battle of the Bulge, and his two encounters with the legendary US General George S. Patton.

Bob's favorite trip was Las Vegas. We visited the huge, opulent Las Vegas casinos, gorged on lavish buffets, and saw Hoover Dam, Red Rock Canyon, and the old “Strip.” At the small, intimate historic auditorium of the old Hilton hotel where Elvis made his Las Vegas debut, we sat together in the front row of a concert by one of his favorite artists, the famous American country singer Trisha Yearwood. Dad's eyes sparkled and he clapped and cheered enthusiastically. Trisha must have noticed his glee, because in mid-show, she stood right in front of Dad, sang a tender, heartfelt love song directly to him, and then gave him a huge bouquet of roses. Dad was enraptured and talked of that moment for years.

Every Wednesday night, Bob had played neighborhood poker with the same $100 he toted around in a paper lunch bag. He had always wanted to play poker with the “locals” in Las Vegas. After inquiring at many casinos with no luck, an accommodating host at the Mirage invited Dad to join a midnight backroom poker game with a group of locals who met there regularly. The local players, some of whom were retired professional players, slyly eyed an easy mark in the amiable, naïve-appearing old man, and relished an easy win. The host pulled me aside and assured me he would monitor the game closely to help limit my father's losses and humiliation. Three hours later, I was dead-tired and announced to Dad it was time to go. As my father-in-law swept up his large pile of winnings, the other players howled in protest so fiercely that the host had to intervene and support Bob's departure. Dad could hardly wait to get home and recount his adventure to his neighborhood poker friends.

Like most WWII veterans, Bob had never talked about his wartime experiences, even with his wife. A few years before our trip, Tom Brokaw had ignited national interest with his book, “The Greatest Generation.” Our society began to recognize that these veterans, who at the time were in their 80s and 90s, were rapidly dying off, and the opportunities to recognize their sacrifice and contributions were dwindling. So, on the long, sleepless, overnight flight home from Las Vegas, I gently asked Dad to please share a story or two. There was a long pause and a halting start as his memory began to jog. Then the dam opened. For hours, he recounted one fascinating story after another. Some were harrowing, like the story above. Others were heart-warming, such as how he helped some of the many impoverished European widows and orphans he encountered near the end of the war (Figure 1). My respect and admiration for this older man grew even more.

My last trip with Bob was the most poignant. I often traveled to Washington for NIH meetings. Dad would drive from Baltimore and stay with me at the hotel. He would bring a deck of cards and a few beers. After my meetings ended each day, we would have dinner and then return to the hotel room where we would spend the evening visiting, playing cards, and watching late shows. We both enjoyed these visits and this routine immensely.

During our very last evening together, I noticed Dad was wearing a cross necklace I had given him several years ago that matched mine. He said he had worn the necklace every day since I gave it to him. This led to a deep, intimate discussion of our shared faith that I will never forget and that brought great comfort to his family when I recounted it just a week later at his memorial service.

I worried about Dad during that visit. He had been robust well into his mid-80s, frequently taking neighbors in their 90s shopping and carrying their groceries up flights of stairs. However now, for the first time, he appeared frail. His limbs had thinned, he had some difficulty rising from a chair, and his gait was slower and appeared uncertain. He had never fully recovered from his last hospitalization which began as a laser ablation for bladder cancer but evolved into deep venous thrombosis and a prolonged hospital stay with inadequate attention to a rapid deterioration in physical function. It was alarming to see the sudden decline. Thankfully, Dad still had his intellect, sunny disposition, and wonderful sense of humor (Figure 2).

I had frequently tried to convince Bob to make a will. He always said it was too expensive and that he had told my wife what he wanted done after he passed and trusted her. This time, I patiently explained that he was putting his daughter in a difficult position that could lead to family discord, and I felt it was so important that I would pay the cost. To my surprise, he agreed. I found him a lawyer who had reasonable fees and with whom Dad felt comfortable. Four days later, he met the lawyer to make his will. A few days after that, my beloved father-in-law, my best friend for 32 years, died suddenly in the middle of the night.

Whenever I am in the Baltimore–Washington area, I still visit my best friend at the Veteran's Cemetery. These solemn visits usually begin with an outpouring of tears, but transition to a remembrance of the joys of our times together and deep gratitude for the many blessings I received through Bob. I tell him about the trips I have taken since my last visit. Continuing a tradition whereby I always bought him a souvenir cap on each of our trips together, I gently place a new cap on his grave. We “share” a beer together. The visits end in peace, with a kiss to his gravestone and a tearful prayer: “Thank you Dad, for everything. I'll see you in Heaven.”

This study was supported in part by NIH grant U24AG059624.