What's It All About, Alfie?

Remember the title song of that flick?  Are we meant to take more than we give, Alfie? Or are we meant to be kind?”  Here at Russellville Park we have four floors in the east building full of apartments occupied by mature citizens who, after a busy day of doing whatever, turn out the light and in that quiet stillness of their lonely room they whisper, what’s it all about, pillow?  The pillow doesn’t have a clue and I know I sure as hell don’t. But we all keep asking.

Last week I visited my sister Virginia who lives a few hundred miles away from me. At 96 she is four years older. My second mother.  Really smart. Retired as a Vice President of Wells Fargo Bank. We talked a lot and laughed a lot and touched on some serious issues but let me assure you, a river rock has a better understanding of what’s it all about than either Ginny or me.

A lot of people think they know.  They don’t.  But they do a lot of damage because many truth seekers out there give them power until the whole bloody gang ends up  drinking bye-bye Kool-Aid south of the border.  Or invading the nation’s Capitol.

The search for what it’s all about becomes more urgent as you notice your dance card has only a few more open spots.  What’s behind the curtain?  Do your trespasses really count against you?  How many stars do you give your life?  I know how many stars I deserve but I ain’t telling.  Here’s the truth: I was very close to a lot of wonderful triumphs but I was never essential to the mission. Picture a crab louse at the moment of conception.

Well, maybe one.  I was Assistant Director of Athletics at the University of Oregon (close to the top but no cigar) when we came up short by about $30,000 of funding the new west grandstand at Hayward Field. We decided to put on a fund-raising track meet and I was given the assignment to put the event together.  The only open date possible to run the meet was just over three weeks away so we started the plan in a state of high anxiety.

The key to the success of the mission was to have our wunderkind, Steve Prefontaine, race the Bowling Green State University sensation Dave Wottle who still holds the NCAA mile record of 3.57.1. He would win the 800 meter gold medal at the Munich Olympics.  But first we had to get the meet sanctioned by the NCAA.  Done.  Now get Pre and Dave into the harness.  First potential disaster: Pre was scheduled to be in Europe on our meet date.  Time to break some rules: I told Pre if he would delay his European trip a week I would buy him a round tripper for his ride (Hey, everybody’s doing it).  The NCAA track championships were being held at Louisiana State University the next week and Dave Wottle would be there. So would I.  Made Dave the same deal I made Pre and he said yes. Youssaa!

Pre’s agreeing to delay his trip was a magnificent commitment by our middle distance phenom.  First he agreed to a mile race he knew he couldn’t win.  The pride of most runners would never let them agree to a deal like that. Second, Pre loved the Oregon fans and he did it for them.

Right up until the first event the days were around the clock putting together the other events. Athletes from all over America calling, wanting into the meet where they could qualify for the coming Olympics.  Do you believe in miracles?  It all came together. Roaring success.  Double the needed funds raised.  Pre makes a great run but it’s a close loss to the kid in that signature golf hat.  And the success of the meet gave birth to what became an annual event called the Prefontaine Classic.  It is now the premier track and field meet in America pulling in athletes from all over the world (with a little help from an ex-Oregon runner named Phil Knight).

If you think you know what it’s all about, please give me a call.

Russellville Lives. JG

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,  Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it                                                                                                               --Omar Khayyam 

It's all about time isn't it?  Once we were skipping down windy beaches looking for agates and now we're skipping dental appointments because we forgot.  Recently I've written about those other times in the lives of the remarkable people who share the present times with me in this stack of rented spaces.  My friend Lou Barrett, the ex-cop, refers to all of us as "inmates."  In a sense Lou is right because we've been sentenced to life terms for the unforgivable offense of growing old. But we are still the same individuals responsible for creating those other times, some of which were exceptionally well lived.  

Like the one architect Joy Gannett designed.  Do a deep probe into the inner souls of thousands of retired strivers and you will find a high number of them did not truly enjoy going to work every day.  That wasn't Joy. He loved what he did and knew what he wanted to spend his life doing from as far back as junior high school.  It was in a mechanical drawing class where he was given an assignment to draw the plans for a house basement where a slab of concrete would be poured on the ground for the floor.  On his finished drawing he penned "ROR" and handed it in to the teacher who later asked him what those initials meant.  The teacher loved his reply: "Rough On Rats."

Joy was born in the early morning hours of October 13, 1926 in the family home in Oakland, California.  He was named Joy to honor his mother's family name: Joy.  A few years later his parents divorced and Joy was often sent to visit his mother's brother in Stockton where he and his cousin Tim Joy, who was one year older, became lifelong brothers. 

Joy enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1944 and was in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on his way to what would have been the invasion of Japan when the dropping of the atomic bombs ended the war.  With the support of the G.I. Bill,  Joy enrolled at the University of California, Berkeley, where he earned his degree in Architecture.  Joy and Delores (Dotty) Phillips were married in his senior year and their family grew to include Martha, Marshall, and Alice.

Joy worked for a number of different firms as he developed his own skills in a complex profession that demands both artistic and structural expertise to achieve creation of buildings that are both reliably sound and aesthetically in harmony with their location.  One of Joy's many projects was working as a member of the team that designed the Veteran's hospital on Pill Hill next to Oregon Health Science University (OHSU) in Portland, Oregon.

Replacing his cousin Tim Joy as a resident at Russellville Park, Joy, with his quiet wit and wonderful singing voice --in high school and the army he participated in bands as a drummer-- joins that elite confederacy of talents that define the unique spirituality of this home for the still active players in life's mysterious game.

She Saw It All

                                                                                                         Marilyn Bruner

 Marilyn Bruner is among a small group of current voyagers who came aboard the good ship Russellville Park circa 2005 when everything was new and masks were something you wore for New Years and Halloween. Like current residents, Betty Quimby,  Ray Niehaus, and Val Pryor, Marilyn remembers the east building with its beautiful stucco-covered walls. Oops.  The stucco did not cure correctly (what, rain in Oregon?) and required the entire five-story building to be wrapped in plastic while workers repaired the walls. Residents called it the "Ice Cube" and the rehab took a year to complete.  Kind of like the Covid except the building wore the mask. 

In her other life Marilyn was a professional secretary (in the 1940s high schools prepared males to take  leadership roles in corporate America while females were taught shorthand for their future as secretaries to their male classmates)  She worked as a secretary for school Principal Donald Bruner and they would later marry.  Marilyn shared Donald's interest in the history of native American tribes and in particular the Multnomah band of Chinook Indians who lived along the Columbia river.  They shared authorship of a book about Multnomah Chief Cassino: The Legend of Wappato.  Donald Bruner passed away in 2005 which led Marilyn to move to Russellville Park.  Now she is a living archival treasure for her fellow Russellville residents who care about the history of this place they call home. 

In the beginning the Overton dining room was just one big open space with a dance floor in the corner. Residents would sit around the fireplace and eat soft ice cream from a machine left out for them to self-serve..Of course that ended when a few miscreants filled buckets to take to their room  There were no servers for meals so residents would line up and go through the kitchen for a buffet pick up. They were allowed one free meal a day.

 Marilyn was a witness to the cast of characters who performed in the human comedy of those 16 years. She remembers one attractive lady (we'll call her Foxy) who claimed to have been a Playmate in Hugh Hefner's infamous Chicago mansion.  According to Marilyn, Foxy did contribute to the drama of life in Russellville with her occasional high kicks that entertained everyone.

 Then there was the resident (let's call him Rufus) who discovered the stairs that gave access to the roof  and insisted on using it as his solarium.  Management solved the issue, to the dismay of Rufus, by putting a padlock on the access door.

One fellow everyone called Bingo  (because he was always searching for that elusive winning letter?) who would sometimes come down to dinner wearing his pajamas.  When told that was unacceptable, Bingo  would impatiently respond that this was his home and if he wanted to dine in his PJs that was his right (but blue flannel tops and bottoms with circus clowns and bunny rabbits?).

There is no doubt in Marilyn's mind  that the most compelling feature of Russellville Park is that mysterious broth flavored by the diverse spirits of all those individuals who bring their past lives to the  mix. Right from the start there were people like Bob Hatrak who was warden of a high security prison in New Jersey where he made significant innovative contributions to national and international incarceration policies.  Or Vincenza Scarpaci who has made important contributions to the historical recognition of Japanese immigrants during World War II.  America has always been fascinated with the issues of crime and punishment (how many TV cop shows and movies have you watched?) and we have our own Lou Barrett, ex-California Highway Patrol officer.  He can creep you out talking about a late night traffic stop and his approach to the dark unknown ahead. Find a way to talk with Rodney Phillips about his life as a librarian with the New York City PublicLibrary. Coming off the elevator is Cal, Berkeley Architect Joy Gannett whose quiet wit will sneak up on you.  Jane Gregory's magnificent deck garden has every blooming thing but Eden's snake.  Artists Marianne Stokes or Diane Thramer, with a few deft brush strokes, can make you look like you look.   The list goes on and on.   You can't imagine hanging out in a more vibrant neighborhood.  

Right from the start Marilyn involved herself in Russellville's social activities by joining the singing group Blended Voices and the acting group Curtain Call.  Both activities welcome participants today.  With Curtain Call she discovered a latent knack for writing skits which the group performed.   

Marilyn is another sure-fire candidate for election to that future Russellville Park Hall of Fame.

The Shadow In the Corner

 Here in the Russellville Green Room where I await my call to appear in that biggest of all shows, the subject of death is never discussed among my assembled neighbors.  But it has crossed everyone's mind.  Just as it did for Woody Allen:  "It's not that I'm afraid to die.  I just don't want to be there when it happens."  Sorry, Woody, get in line.

The earliest human beings caught on to Nature's cruelest trick and came up with a counter-dodge by positing an afterlife where everybody could keep the good times rolling. That proved to be a comforting concept.  If that actually is part of the Master Plan, one of the people (spirits?) I will track down is Herb Lewis, a teacher I had my senior year in high school.  Herb's class was called Social Studies but what he taught was a profound respect for the life of the mind and the responsibility of every citizen to contribute to a humane society.  I never thanked him for being a great teacher.  Maybe it's not too late.

One day Herb took a hack paddle and walked down to the desk of a student who had just given a smart-ass reply to the teacher's question.  Then Herb brought the paddle down on the top of the wise guy's head.  Not hard.  Just a tap.  I think I know what Herb was thinking: "This little nose-picker is going to graduate next June and immediately start breeding.  Time  for a modest brain adjustment."  Herb's teaching toolbox held many wonderful aids.

So we might consider death one more blessing from a benevolent master clockmaker but I think Woody Allen had the right insight.  I'll wait and see.

Sam's Club

                                                                                          Samantha Gast

Samantha Gast is the best thing to happen to Russellville Park since Chef Ken invented the prime rib French dip sandwich.  Ask any of her mature clients who show up for her exercise classes three or five times a week to follow her conducting that orchestra of creaking joints and screaming muscle stretches.  Like a compassionate mother delivering tough love, Sam (rhymes with BAM) brings on her rapid fire drills that in 30 minutes manage to address all your body parts as well as your mental agility.  Her mantra is, "Use it or lose it."

       And the lady does everything she asks you to do (only better).  With her Golden Oldie music playing in the background, she is laughing and saying, "Rotate your right leg...other direction...now the left leg...other direction," as she works her way through the glossary of Grey's Anatomy reaching all your lazy muscles no matter where they may be hiding.

       Sam was hired seven months ago to help residents improve the quality of their lives.  She was born with an insistent dancing gene that has been an active motivator in her life since taking those ballet lessons while attending Monett High School in Missouri.  After graduating from the University of Missouri with a degree in Wildlife Management, she went to a school of dance in Oklahoma City that included jazz dancing.  An accident that injured her leg ended that dream and she found employment that was in harmony with her Wildlife education by becoming a game warden, protecting wild turkeys and other denizens of the Missouri forests. Poachers should be aware that the lady in the Smokey Bear hat is packing heat.

       Sam got involved with physical training when the Missouri Conservation Department (including game wardens) started training for physical fitness by in-house trainers.  She found her niche.  Sam was working as a Club Manager and trainer in a Portland exercise gym when the Covid-9 pandemic torpedoed that business which led her to send a resume to Russellville Park.

       What are the four memory words today, Sam?          Stance.   Ants.    Pants.    Dance.

  

Things Go Missing

A reporter once asked Willy Sutton why he robbed banks and Willy replied, "That's where they keep the money." Makes perfect sense.  So why not go to the retirement community where I live, for the exact same reason? Hundreds of apartments filled with people who are the dream of Big Pharma's executives, to loot medications that sell for big bucks on the street along with whatever cash and other possessions might be available. Willy may be long gone but his replacements are alive and active.

One of my friends plays high-stakes poker once a week and consequently keeps large amounts of cash on hand.  Two weeks ago somebody made a $600 withdrawal from his apartment.

Another friend was once a warden at a high-security prison and had a set of expensive keys in his apartment, a prized possession from his life's work,  Gone.

Another friend's wife lives with severe pain that requires expensive medications.  They recently received a three-month supply of a pain killer that went missing after only three pills had been used. 

Those are just three cases I know about because they are my friends, but what about all those other hundreds of medicine cabinets and under-mattress bank vaults in all those other apartments that have had valuables looted that we never hear about?  Report it to the police?  Good luck with that.  Report it to the management?  They deeply regret that it happens.

The problem is that too many people have keys that open exterior and interior doors.  Dozens of staff members come and go daily as well as all the service people who arrive to maintain the equipment that keeps this place operating.

It's hard to control but modern technology has given us security cameras that are surprisingly inexpensive, easy to install, and internet-enabled.  You need just one device, inside the apartment and pointed at your front door to capture whoever comes in.  The full-color digital recording is saved in the cloud.

My solution is to avoid owning anything worth stealing.  None of my drugs are high potent street-worthy booty. Nobody steals books and magazines. George Carlin had a great bit about "your stuff" (from memory) "Your house is just a place to keep your stuff...if you have to go someplace, somebody might come and take your stuff.  So you take your stuff with you..."

The sad reality here at Russellville Park is that some people do come and take our stuff.  And, apparently, will continue to do so while we all wring our hands.

Russellville Lives. DT

                                                                         Diane Thramer

Recent Russellville resident, Diane Thramer, has solid credentials as an Oregonian.  Her mother's family descended from early pioneers who came over the Oregon Trail in covered wagons and settled in the Wolf Creek area of southern Oregon.  Her father, George Rader,  grew up in Oklahoma leaving school early to work in the oil fields as a whistle punk. After coming to Oregon, George worked as a logger and was a true independent Oregonian who refused to participate in any of Franklin D. Roosevelt's depression era measures because he prided himself on not taking charity.

Diane is a talented artist who was blessed with that mysterious gift of genetic pass-down from both her father and her mother.  George was an accomplished painter who also drew cartoon strips with his creative gags that were published by farm magazines.  Diane's grand daughter received the family genetic gift and is herself a talented artist. Diane developed her talent with the encouragement of her parents as well as studying with school teachers.  She works primarily with water colors and many of her painting involve family members and friends.  The Rose Bud Bakery in Eugene, Oregon was a community favorite and as a young high school student, Diane attained modest celebrity as a cake decorator.  Her best creations ended up as support platforms for candles.  John Dix Thramer, who Diane would later marry, was a baker a the Rose Bud.  After leaving the bakery,  John spent the rest of his career with Eugene's Water and Electric Board (EWEB) until his retirement.

Those early family years were the among the happiest in the lives of Diane and John.  They personified the reputation of Eugene as a place that welcomed diversity and healthy living and that more often than not involved hiking and camping plus all things connected to the two rivers that converged north of the city: the Willamette and the McKenzie. On one memorable occasion the entire family, sons Allen and Darin along with their sister Patrice and led by John and Diane,  hiked the iconic Pacific Crest Trail (built by FDR's socialistic Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s) from the McKenzie Pass of the Cascade Mountains to the mountain's Willamette Pass. That is a lot of up mountains, down mountains that kept them on that high mountain trail for two weeks, creating a lifetime of memories. 

Diane Thramer is one of those people who look a dozen or more years younger than their biological tattletale.  Her easygoing style of being open to social situations that make her laugh, lightens the mood of any room she enters.  Include Diane as a candidate for the Russellville Park Hall of Fame when it opens on former Portland Mayor Bud Clark's 100th birthday on December 19th, 2031.