hisgroceriesfortheday atthesupermarket, andcome
hometomakehislunch.Laterintheafternoon,hewould
go to thetown library. It was pretty, light-filled, and
quiet,andhe’dspendacouplehoursreadinghisfavorite
magazinesandnewspapersorburrowingintoathriller.
Returninghome,he’d reada bookhe’d checkedoutor
watcha movieorlistentomusic.Acoupleofnightsa
week,he’dplaycribbagewithoneofhisneighborsinthe
building.
“My father developed really interesting friendships,”
Shelley said. “He could make friends with anyone.”
OneofLou’snewcompanionswasanIranianclerkata
video store in town where Lou often stopped in. The
clerk,namedBob,wasinhistwenties.Louwouldperch
onabarstoolthatBobsetupbythecounterforhim,and
the two of them—the young Iranian and the old
Jew—couldhangoutforhours.Theybecamesuchgood
palsthattheyeventraveledtoLasVegastogetheronce.
Lou loved going to casinos and made trips with an
assortment of friends.
Then,in2003,attheageofeighty-five,hehadaheart
attack.Heprovedlucky.Anambulancespedhimtothe
hospital, and the doctors were able to stent open his
blockedcoronaryarteryintime.Afteracoupleweeksin
acardiacrehabilitationcenter, itwasas ifnothinghad
happenedatall.Threeyearslater,however,he hadhis
firstfall—thatharbingerofunstoppabletrouble.Shelley
noticedthathehaddevelopedatremor,andaneurologist
diagnosed him with Parkinson’s disease. Medications
controlled the symptoms, but he also began having
troublewithhismemory.Shelleyobservedthatwhenhe