and Thursday afternoons, he’d go down to the coffee
shopandplaycribbagewith hisfriendDave,whostill
visitedhim.Plushe’dtaughtthegametoamanparalyzed
bya strokewholived ina homeonanotherfloor and
sometimescamebyLou’splacetoplay.Anaidewould
holdhiscardsor,ifnecessary,Louwould,takingcarenot
topeek.OtherafternoonsShelleywouldcomeby.She’d
bring the dogs, which he loved.
Hewasalsohappy,though,tospendmostofthedayon
hisown.Afterbreakfast,he’dretreattohisroomtowatch
television—“see about the mess,” as he put it.
“Ilikekeepinguponwhat’sgoingoninpolitics.It’slike
a soap opera. Every day another chapter.”
I asked him what channel he watched. Fox?
“No, MSNBC.”
“MSNBC? Are you a liberal?” I said.
He grinned. “Yeah, I’m a liberal. I would vote for
Dracula if he said he was a Democrat.”
Awhilelater hetook some exercise,walkingwith his
aidearoundthefloor,oroutsidewhentheweatherwas
good.Thiswasabigdealtohim.Inhislastmonthsin
assisted living, the staff had consigned him to a
wheelchair,arguingitwasn’tsafeforhimtowalk,given
his fainting spells. “I hated that chair,” he said. The
peopleattheFlorenceCenterlethimgetridofitandtake
his chances with a walker. “I’mkind of proud that I
pushed the matter,” he said.