

Copyright © 2015 by Joseph P. Badame

All rights reserved.

" **My Teacher, My Bride"**

By Joseph P. Badame,

Smashwords Edition

Second Edition

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* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Among the many loving things a man can do for his woman,

his soul mate, his love, his bride are these four:

To love her passionately and unconditionally;

To inspire and rejoice in her happiness;

To suffer with her by her side during her trials;

To honor her by writing adoringly about her when she is gone

God has gifted me the privilege to have done all four.

I have accomplished all that is of any importance in my life.

Lord, my work is complete.

I am ready to join her when You call."

Phyliss and Joseph Badame

"My Teacher, My Bride"

In the Peace Corps in Tunisia

Circa, 1969 - A lifetime ago

### Phyliss

The only one who made my life in this world worth living

my love, my inspiration; rest in peace with our Lord.

She may look like she is smiling for the camera.

Actually she's in love with the cameraman.

The love of my life

Dedicated to the memory of

Phyliss Marie Crudo Badame

She joined us: Camden, NJ, Noon, Sunday, August 28, 1927

She left us: Mt. Holly, NJ, Midnight, Tuesday, October 29, 2013...

"She's Gone"

When the lonely night ends and releases its hold,

I awake to the cold and barren bed beside me.

My senses scream to me, she's gone!

Yet, my heart whispers, she's not;

But, my pain shouts, she is!

Oh, the heartache,

another day

without her

tender

love.

now,

"we"

is

"I"

Phyliss Marie Crudo Badame

A Loving and devoted

Daughter,

Granddaughter,

Godchild,

Sister,

Niece,

Cousin,

An absolutely perfect wife,

A steadfast and loyal friend,

A comforting and empathic companion,

A humanitarian,

An unequaled leader,

A master educator,

A prolific administrator,

A loyal patriot,

A consummate student,

A perpetual optimist,

A knowledgeable counselor,

A sagacious advisor, full of wisdom,

An indefatigable advocate,

An extraordinary chef,

A compassionate listener,

A champion of the downtrodden,

A committed and tenacious Godmother,

An honest and honorable public servant,

A lovely woman and lady,

A masterful observer of human behavior,

A courageous cross bearer,

A generous, kind, and humble human being,

And above all,

A humble servant of our Lord

✟

Heartfelt appreciation to all my angels:

Phyliss

Lee

Jenny

Mary

Lucy

Grace

Theresa

Leonora

Emily

Lisa

Kathleen

Cathy

Larry

Amy

Carrie

Ben

Mary Alice

Alice

Barbara

Mary Lee

Karen

Stephanie

Kiana

Graham

And

Rose Ann

(Rest her dear soul)
MY TEACHER, MY BRIDE

A Love Story and memoir

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

Synopsis

Preface

Forward

Genesis

Before Our Story – My One Grand Regret

"You Can Never Have Too Many Hugs and Kisses, My Dear!"

Who Really Wrote this Book, Joe?

Growing Up

The Children's Responsibilities Grow, the Politics of Family

Phyliss' Responsibilities Grow, the Doggie and the Tape Measure

The Farm – Real Gender Inequality and the Lost Opportunity

Phyliss' Education

"Una Donna Di Gran Classe"

Phyliss' "Early" Teaching Years

Joseph's Beginning

Joseph's Early Education

Joseph's Summer with Aunt Lucy and Grandma

Joseph's Summers with Uncle Matt, Aunt Mary and Cousins

About Early Love

Miss Crudo and Joseph Meet

Joseph's Broken Nose and the End of His Infatuation

Phyliss' Character, the Big Move – Two Lives Become One

The Last Day of School – The First Day of "Us"

The Cookie and the Dandelions

Our Embrace in the Basement – Mom's Stealthy Reconnaissance

Joseph's Driving Lessons and Phyliss' First Kiss

The "Gifts"

Joseph's High School Years

I Just Met a Girl Named "Maria"

Our First Kiss – Our Last Kiss

Joseph's "Never-Ending" Years of College

Daddy's Death and the Aftermath

Adult Evening School

Joseph Joins the Peace Corps

Tunisia, the Peace Corps without Phyliss

Our Marriage in Rome

Tunisia, the Peace Corps with Phyliss

A Lesson of Life Learned in "The Souk"

We Come Back "Home"

The Stork Flies Over without Stopping

Those Nasty Little Genes

Origins of Those Nasty Little Genes – Paul Revere without a Horse

Phyliss' Catholic School Teaching

The Flight to the Suburbs, Our House in Medford

Washing the Dishes

Survival, Ridicule, Indifference, Abandonment, and Disappointment

Phyliss' First Brain Tumor

Phyliss' Second Brain Tumor

The "Marlboro Man"

The Godchildren, the Children, always the Children

"Do I Know You?"

Cruising, the Sailing Kind

More Cruising and Flying – Our Return to "Paradise"

Phyliss Was, Oh, so Much Sweeter than Sugar

Tiny Rain Drops

Phyliss' Third Brain Tumor

Phyliss' First Stroke

"I Don't Like What I am Seeing"

Phyliss' Rocky Road of "Rehabilitation"

Home, Alone, with Phyliss

The Years of Remarkable Courage – Her valiant oratorio

"The Phantom of the Opera"- at first once, then times two

The Subject of "Intimacy"

Joseph's Brain Tumor

"Get Professional Help, Joe"

Life is a Test, the Note

"Joseph is Winning": The Chickens and the Eggs

The Miracle

The Heartbreak of Becoming, "The Man of No"

Our Moment, the most significant moment of our lives

Was Her "Best Year Ever," a Mistake?

Phyliss" Final Stroke – The Death of the Love of My Life and My Heart

Home Alone without Phyliss – Burn Out

Epilog – Time will Heal"

About Falling in Love Again

"No Man is an Island"

What was? - What Could Have Been? - What will be

"When I Get to Where I am Going"

Joseph's and, Yes, Phyliss' One Last Thought

Is This the Death of America?

About Firemen

Try This at Home

The Magic of Her Life of Teaching . . .Lost or Not? . . . We Must Decide

Appendix

SYNOPSIS

"My Teacher, My Bride"

A love story and memoir

Inspired and guided by the spirit of Phyliss C. Badame

Composed and written by the hand of Joseph P. Badame

This is an unexpected true story of an endearing and lifelong love affair. It is about a most remarkable woman you never heard of, but maybe you should have. It is a love story filled with the happiness of Camelot and the celebration of her remarkable life and her many trials.

From a modest background, she became a master teacher of excellence and principle. She guided her students with extraordinary skill to use their natural talents and abilities to prepare them for adulthood. The students started excelling by wanting to please her, and ended by wanting to please themselves. The love affair begins with a school boy's infatuation with his extraordinary eighth-grade teacher.

Whether she was aware of the admiration of her starry-eyed student is not clear, but there was something about him that made her redouble her efforts in his behalf. There clearly developed magnetism between the two. Always the lady, and professional, the teacher developed a true fondness and bond with the student who had an ever-growing crush on her.

She transformed him to an all "A" student by the time he graduated from her school. After moving to high school, he and his mother were welcomed into the teacher's large Italian family. The coaching continued. It culminated in Valedictorian status at graduation. His infatuation turned to true love. It became mutual. It was an unorthodox love that might have been misunderstood and remained in the shadows for years.

The student finished graduate school and joined the Peace Corps. The teacher could no longer deny her love, and it exploded into an escape and marriage in St. Peter's Basilica. Two years of matrimonial magic in Tunisia ensued. They knew nothing of the hidden peril that lurked in their Eden under their feet.

They returned from paradise to the reality of city riots, inflation, and gasoline shortages. Dismayed, they decided to prepare for the decaying society to which they returned. Since no one believed their admonition of the difficult times ahead, they decided they would secretly prepare for them as well. The endeavor took their married lifetime and their resources. It became a concealed life work of love and joy working together doing for others what they refused do for themselves. This would become a gift prepared and given without the recipients' knowledge.

His beloved wife developed a series of disfiguring and debilitating brain and spine tumors spawned by a chemical exposure abroad. The tumors forced her to terminate her beloved pursuit of formally teaching children. The next twenty-one years were filled with love and care.

Their work was abruptly ended by a massive stroke producing horrible disabilities, and devastation, but also opportunity. Her worshiping husband could care for her as she had cared for him. She was lucid, intelligent, possessed all her memories, deeply loved him, and never had self-pity. She was always thoughtful of others and perpetually optimistic. Her bravery increased her husband's love and allowed him to complete their work and overcome his deteriorating health, and his increasing pessimism.

After eight years of courage, she died, leaving a legacy of thousands of lives she positively influenced. Ironically, the provisions she had made for others would never benefit her. The husband developed the same rare brain tumor from the chemical exposure, but his grief lessened as he discovered a new purpose and an unexpected love.

The lifelong affair of two people in love is sprinkled with life observations, advice about the care of each other, the shortcomings of the health care system, and commentary on the inevitable hard times ahead. But most of all, it is the celebration of the life of a remarkable woman of character and distinction who should inspire and be a role model for all who strive for excellence. It is a story of our times and what we all have lost.

* * * * * * * * *

**PREFACE:**

Here is a little note before you start reading. I have no way to know the gender of who is reading this book. I believe, however, that it is more likely you are a female. But, regardless, if you read this book, and you say to yourself, "Wow, that's really what I want my relationship with my friend, my fiancé, or my husband to be about," then your pursuit of a happy life is only half complete.

Your partner must now download the book and read it as thoroughly as you did. You must discuss what you read, agree or disagree, or compromise on some middle ground. If your partner does not want to read the book, disagrees intensely, or does not want to compromise, you folks have a problem, a husky problem. Fix it or move on – better now, than when the kids are three, four, and six. Cutting a Honda in half can certainly be done, but it doesn't run very well after you do it. Keep the book in your "Smashwords library" for the next guy.

Maybe you need to ask your next pursuit to download the book and read it before your first date. That would save a lot of grief. After reading it, he will either come to your house and get down on one knee and propose on the spot to his dream wife, or he will never call again. Which ever event happens, you saved a bucket of time. It is like using the contents of the book as a prequalification for dating. They do that in racing all the time. Use it to separate the wheat from the chaff. Take control of your quest. Take command. Assert yourself!

I am being a touch goofy now, but you get the message. Save yourself a lot of time and heartache. Find out who this guy is and what his intentions are right up front. Life is too short to do it twice, or three times . . . or, oh my.

* * * * * * * * *

OK, now, let's get down to work. The first question that enters one's mind before embarking on a book about monumental subjects is, "Who should read this book and find it helpful?" So, let's answer that question "straightaway" as the British might say. If a lifetime relationship of means to you and your partner forming an inseparable bond of love and devotion for as long as you live, then this book is for you. Continue reading without fear or trepidation.

If the relationship for you and your partner is some superficial or casual association that is a trivial trial, a test to see how things "work out," "a toe in the water," then this book is not for you. It will be a waste. Since the book was free, and you spent less than a minute reading these few paragraphs, then you really haven't lost anything. Click on the file name and press delete. Enjoy your next book.

Those of you, who remain may want to continue reading until you find that it is not useful for you to continue either. I wish for you to enjoy your next book as well. But, if you believe that it can help you in your union with your love, then I will be so pleased that you persevere and continue.

Phyliss would have been so pleased if she were here, for if there is any wisdom contained in these pages, it all originated from her marvelous mind and generosity. If this book does prove to be helpful, please thank her, not me, for I am her creation.

* * * * * * * * *

A word about religion: I see some eyes beginning to roll out there and there are some, again, with their finger on that terrible delete button. I am starting to think, "Is anybody going to read this book?" But don't go yet. Bear with me, my dears.

After eleven captivating years, Phyliss and I joined in holy matrimony for forty-five more wonderful years. To us, marriage was a sacred bond, a sacrament, bestowed upon us by our Lord, Jesus, in the Roman Catholic Church. That was our belief and our guide to the end. See the short story or the chapter," Our Marriage in Saint Peter's Basilica," if it interests you. Still, with me? Good!

The advice here has nothing to do with religion if you don't want it to be. It has to do with good people who have found each other and may want to spend their lives together. It has to do with a contract, a bond, and an agreement between two serious consenting adults of principle who promise to dedicate themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. That promise affects you enormously, but it also has a profound effect on those around you that you care about, those, in turn, who care about you, and potentially even those who do not even exist yet. Contrary to the thinking of the day, it is not just about the two of you.

So, you see, your pledge is not merely made to each other, but to all those others. Whether your commitment is sacred or it is not, that shall be your decision and yours alone. But, regardless, your affirmation should be serious and solemn for the good of everyone. The longevity of your union is of benefit to all with whom you associate, including society at large. So give it the attention and deliberation that it deserves. Sacred or solemn, this decision is beyond my purview to contemplate. Make it serious, make it earnest, make it devoted and loving, and make it permanent. That is all I am humbly suggesting. The rest is up to the two of you. There are only two of you, aren't there? Two is complicated enough, folks.

* * * * * * * * *

This is a special note to you young ladies or your parents. Certainly, as you go through life, your experiences and your lives will be completely different from Phyliss'. But, as you read this book, don't read it as a detached observer for diversion or entertainment. "Oh, that was an interesting and unusual story." "It held my attention and there were some amusing and sad parts." "Certainly, the price was reasonable." "Now, it is on to the next novel or adventure." "What shall I wear today?"

Please don't do that ladies. Look at this as a rare opportunity, maybe a unique opportunity, maybe a once in a life-time opportunity to seriously take stock of your life and decide who you are and who you want to be. Don't let life push you around following the easiest path, the past of least resistance.

Don't let circumstances that you don't control determine the quality of your life. Decide who you want to be, who you want to be with you, where you are going, and how you shall get there. Select who it is you want to help you achieve those goals and assure yourself that they have exclusively and passionately selected you. Together, you must be one in this pursuit.

What is my advice about what to take away from our book? Read about and observe the character of Phyliss as I describe it. It is a precise accounting of who she was. There is no equivocation, no embellishment, no exaggeration, and no deception. It is my humble opinion if you pattern your character after hers, you will not only achieve your goals, but you will immensely improve your life and the lives of those around you.

Make her a role model to guide you on your difficult journey through life. And, I assure you it will be a difficult journey. Why reinvent the wheel? Why make all those mistakes and missteps when someone else has cleared the path for you to avoid them?

You don't have to become Phyliss. You don't have to duplicate her life. You would not want to. What is important is to adopt her strength, her principles, and her character. Once you do that they will make it possible for you to blaze your own path through life with success as she did hers.

If none of this is for you or it doesn't make sense, that's fine. It is not for everyone. It is only for those who want to lead an admirable life, help others, be successful and leave this earth with a sense of accomplishment and peace of mind that they left the world a little better than they found it.

It is your choice – diversion and entertainment or life-changing lessons.

* * * * * * * * *
FOREWARD

Phyliss died almost two years ago. Her loss was agonizing and painful. It continues to be so. It is more heartache than I ever could have imagined it would be. The cemetery is thirty-five minutes away. For three months, I made the fifteen-mile journey to visit her crypt every day. After that, I visited "her" every Sunday after the early Mass when traffic was light and the cemetery was peaceful and devoid of visitors.

This weekly visit has continued to be my routine. The loss is still severe, but different. The pain has changed from a sharp intermittent pain to a deeper constant pain and emptiness, a profound emptiness that nothing seems to fill. It is everywhere.

The numbness has disappeared and grown into a full awareness that she really is gone. This is not a dream. She is not returning, ever. That is a far different and much more permanent desolation from what I felt those first months. Time has not healed at all. The wound has just gotten worse. Yet, somehow, I believe with her help, I am now able to function.

I mentioned my Sunday schedule to one of my dear angels, and she asked why I continued to go to the cemetery. She said, "You know, of course, that Phyliss is not there." I have been thinking about what she said for quite a while. I finally had to admit it to myself.

Phyliss is not there.

When I visit, I knock on the marble face plate, I guess to let her know I am there or that I am leaving. What am I thinking? Is she is going to knock back? Grief, and possibly hope, makes a person do strange things.

Her living body and her spirit were Phyliss. Certainly her spirit is not there. I pray that it is in Heaven. And, her living body is not there either. Only the lifeless remains of her body are left. Eventually they will become just dust, as we all shall.

There is the beautiful marble slab with her name and date of birth and death to contemplate. But, they are merely objects that designate the contents of the crypt. They are inanimate remembrances that mark a place. They are not comforting remembrances, but distressing images that remind me of the permanence of the reality that she is gone.

I had to resign myself to the awareness that the place really had nothing to do with Phyliss. It was not a special place of ours that contained fond memories. There was only one memory there of that awful day I said goodbye. That sad memory was hardly a reason to visit the place.

* * * * * * * * *

Even at home, there were only lifeless objects as memories of our lives together. They were mostly my own visual memories, no one else's. Aside from the improved lives she touched, the only true and complete remembrance of her was in my mind. It is for that reason I have attempted to transfer that record into this book, before the Lord calls me. Aside from the vastly improved lives she left behind and their offspring, I believe it now represents the most significant remnant of her life on Earth.

I have attempted to place who she was into this book so she and her life will not be forgotten. It contains the embodiment of her. Her life was a quintessence of love that helped others and can continue to help many more. Please take the time to seriously read it.

* * * * * * * * *

Don't browse or skim through the book. There are too many profound issues covered to do that. There is too much about life to be learned. You will miss a great deal if that is your methodology. Surely, it is a long book. Surely, I do ramble and get diverted at times. I hope you will find that even my diversions and ramblings have a purpose and value.

I am not a skilled or clever author cranking out best sellers every month. If your goal is pure, mindless entertainment then you should stop now and read something else or go see a senseless and violent action movie. But you cannot afford to be mindlessly entertained in this world. Too much of importance that affects your life directly is happening all around you. Why learn from your own tragic mistakes and misfortunes, when you can learn from someone else's experiences. You may find that some parts of the book are actually entertaining at the same time. I do have a sense of humor at times. I could always make Phyliss laugh. Sometimes I did cheat and resort to tickling.

* * * * * * * * *

There may be some sections that don't interest you or are too sad to read. I know they were sad for me to write. But, unfortunately that is life. Tragedy and misfortune bypass no one. Skip them if you must, but read on. There will be more wisdom on the pages that follow – her wisdom, transcribed by me.

Will I continue to visit the cemetery? Probably, I will. But, I am not sure why, possibly tradition, sentimentality, or respect. So, I am not asking you to visit her crypt in the cemetery. She is not there and who she was is not there. Besides, it is probably a long trip to visit a piece of marble and an inscription. Do visit her and let her speak to you by reading her book.

My hope is that some of you, maybe many of you, maybe a great many of you, will be able to find a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or even the entire book to improve your paths through life by observing, contemplating, and emulating her example.

That is my wish. I know she enriched my life and those around me and everyone she touched. I believe her memory can do the same for many others, if they will give her a chance to do so.

What a wonderful thought, to be able to teach after she is gone. She would be so pleased.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
GENESIS

### This is the moment of my first awareness.

### It is the first realization that I am a conscious being.

### It is a strange but wonderful feeling.

### No matter how hard I try, I have no memory of anything prior.

### I don't even know who I am.

### I don't know my name.

### Where am I, and what am I doing here?

* * * * * * * * *

I think I am alone, but strangely I am not sure. There seems to be another presence. But, I cannot see anyone else. It's a little frightening, but I cannot see anything. Not even myself. I cannot open my eyes. It is as if someone sewed my eyes shut. I don't know if it is dark or light, everything is black. I conclude I am quite blind. But I am not afraid of my blindness or the darkness. Why is that?

My mind is racing. There are so many thoughts, so many questions, but no answers. There is no one to ask.

There appears to be no past, no future, there is only the present. I am not entirely sure I know what those words mean.

I don't know where I am. Being unable to see, there are so few clues. Even though I don't know where I am, I seem to belong. Peculiarly, I am a part of where I am. That seems to be an extraordinary and unusual phenomenon. How can I be a part of where I am? It doesn't appear to make any sense.

But, how can I know if this feeling is extraordinary and unusual since I have no memories of what is normal with which to compare it? My mind is confused, but "good" confused. That doesn't even make sense either? But, then again, neither does anything else.

Searching for the answers is apparently challenging rather than baffling. Finding answers is an illusive adventure. I consider myself to be a sponge for knowledge, whatever knowledge is – but, more about that and me, later. I seem to be slowly nodding off into the fog from which I came. My only concern is will I be able to return? . . .

* * * * * * * * *

You are enveloped in the heat of a clear summer day. The position of the blazing sun above your head and the harmonic church bells in the distance, beckoning the faithful, announce that it is Sunday at midday.

The fading memories of patriotic crowds waving flags and sparklers and attending fireworks displays a little over a month and a half prior, affirm that it is late in the month of August.

The refreshing breezes of the morning have surrendered to a rising army of unrelenting heat waves coming from beneath your feet and marching to the sky. There is the steady caw of sea gulls everywhere and the gentle repetitive sounds of water lapping at a dock.

All your senses tell you that you are somewhere along the New Jersey seashore. Your mind wanders immersed in the serenity of the bucolic display before you.

* * * * * * * * *

My consciousness has returned and I feel unusually rested, but I am a bit lonely. I think I am completely naked. I cannot feel the presence of any clothes. What could have happened to my clothes? Who took them? I entertain it as an academic question, but, it does not frighten me. I feel comfortable in my nakedness. It seems to be the appropriate "attire." It seems "right" for my circumstance.

I am not too hot and not too cold. But, I don't know from where the comfort is coming. I don't hear any mechanical things or devices providing for my well-being. There is no air movement, just the comfort. There is no warmth from the sun above or coolness from the earth below.

Unlike my blindness, I think I can hear. Once in a while there are some unusual gurgling sounds or moving water all around me and a steady muffled low frequency drum beat. Not an orchestra, no other instruments, just the drum – one drum, not many drums, just one. It is not annoying. Actually, it is somewhat reassuring, comforting. The ever-present sound of the drum is probably the major thing that makes me think I am not alone.

It does not seem to have an origin or a direction. It is above me. It is below me. It is to my left and to my right. It is nowhere. It is somewhere. It is everywhere. Maybe it is only emanating from my mind or my imagination. But then again, I can feel it vibrate and soothe my body – more thinking to come. But, for now that strange feeling of semi-consciousness is returning and overpowering me . . .

* * * * * * * * *

As you fine tune your senses, you realize that there are no sounds of frothy waves crashing onto the sand to stimulate your hearing. The smell in the air is not that of the sparkling salty sea water of the ocean, but rather the mixed redolence of fresh river water fouled and mingled with the pungent scents of a working industrial port.

The blast of a horn, the roar of a boat engine, and the odor of acrid diesel exhaust permeate the air and announce the arrival of a ferry boat. The once empty berth is now so quickly filled with the intrusion of a man-made steel and wooden sea monster. Her fatigued and worn façade conceals a once proud vessel with a storied and exemplary past. As she docks, she gently kisses the mooring pilings cloaked in rows of tread-bare black rubber tires reenlisted for a new life of protecting the aging lady from harm. It seems they have been assigned to be the guardians of the declining craft to protect her from herself.

* * * * * * * * *

**I am again aware. I return to the task of more thinking. Time doesn't seem to exist, yet I feel it is passing. I am not sure how I know that. There is no clock. There are no time pieces of any type. There is no day or night. I think I know time is passing because of the regular cycles of activity and inactivity, consciousness and unconsciousness. My conclusion is that time** must **be passing.**

The space in which I reside and defines my world seems to be moving. I have the distinct impression that I am on a bus on a long trip. Sometimes the road is smooth and sometime rough. At times it seems to have a relaxing pace, other times a rapid one. There are some bumps – some big ones. Maybe I have been kidnapped, and I am inside the trunk of someone's car. Curiously, I don't feel any kind of motion sickness.

But, I do seem to be somewhat confined in a small place. I can feel the walls around me; it seems there are no doors or windows, no exits and no entrances. Yet, even so, I don't feel trapped. The walls are soft as if they have been padded for my comfort and protection by some unknown, but benevolent entity.

I am not tied up or restrained. I can move. I don't think I am a prisoner. But, even so, they say that a confined person begins to sympathize with his captor and even if she could leave, she doesn't. I don't feel that way. I believe I want to stay of my own free will. Besides if I am being held against my will, where is my incarcerator? Why did I say "she"? This is a foreign and confusing word for some reason.

It appears to be such a long time since I ate or drank anything. There are no dishes, no glasses, no implements. No food or drink of any type is present or appears. Yet, I don't really feel hunger or for that matter even thirst – no, not even thirst. This is quite curious. This is something worth pondering further.

I have concluded that time is in fact passing – a lot of time. There is nothing to do, but then, I don't feel like doing anything. What would I do anyway? Frankly, there is nothing to do - nothing to occupy my time. But, why don't I feel bored? This is still another inexplicable inconsistency that I must place on my research list – again more thinking. Oh, that state of limbo seems to be approaching again. I will not resist . . .

* * * * * * * * *

You notice that after the proud but aging lady is secured, her landing ramp thumps to the shore with a thud and a splash. Safety chains disconnect and slither to each side of her deck and disappear like serpents. It takes only a few moments for a small group of passengers and the meager few vehicles on board to escape their temporary confinement and disembark. It hardly seems to have been worth the effort for the passage. The massiveness of the ship seems so out of proportion to her emaciated cargo. "Could she be so void of patrons because it is Sunday?" A glance up and to the right removes the bewilderment and reveals the true answer for her nearly vacant hold.

There, towering above and leaping across the river in one giant bound is a steel colossus, the Delaware River Bridge placed into service only the year before. The massive bridge in all its majesty seems resolute to transform the once noble and indispensable vessel into an anachronism.

Her eventual demise as a means to cross the body of water will soon become a forgone conclusion with the complicity of her once loyal and now fickle patrons. She will become a lost memory in their minds. How quickly and sadly they have abandoned their one-time lady friend. Such has been her cycle of life, birth, life, and death. The sadness is lessened with the thought that nearby, some how the cycle is about to begin for another lady.

The vision of the Philadelphia skyline across the river now confirms where you are. You are in the aging, but still vibrant port of Camden, New Jersey along the Delaware River.

* * * * * * * * *

I am refreshed from my rest. I am quite comfortable. But, my comfort is being interrupted. Just when I am beginning to think everything is going to stay the same indefinitely, strange things are starting to happen – very strange things that never happened before. This is not a good development in my opinion, not a good development at all. I am very pleased with my station; I do not want anything to change. The status quo is just fine with me. However, not just one thing is changing, but many things, too many things, everything. This is no time now for more thinking. I must plan some action. This appears to be serious. I remain in an agitated and alert state – no welcomed nodding off this time . . .

* * * * * * * * *

As the tired and lonely lady departs for another of her never-ending crossings, this time totally devoid of companionship, you depart from the dock and walk a few blocks from the river toward the center of the city. The rows of houses on each side of the street with their wooden porches, some modest, some quietly lovely, all quite well-kept, march along Pine Street like columns of soldiers to the horizon. Each harbors its own character and unique history and ancestry of the tales of its occupants it kindly housed. If they only could speak and enlighten you with their secrets from the past, how wonderful that would be. But, for now, they shelter their mysteries within the confines of their walls away from curious eyes and minds. It appears their tales will remain a mystery for now.

* * * * * * * * *

For the first time, I am experiencing fear and apprehension. Fear of something different. Fear of the unknown. What had been only thoughts of the present are now starting to become thoughts of the future – an uncertain and frightening future. What is happening and why? I don't like thinking of the future. The present state of affairs, the sameness is just fine with me. Why can't everything just stay the way it is? The apprehension envelops me, and I fight off the state of relaxation once again . . .

* * * * * * * * *

Continuing your journey, you turn your head and look up. The brick tower rising above Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church several streets away, peering above the surrounding buildings and the burgeoning crowns of the trees, reveals the almost certain source of the prior welcoming bells.

There are few automobiles on the streets and passing by, very few. There appears to be a valid reason for the scarcity of automobiles. From the vintage of the cars that are present, an informed supposition would put the year at about 1927. There aren't many cars anywhere.

* * * * * * * * *

My initial experience of fatigue from the lack of rest is not a pleasant one. The first truly alarming event to happen is the feeling that the trunk of the car or wherever I am seems to be getting smaller, much smaller. I cannot imagine how that could happen. I cannot see, but I can definitely "feel the walls closing in on me." That seems to be a common claim, but when it actually occurs to you personally, it is daunting. This is my first experience with claustrophobia. It is not pleasant. The walls are moving so aggressively; I feel I am going to be crushed. I am being crushed. I would scream if I could. But, I cannot.

As much as I kick and push back, I cannot reverse the crushing force. It is beyond my strength to stop it. Is this the end for me? Am I going to suffer a cruel and painful death? There seems to be no one around to help or anyone who cares to help. After all, I have finally convinced myself that I am completely on my own.

I am so concerned with the prospect of being crushed to death, I am only slightly aware of other bizarre and equally ominous changes. The drum is becoming louder, more distinct, and the tempo is increasing although there is still only one instrument. The sound that was so calming and reassuring now becomes sinister and threatening - the drum beat of an invading army. I can hear what seem to be muffled voices in the distance combining with the drum beat. What are voices, anyway? It is certainly not a good omen.

There are the voices of a number of people. They are not soft and sedate, peaceful voices, bringing good news. They seem loud, excited, and even frantic at times. They certainly are not friendly voices of others I would want to meet. I never even realized that there could be others to meet. I am truly becoming anxious and fearful of what awaits me – no more thinking, just more apprehension. Once again, rest eludes me. . .

* * * * * * * * *

The comportment of the neighborhood is pleasantly affable. The quiet is only broken by the melodic jingle of the bell of a fruit and vegetable vendor, the occasional snort and whinny of his horse, and the slow, rhythmic clack of its shoed hoofs on the harsh pavement. As the aging and tired steed saunters in depressed monotony, he generously donates gifts to the city possibly as revenge for his thankless life of labor. Perhaps the persistent flies are just an added indignity to torment his master.

To the rear of the houses, in the alley way, the silence is again interrupted by the fading song of another peddler almost as if in concert with the first, as he sings his resonant aria for the kind citizenry: "Clooose Props", "Clooose Props," "Buy your Clooose Props." This solitary and uncredentialled individual has used his industry and ingenuity to support himself and his family.

The aging and unkempt man is hawking wooden poles and bunches of clothes pins of his own crafting to the residents. Skillfully balancing the substantial burden on his shoulder, he has carefully notched the poles on one end to hold up the lattice work of clothes lines that surround the neighborhood like delicately woven spider webs.

There is little activity on the street except for one house in particular that catches your attention. There is a flurry of activity in front of only this house. A steady progression of people is coming and going, some carrying goods and packages, and some not, all politely quiet and mannerly. As you approach, you realize that something is happening here quite different from what is happening in the other houses.

* * * * * * * * *

Rest and comfort have become fleeting memories. Nothing prepared me for the loud cries, the screams for help. This is it. There is no doubt, someone is being murdered and I am next. From the dreadful sounds it does not seem that it will be a quick and painless death for me. It is natural to wonder what one's demise will be. When it is indeed upon you, the wonderment seems to lose its novelty. Unfortunately, the curiosity surrounding my finale is soon to be satisfied.

I struggle, but to no avail. Resistance is futile. The walls are closing in more and with an accelerated pace. One hope is that I will be crushed to death before the horrible event I am hearing in the distance gets to me.

I am starting to become light-headed. I am hoping I will lose consciousness before this horrible deed occurs. But, regrettably I still remain awake. I am okay with passing out. I am thinking, "Please God, make it quick and painless." I just don't want to suffer like what I am hearing. It is blood curdling. What did I do that has been so atrocious to deserve this suffering? There is not one thing that comes to mind.

**But, wait, dread and horror set in. I have no memory of what happened in the past. Maybe I** am **culpable of something gruesome. Now, I am totally in fear. Most likely, I am going to get what I deserve for some transgression of which I have no memory. If I can only remember, maybe I can express sorrow for my actions and receive forgiveness and mercy. But to whom do I apologize and apologize for what? And, who will grant forgiveness?**

I have to stop thinking. Maybe there is something I can do to save myself. Not one thing comes to mind. As the walls close in, I can feel my body being stretched like I am being pulled apart. I can feel myself moving as my chest is being crushed. Oh, this is unthinkable. Why does someone want to torture me? I thought, "Just kill me, and be done with it."

* * * * * * * * *

Your eye is caught by the polished and shinny brass house numbers "3-0-6," adorning the house and reflecting the sunlight. From the outside you notice there is nothing particularly unusual about the house – nothing really special or outstanding. You think, "It must be what is inside that is so special." You have little idea of how prophetic your thinking will be.

* * * * * * * * *

My unending suffering continues. There is no way out of this. It goes on forever. Whoever hates me, wants to prolong my suffering. Crush me, stretch me, release me, crush me again and again – and the incessant screams coinciding with the crushing. The perpetrator is timing the screams with the crushing to heighten the effect of my agony. I am not sure I can take much more of this misery.

Now, it happens – a final crushing to finish me off. This is not like any of the others. But, wait, it is not ending here. Something is crushing my shoulders and pulling my head off. I am being beheaded. My neck is beginning to stretch. This is more terrible than I could have imagined. At least the end has to be near. Why would anyone do this?

Suddenly it is all over. The screaming stops. The crushing is no more. My head is no longer being pulled. My neck cannot stretch any more. It has snapped. I am dead. For ending my suffering, I thank you Lord.

Finally, it is over.

This is the end. I am no more. I bid a final farewell to the cruel world.

* * * * * * * * *

You are in the middle of a long pause debating whether you should exit your comfort zone and satisfy the questions you have. Finding out what is going on in this house seems to have become an obsession. You have made your decision as illogical as it may be. Your curiosity can not be suppressed any longer. Abandoning your proper manners, you approach and ascend the four steps to the porch and ask the girl standing at the screen door what is transpiring. Your assumed role as a concerned Samaritan is only partially deceptive, as you compose and express your contrived inquiry, "Is everything okay, young lady?" "Can I be of assistance?"

* * * * * * * * *

But, wait, oh God, there is more. There is a brilliant light, but I am blind, am I not, and moreover, did I not just die? How can I see a light? It is so bright that it is shining right through my closed eyelids. Thank the Lord, yes indeed; my supposition that I am dead is quite correct. Of course, the brilliant light means I have entered Heaven.

That was so much quicker than I had imagined. No waiting, no angels, no pearly gates, no Saint Peter, no purgatory, no questioning, no judgment day, and no atoning for sins. All that worry was for nothing. I am off easy. I must be in the VIP express line, and I am going right to the top of the bunch. See, I wasn't such a bad person after all. I knew it all along. My luck has truly changed. God is recognizing my worth and rewarding me. No punishment for me today or ever or for eternity from what I am led to believe. This is truly a joyous time.

* * * * * * * * *

The child at the entrance opens the screen door and invites you in revealing a little girl huddled in bewilderment under the sewing machine in the foyer sitting on the treadle. She is adorably relying on a crocheted laced doily as a woefully inadequate device for her concealment. Her presence and her apprehension of all the strange activity of the day are obvious. Although silent, her disoriented bewilderment echoes your own and shouts, "Who are all these people, and what is happening?"

* * * * * * * * *

I am back; but, am I really in Heaven? If I am in Heaven, then why am I being held upside down and being smacked and fingers being put in my mouth and nose? Good grief, I am not dead after all – more suffering. But, what was that light?

My story is not over.

And, then I hear it again – the screams are back! These screams are louder and closer than before - much closer. Then, there is another terrible realization.

The screams are my own.

Why wouldn't I be screaming? I am being held upside down by the feet by a giant monster and being beaten to death. Wouldn't you scream? Well, wouldn't you?

Things were so much easier before. I can hardly breathe here wherever "here" is. What is breathing any way? I was so comfortable in my world as small as it was; now that I am who knows where, I am cold, hungry, and irritable. There are giants everywhere. What are all those smells and noises anyway?

* * * * * * * * *

Before you are able to complete your interrogatory, the sounds of a baby gasping for air and then finally asserting her right to live with steady and continuous wails fill the air and give a prompt answer to your query. The event that piqued your curiosity is a glorious new life being brought into the world.

The young girl tells you that the Crudo family has just been blessed with its tenth child. The name of the new arrival is Phyliss Marie. As she thanks you for your concern, your curiosity is fulfilled. You apologize for the intrusion and give her and her family a few kind words of encouragement and best wishes for the health of the mother and child.

* * * * * * * * *

Well, it appears that I am not dead, and this is not Heaven by a long shot. I am all wet, slimy, and cold. I am not sure where I have landed. Actually, I didn't know where I was before. But, I am a survivor, and I must make the best of wherever this is. Besides, there is no way I am going to go back in there. It was hard enough getting out. Why would I want to go back in?

What on earth is this cable coming out of my stomach? I didn't notice that before. What purpose could it possibly have? I think one of these giants should remove it. What's with the scissors? Forget I said anything. They can't be serious. Oh, God . . . Gee, that didn't hurt.

I will study and learn. I will master my environment and become a person of worth and dignity. It will be my tireless goal to help others until I no longer can. Anything is possible in this new world. I know that may seem quite ambitious, but something or some One tells me I can do it – some power greater than I.

You know, it might not be so easy out here, but I have already learned an important technique. There are ways of getting things done, of moving people into action. As soon as I screamed they stopped beating me, put me down, wrapped me in a warm blanket and put me in the arms of a really lovely lady. That was impressive.

It is as if she is assigned to me – just me, only me – an exclusive commission. It was the screams that got everyone's attention. They made me special. It appears that I am special. What a wonderful tool to get things done this screaming is.

Well, her hair is a little ruffled but she is giving me the biggest smile and she has a huge, I mean "as-big-as-my-head-huge," warm milk dispenser waiting for me. The milk is so delicious too – kind of neat and different. It is not an exaggeration to say that drinking is actually slightly pleasurable and comforting. I am feeling much better about being "outside."

Certainly everyone in the room seems quite interested in our closeness. She seems so satisfied I am here, and she wants to please me. She belongs to me. I am trying to convey the message to the others that she is all mine. Even though my communication skills seem to be quite limited, they appear to understand. I may have to remind them.

Now that I am "out," maybe this "being born" thing is not quite as bad as I thought it would be. Whenever I need something, all I have to do is scream to get twenty-four-hour room service for life. It is for life, isn't it? Well, I will find out, I guess.

I must give some thought to the technique of screaming every time I want things done or want to move people to action. Although it seems to be working now, there must be another more effective method. Don't they say you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar? Where on earth did I hear that? I got quite and education in "there" didn't I?

It looks like our little encounter is the start of a really great friendship. Obviously, I am not alone anymore – although this crowd is carrying this togetherness thing a bit too far for my taste. It would be so much more pleasant if all these people would just leave the two of us alone, and turn off all those bright lights.

All things considered, the first day on the job was not that bad after all. I just wish I didn't have to do all the work myself. I am so tired. I think I'm going to take a nap and then make plans for tomorrow and after tomorrow and . . . well, you know.

There is so much to be accomplished, and only a life time in which to do it.

* * * * * * * *

Your best wishes for the mother and child were a kind gesture that was well-timed and well-founded since the birth was a difficult ordeal for the mother and daughter and equally so for the doctor. Satisfied that you have done your good deed for today, you continue on your journey.

* * * * * * * * *

### Get ready world. Here I come.

This clear and sunny day of the 28th of August, 1927, the church bells heralded the arrival of a new and vibrant life. Her tiny body and soul have been in the world but for only a few moments and already she is making plans to change it for the better. Her arrival has been a miracle, but not an uncommon miracle. And, yet, this child will become an extraordinarily special human being as the years pass – different from all others who will surround her and capable of performing her own brand of miracles not for herself, but for others.

### She was neither well-known nor famous.

### Perhaps, she should have been.

### Most certainly, she should have been.

### Maybe this book will change that.

### This day is the beginning of the narrative of this special life, the story of a quite common beginning for one who will become a most uncommon and remarkable lady – the story of a special life, well-lived has begun.

### This is the true story of the life and times of

### Phyliss Marie Crudo

* * * * * * * * *
**BEFORE OUR STORY - MY ONE GRAND REGRET**

These are free words of advice that, one day, you may find to be a priceless gift.

Phyliss and Joseph, oh so long ago

The seed has been planted

The sun has shone with its warmth

The ground has been saturated with the liquid of life

It has been enriched with nutrients for growth

Love is about to blossom and grow

We only get one chance. I learned too late, but you don't have to.

Phyliss and I knew each other for fifty-six wonderful years. We were married for forty-five of those years.

I think Phyliss, and others who knew us, would agree, I was a very good husband, better than many, maybe, better than most.

We were each other's constant companions. We shared every activity. We rejoiced together with each triumph and cried together at every loss. We did everything together with joy, and shared every responsibility.

From what I have come to understand from my observations over the years, I know it was not a marriage experience for every couple. Every pair seems to have their own ideas about what a marriage is. But, even so, we mutually agreed that our idea of marriage was heaven for us. We were one. The world didn't matter. We would not have had it any other way.

We were truly happy and in love, always. I don't remember a single argument or disagreement of any consequence. I was her priority, and she was mine. We had blinders on. When we were together, which was always, we were the only two in the room.

She steadfastly cared for me before we married and for our entire married life. As with many of her other students, I owed to her being the person I am today. I steadfastly cared for her for twenty-nine years after her first brain tumor, through her second and third tumors including the eight years of a debilitating stroke. She was my life and I hers.

For these reasons and others, I felt that if she died before me, I would have no regrets. I did everything a devoted partner should, didn't I? What could I possibly regret?

Phyliss and lovely Emily are playing scrabble at Easter time. She came three times a week and continued communicating with Phyliss every week after she left for school. She and her mom continue to check on me, every week, now that Phyliss is gone. Bless their kind hearts.

Despite that thinking, when someone you love leaves this earth, you can beat yourself up quite badly, second guessing every word, every action. I have done more than my share of that. Still, I have not learned; I continue to do it now. It hurts, it is destructive, and gets you nowhere but sick and depressed. I am doing my best to stop, but it is difficult when you have been married forever to the perfect woman.

Fortunately, these things are not true regrets; they are the grief taking charge of my mind. I say to myself, "Stop torturing yourself, Joe." I desperately want to convince myself that by saying, "You did well, Joe."

But, even so, with all this lofty cerebral rationalization, there is a regret I cannot seem to shake.

From the time of the start of Phyliss' fatal stroke until she went into a coma, was less than two hours. At the end of this short period, I realized that everything that was Phyliss was gone.

Gone was her love for me, her memories, her wonderfulness, generosity, her sense of humor, and passion for life. They all vanished in a few hours. They were gone forever. I had no reason for remaining on this spinning globe of heartache and pain, none. Nothing else was important.

After the funeral, the terrible realization came to me that now I was the only person left on this earth that truly knew every aspect of her wonderful character and life. When I died, her marvelous story would truly be lost forever. The way I felt then and now that does not seem that far into the future.

Others knew her, but none like I. Even though I did not have the talent, that horrible thought and encouragement from a dear friend, provoked me to embark on writing this book. The more I wrote, the more I started to feel comfortable that I could convey her story reasonably coherently. That is all I could expect and all I really wanted to accomplish.

But as I progressed, there it was. The thought of this awful regret slipped quietly, front and center, into my consciousness and would not leave like an obnoxious relative overstaying his welcome for the holidays.

I always believed that personal one-on-one, voice communication evoked the strongest of emotions between two people who love each other. This belief was reinforced when Phyliss lost her hearing completely and she could no longer hear my voice, only silence.

It was enormously difficult to be tender with one sentence and one word written responses on a dry-erase board. I was convinced, more than ever, that love could not be effectively exhibited by written communications and other visual manifestations exclusively.

I thought, "Nothing substitutes for the calming effect of your love's unique voice, the meter, the tone, the variations, vibrations, whispers, the change of volume, emphasis, and punctuation." The banter, cadence, and quickness of exchange could not be equaled. "Could I have been wrong all that time?" "Was there a substitute or adjunct to the human voice to convey deep love?"

As I wrote each page, I thought, "That's not bad, actually, that's very good" "I should take this up to Phyliss for her to read these oh, so lovesome thoughts I have about her - thoughts I never really expressed to her verbally as passionately and in such detail as I did with the written word." But, she was no longer there.

Many were thoughts that I never expressed to her in any way. "Why had I not?" I was destroyed. She was not there and never would be there to know. All that were left were an empty chair, some photographs, a votive candle, and some artificial flowers.

She would never read these affectionate words about the adoration I had for her. Sure, I told her I loved her, and showed it, frequently, but it wasn't like my writings. This was strong, emotional, passionate stuff. People don't normally talk like that. I did not talk like that. I still don't talk like that.

Reading what I wrote, I, myself, was moved by my love for her, and became emotional many times, and these were my own thoughts! What a healing and, beneficent impact, these words would have had on her loneliness at her most difficult times. They would have been like love letters from a life time ago from her favorite person!

The more I wrote, the more the regret grew. "Oh, she would like this page." "She didn't know what was in my mind when I first kissed her." "She didn't know what I was thinking at the drive-in." (For a moment, I thought maybe it was better she didn't know.) And, "What was she thinking that last day at school when she drove me to her new house or the picnic at her house, or her Daddy's funeral?" And, then the most devastating question and answer, "Dear, when did you first realize that you truly loved me?" Now, I will never be able to ask her, and she will never be able to answer me. I taunt myself, "Joseph, how could you have been married to this wonderful woman for forty-five years and never have asked her that?" It is so difficult to accept that reality.

During all the time I knew her, she never knew any of these lovely thoughts, expressed so tenderly. During some of the time, I wasn't even fully aware of my passionate feelings toward her, myself. Not until I wrote them down, did they fully reveal themselves. Many of these thoughts were never communicated to her. And, now it is too late. Surely, she knows them now, but she needed to know them then, at the height of her despair, before, and especially after her stroke.

One of Phyliss' most debilitating disabilities from the stroke was perceived loneliness, even when there was substantial companionship present. These stories would have melted that loneliness like a block of ice in the Tunisian desert. How much better it would have been for her if I had only written this book many years ago. What a lost opportunity it was to lessen her pain. The regret has no relief, no solution, no way out. It has no way to be corrected. I am trapped in my hell for not having done it when she needed it the most.

The next paragraphs may save you and your loved ones from the pain that haunts me every day.

What is my message to you lovers? (Those reading who don't love their spouses close your eyes and go to the next chapter. You do not want to write down your thoughts!)

Surely, be a good spouse, companion, friend, and partner. Be a great spouse. That's admirable, but, that's not nearly enough. You should not stop there. It doesn't matter if you have writing skills or not. Each of you, take the time to write down your thoughts of admiration.

Exchange your thoughts through your writings with your partner for life. You will find that your written expression of love will far exceed anything you could say. "You don't have time," you say. Shame on you! Think of the time you wasted many times on trivia and nonsense. I know I did. We all do.

There seems to be something wonderful about being alone with your thoughts of your love and having the time to fully think and compose what it is you are feeling. You write, read, rewrite and reread, until the sentiment is just right and the emotion is perfect.

And then, it is ready for your spouse's anxious eyes to read, and reread, and reread once more, especially in times of sadness, absence, or sorrow.

Remember how you pursued your sweetheart in the dawn of your love - how you could not think of anything or anyone except her? So, now that you have "captured" her, you are "comfortable," you can stop pursuing her? I don't think so. It should not be so.

Look in the Appendix – "Wise Words for Married Folks" - "Never forget the happiness and joy of early love." Those are the most wonderful times of your life. By reliving and memorializing them they can stay wonderful, over and over. Don't fall into the trap of complacency and routine.

Put away those novels filled with imaginary characters and emotions. This is, and will be forever, your unique composition about the two of you and no one else, unavailable anywhere, at any price. It is about your lives and love for each other.

Your writing is there today and tomorrow. It is there in those lonely moments when you are apart, or, in my case, when she is gone, forever. It is there when you are gone. It is there for your children to realize how much you loved each other and how that love manifested itself into their creation and rearing. It is there as a model for them, their children, and others to follow.

In this time of almost infinite, inexpensive, and indestructible electronic storage media, it will echo into the ages. It will never be lost. The story of your love will outlive you, your children, and your grandchildren. It will be like an ant trapped in amber for millennia, on display for all who follow you. It will be your personal time capsule. It will be like carving your initials in a heart on an eternal tree. It might even outlive civilization.

A major preoccupation of man over the eons has been to become immortal. This is your chance for your love to become immortal. This is your chance to have your love live always, long after you are both gone.

You don't think the story of your love is worth immortality? Someone will, I assure you. Someone will. The question becomes, "What is more worthy of immortality than love?"

Millions of people spend a fortune every year belonging to history sites to discover their ancestry. Why force them to search for you? Leave your descendants a detailed and accurate record of who you and your wife are and what their history and origins were. Give them your story directly, with no reason for guessing, inferences or gaps. They certainly will thank you.

As desperately as I wish Phyliss were here to read my adoring thoughts of her, I wish even more that I had her tender thoughts of me to pull me through my grief of her loss. How healing that would be.

Think about a purchased greeting card, you receive with a printed signature. Now think of a personally, hand-drawn greeting card with paragraphs of personal thoughts written in the senders own hand. There is no comparison.

Expand your writings to several pages each month for the duration of your lives together, bound into an electronic notebook to reminisce years after the events are long forgotten or your loved one is gone. It will be truly priceless! Now, imagine it published and stored in repositories all over the world. Your love will never die.

So, my friends get out your pen and paper, your word processor, or whatever humankind uses to record our thoughts in the future. Start composing, and have not a single regret tomorrow.
"YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MANY HUGS AND KISSES, MY DEAR!"

(A bittersweet vignette of love and lost opportunity - a monumental life lesson)

After Phyliss died, my mind wandered in and out of memories, some good, and some not so good. One of the bittersweet memories has to do with Phyliss' preoccupation with hugs and kisses. This was a preoccupation which seemed cute and endearing at the time, but now that she is gone overwhelmingly poignant, sad, and joyful all at the same time.

After we moved into our new home, being an architect and a handyman, I had an abundance of "projects" that needed to be executed. Some projects took a few hours, some a few months, but many took a long weekend to complete.

The "long weekend" projects were usually organized to be completed during two eighteen-hour days on Saturday and Sunday, so I could accomplish almost a week's work in only two days. Very efficient, I was. In order to do this, I needed to shop late Friday night after dinner to insure that I had all the materials and tools I needed, reserving all the precious time Saturday and Sunday for uninterrupted "important" work. (Yes, I do admit during that period, I did not observe the Sabbath nor attend religious services with Phyliss regularly. I deeply regretted that but, thankfully, corrected it many years ago.)

One Friday, after dinner, was one of those weekends when I packed up and headed for the garage to go to the home supply to get the materials for the current endeavor. When I got to the door, Phyliss was standing there in advance of my arrival, arms folded, tapping her toe, eyebrow raised, saying "not so fast Bucko, haven't you forgotten something?" I quickly knew my transgression, and promptly succumbed to an extraordinarily large hug, kiss, and smile. And then she responded as always, "You can never have too many hugs and kisses, my dear!"

I smiled and hastily pursued my mission with military dispatch.

A number of times, in my haste, I would leave forgetting to take my wallet. I quickly discovered this as I left the driveway and returned through the front door. I promptly retrieved my wallet and went to exit the door I had left open.

Waiting patiently of course, was Phyliss, arms folded, tapping her toe, eyebrow raised, saying "not so fast Bucko, haven't you forgotten something?" I uttered with some impatience, "I just gave you a hug and kiss." And, naturally, you guessed it, ignoring my impatience; she said so sweetly, "You can never have too many hugs and kisses, my dear!" The second hug and kiss quickly ensued as tenderly as the first, and off I went.

I returned home late. It was a dark and cold night. We have a sensor in the driveway that sounds inside the house when a car enters the driveway. Phyliss was upstairs, as she was customarily, reading in bed, waiting for my return, when she heard the buzzer sound. (Oh, the sad memory, she could hear then)

Phyliss immediately abandoned her book and her warm and comfortable surroundings, and ran down the stairs (Oh, another sad memory, she could walk then) in her bare feet and pajamas. (Sometimes without her pajamas)

By the time I arrived in the garage, she was standing in the doorway, hopping from foot to foot, because of the cold concrete floor, with the anticipation of a teenage girl waiting for her boyfriend. Although extremely pleased with the view, I exclaimed, "What are you doing?" "You are going to freeze to death!"

She ignored my admonishment, and promptly gave me the biggest hug, kiss, and smile. And then responded, "You can never have too many hugs and kisses, my dear!" with the same enthusiasm as the ones I got when I left. I smiled approvingly and proceeded to unload my purchases and climbed the stairs to join, my dear.

This happened many times with regularity without any diminution of enthusiasm, love, and affection from Phyliss from one project to the next for as long as she was able to walk.

While I always tenderly return the hugs, kisses, and love with other acts of kindness and love over the years, she was always the enthusiastic initiator and grantor of these special gifts.

I am saddened to say, after all these years, I cannot remember the object of even one of those "important" projects clearly. I only remember the hugs, the kisses, and the smiles and the haunting echo of her tender voice. "You can never have too many hugs and kisses, my dear!" For you see, now she is no longer there to hear the buzzer, run down the stairs, and shower me with love. There are only the memories and the emptiness that remain.

Oh, my God, what I would not do now for just one of those hugs and kisses, or just one of those precious hours of my companionship of which I regrettably deprived her.

For those you love, don't ever take for granted the gift that is lying next to you in bed every night.

Reach out and love her . . . it will be too late when she slips from your grasp.

Never forget. Everything else is of no importance whatsoever.

* * * * * * * * *

The Epilog to "hugs and kisses:"

I wrote this short tale of "hugs and kisses" as one of the first tales of our story. It seemed enjoyable. I smiled when I wrote it because it was so touching and captured the wonderful nature of Phyliss and her lifelong love for me.

It was a side of Phyliss that she revealed only to me. How blessed I was. But when I finished the story, I realized that I had written the end of the story, not the beginning. As I wrote the last few sentences, I started to realize how sad it was. Yet, it did not impact me fully how sad until several days later.

I had just gotten back from a walk around our property of three and ½ acres. Ahead was our house, a large house mostly built by Phyliss and me. I could not stop crying. "Why was I crying?" I looked at what was a great achievement for me over the decades - always with Phyliss' unconditional, love, help, and support. How many times Phyliss and visitors marveled at the result of which I was so proud.

I would rush to Phyliss at the end of each work day, showing her what I had done with great pride. She never once failed to present me with words of encouragement, expressions of wonder, and, most of all, with declarations of love.

This expression of love for me was her essence and my sustenance.

But, as I took the walk, and remembered every detail of the struggle to accomplish it all, I could only say to myself, "So what, Joe." The enormity of the last three sentences of . . . "hugs and kisses" . . . destroyed me. I felt like I wasted a lifetime. Who cares, now that she is gone? Not even I.

Learn this lesson well. I did not. No matter what your passion is or becomes in this life - a house, a room, a spotless car, a truck, a boat, a job, an education, the internet, a game, a game room, a new kitchen, a title, an estate, a pyramid, an accumulation of power, wealth, or stature, or even the world, eventually no one will care, not even you will care once your love is gone. You will be standing there all alone with your precious "accomplishment."

Rather, learn from Phyliss' life. Her legacy is not a monument or an object. It is the model of how she lived her life and the hundreds, maybe thousands, of minds she molded by lesson, and especially, by example and role-model, into wonderful, responsible adults - to become parents of the thousands of equally wonderful offspring whom they produced. Unlike the "accomplishments" I described, her accomplishments will last into future generations. My vision of "accomplishments" will crumble into dust as do all physical creations of man.

How did her most beloved student miss this lesson when hundreds did not? It appears I may have become her only failure. It makes me so sad, and now it is too late to change it.

Forgive me, my darling, Phyliss; it appears that this all "A" student may have gotten a failing grade in the most important subject of all: the priorities of life.

WHO REALLY WROTE THIS BOOK, JOE?

What does, "Inspired and guided by the spirit of Phyliss C. Badame," mean?

When I first embarked on this work, I, Joseph Badame, thought, I was the person writing this book. I really believed that. It seemed reasonable, since I was the one sitting in front of the computer screen entering the words into the word processor. Each time I wrote, I looked around and no one else was in the room.

Miss Crudo reading my yearbook

I didn't have a ghost writer. I didn't plagiarize the story or the content. It was all coming from my brain onto the keyboard. No one dictated the story to me. I did not get my ideas from anyone else.

I regret that I have never read a complete fictional novel before, and I never read a nonfiction novel or text book either, except to extract information for a test or a project I was working on. Once I got the information I needed, I stopped reading. I guess it was my engineering-oriented mind that said to me, "Why read a book that is fantasy or a factual book beyond obtaining the information that you needed?" "There is too much else that has to be done."

I know it is quite a limited outlook of the purpose of reading.

Maybe I convinced you to stop reading. I hope not - not too smart, Joe. Please do keep reading.

I am positive that I was not influenced by other stories or authors' styles. I am neither a writer nor an author. Except for my graduate thesis, and my high school graduation speech, the most complex writing I have done is composing business letters. Unfortunately, you will, soon enough, find my lack of literary prowess woefully apparent as your reading progresses, if you can get that far.

Whether this work is considered good, bad, or mediocre is not significant. What is relevant is that I am convinced that the writing is beyond my capabilities. It is a more accomplished work than my talents would warrant.

So, the logical question arises, "How did it get written?"

I have not been a believer in the supernatural nor communicating with those who have passed. After Phyliss died, I wished I could believe in this type of communication. I would not like anything more than to communicate with her. But a series of chance events happened about halfway though the book that may have caused me to reconsider my thinking and help me understand, "How did it get written?"

The first chance event happened about six months after Phyliss died. I found myself in the hospital needing a gall bladder operation. My emergency exam room was the exact same room Phyliss was in before she died. My spirits were very low to say the least. I was deep in thought about my pain and possible demise.

The next day, from my room in the hospital, I was taken down to the operating room and was readied for the anesthesia, when I was told my blood was too thin for the operation and the operation would have to be rescheduled for the next day. Back I went to my room upstairs. I had prepared myself so well, mentally, but I found myself back to where I started hours before.

It was that second chance event that placed me back in my room moments before the nursing supervisor entered the room to "check on things." I had not seen her before, and it appeared she had selected this room at random. She was not making rounds to all the rooms. It was the third chance event in twenty-four hours.

She had a comforting aura about her. I felt an immediate trusting chemistry, so much so, that within fifteen minutes I recounted my life story to her. And, of course, my life story is Phyliss' life story. She was a great listener. I especially told her of our love, the book, and how befuddled I was that I was able to progress as far as I had without any apparent skill in the vocation of authorship.

Upon hearing my bewilderment, she gave me a knowing look. She then volunteered two very personal stories of significant events in her life that she felt could help me understand how I could write the book. It was now my turn to be a great listener.

I believe the two stories she told me, changed my mind about the continuing influences our dear loved ones have on us after they leave this earth.

I was touched that she recounted her personal stories to me, something she apparently had not done but for a few others. I repeat those stories here with the hopes that they might help others understand that we may not be as alone as we think after our loved ones part from us.

* * * * * * * * *

Her first story started when she was nine-years-old. She lived with her mother and sister. Her grandmother and grandfather lived at the shore. The grandfather was feeble, and had many, long-term health issues of considerable gravity and financial consequence.

She went to bed as usual one night, but was awakened from a deep sleep in the early morning by her grandmother opening the door and entering the room. She came over and gently sat on the bed. Even thought she was still sleepy, the granddaughter was fully awake.

This was not a dream. Her grandmother asked her to listen carefully, since what she was going to tell her was very crucial. She wanted her to do something very important for her and her grandfather.

Grandma asked her to go to her shore house with her mother and have her remove a wall panel behind her bed. The grandmother told her she loved her, gave her a kiss, and left the room. She thought the early morning visit and request were unusual, but she went back to sleep.

Later that morning, she told her mother of grandma's visit and what she asked her to do. Mother listened intently to the story, but dismissed the tale of the visit as a little girl's unusual dream or overactive imagination. While she discounted the dream, she had some concern, since her mother was harboring something terrible that her daughter did not know. They dressed and she took her to the shore house where she would relate the distressing news to her daughter that she was keeping to herself.

They entered the shore house. It seemed unusually quiet, somber, and empty. The grandfather was there, but the grandmother was not. Following the grandmother's request from the "dream," they entered the bedroom. They found the panel behind the bed and removed it.

Inside the wall was one hundred thousand dollars.

The mother then told her daughter the sad news she had been withholding from her. Her grandmother had died during the night, inexplicably . . . before her early morning visit to her bedroom. Grandma had died, appeared to her dear granddaughter, and entrusted her with the information that guaranteed her dear husband would receive the proper care he needed.

* * * * * * * * *

A number of years later, the little girl married and had three children. I will call her, "Angel." As the result of serious health issues, the marriage sadly ended in a divorce. She became determined to concentrate her energies on her children and not pursue a new romance.

Her sister had other intentions for her. Let's call her sister, "Cupid." Cupid assumed the role of matchmaker and enrolled Angel in a dating-encounter web site without her knowledge. She posed as her sister in her romantic pursuits, but used photographs of Angel in her communications with potential suitors. Cupid found, who she believed, was a perfect match for her sister and devised a scheme for them to meet.

Angel and Cupid ate lunch at a favorite restaurant often. Cupid arranged for Angel to wear her pink, leather jacket. They finished lunch, and Cupid got up to leave and informed Angel that she wanted her to stay to meet a mystery person in ten minutes. This seemed very strange.

Dating-site guy, let's call him, "Tom," entered the restaurant and located the pink leather jacket Angel was wearing. He came over to her table and introduced himself. Angel did not tell me what she was thinking of her sister's mischief.

Her first reaction was neutral. But, when he sat down at the table, she felt warmth come over her that she could not explain, especially considering the cool initial response to him. Something about him was curiously attracting. As they talked, there was not a particular rapport; in fact they seemed to have diametrically opposed views.

Considering their views, a future meeting was not assured, but she did accept his invitation to his house to meet his two children.

The night before the visit, Angel had another apparition much like that of her grandmother when she was a child. This time, a strange woman came into her bedroom and sat on her bed and told her she would marry Tom. This was quite an assertion, since she had just met him once for a very short time.

The next day, during their visit at Tom's house, the children got along well. While there, Angel noticed a photograph on the wall going up the stairs of a lovely woman. The woman in the photograph was the same woman in the apparition she had from the night before. It was Tom's deceased wife. Within six months, the assertion from the apparition came true. Angel and Tom became the happily married couple of five lovely children.

After Tom's first wife died, her cherished cross with great sentimental value which she always wore strangely disappeared. Several thorough searches of the house could not locate the cross and there was no hope that it would ever be found. It seemed to be gone forever.

One morning, after Angel and Tom married, the cross appeared as mysteriously as it had disappeared. There was no explanation for its sudden reappearance. It was found, neatly placed, on Angel's night table next to the bed. It was a mystery how it appeared, but it would seem it was a gift to Angel for making her husband and children a happy new home.

Before the nursing supervisor (Angel) left my room, she asked me to talk to Phyliss and she was certain that she would communicate with me or show me some sign of recognition. Her stories were quite touching, but I was skeptical about being able to contact Phyliss.

I slept well that night, despite my pending operation. I woke up about 3:00 a.m. It was a rare time of silence in the hospital room which was normally as calm as feeding time at the zoo. I remembered Angel's suggestion to talk to Phyliss. I thought, "Why not?" "I really had nothing to lose." "Besides, what if she were right?" "How wonderful that would be." It wasn't.

I talked, and Phyliss may have listened and heard, but as far as I could tell, she did not answer me - at least not that morning nor in the way I expected. But, then, Phyliss always did the unexpected.

After my operation the next day, I, predictably, was very uncomfortable. But, being captive in bed, did give me a great deal of time to think. It was more time than I had to think since Phyliss' death. It gave me time to ponder the question, with which I started, "Who really wrote this book, Joe?" I further rethought the stories told to me by Angel, and reconsidered my attempt to communicate with Phyliss.

When I wrote my business letters, it was a process of writing, rewriting, reorganizing, rethinking, and many times, starting over. The end result was always a fine letter, but what a tortuous process it was of organizing thoughts and putting them on paper properly and concisely.

Now, I wake each morning and cannot wait to sit at the computer and write and write. I resent any interruption that takes me away from that task. I never have "writers block." I rarely need to reconfigure chapters or paragraphs. I get thoughts during the night and day and record them. Later, I sit down and the words just pour out of my mind.

I sit in front of the computer screen for hours, days, and months. It is not a computer screen. It is a magic window, a portal which allows me to observe our life together passing by and unfolding in front of me. The incorporation of the photographs and the captions just intensifies the story. It is wonderful. But, it doesn't seem possible, it doesn't seem natural, and I know it is not I doing it. I know my abilities. I am not capable of this on my own.

After much thought, my conclusion is Phyliss did not communicate with me that night in the hospital because she had already communicated with me shortly after her death and continues to guide me in the writing of this book.

Phyliss was a master English teacher and literary scholar. She taught me everything I know about English grammar and spelling and always proofread and guided my letter writing while she was alive. Why would she not do so for the most demanding writing task of my life?

This was a simple and logical answer to my question and therefore the origin of the subtitle, "Inspired and guided by the spirit of Phyliss C. Badame." All I have been doing is the mechanics of composing and transcribing the story. The spirit, and the inspiration, is all living within me placed there by Phyliss and left behind by her when she departed – one final gift to her guy.

It appears that Phyliss, through a series of seemingly chance happenings, sent dear Angel into my room that day to help me solve my dilemma of "Who really wrote this book, Joe?" Now I know. Now we all know.

I pray she will continue to send others to communicate with me until we can communicate with each other directly once again, however God may make that happen.

* * * * * * * * *
**GROWING UP**

Mr. and Mrs. Dominick Crudo

Phyliss' father and mother

A baby girl was born at home at 306 Pine Street, Camden, New Jersey on August 28, 1927 to Rose and Dominick Crudo, immigrants from Italy. They named her Phyllis Marie Crudo. "Phyllis" was one of the most common names of the era, but the doctor was a poor speller, and wrote her name on the birth certificate as "Phyliss" instead of "Phyllis." This produced the unusual spelling of her name. It wasn't long before all around her realized that her name was not her most unusual trait.

Phyliss was the last of ten children who were born and survived to Rose and Dominick. (Rose had a miscarriage, a second baby died shortly after birth from complications, and Marion died when she was nineteen from a burst appendix.) Phyliss and her sister Marion were sixteen months apart in time but physically they were inseparable.

Phyliss was unique in the household from the very beginning. After Mrs. Crudo had eight children, she was cautioned not to give birth again by the doctor. She had three more.

Despite the ten previous births, this delivery was different. The delivery was so difficult, that both mother and daughter almost died. The event so traumatized the aging veteran Italian doctor that he vowed never to deliver another child. So Phyliss was her mother's last and the doctor's last. I thank God every day that they both made it.

Phyliss' family story was typical of most immigrants from Italy and other western European countries. Father and mother came by boat with several children who had been born in Italy. Mr. Crudo quickly secured a large house (I have no idea how) to accommodate his anticipated large family yet to come. Not too long after, they moved to a larger house, nearby.

The second house belonged to a former ship captain. Camden and Philadelphia were both major ports at that time. The house was opulent even by today's standards, but very affordable in a transitional neighborhood in an industrial eastern city. While Camden was still a viable

Phyliss and Marion Crudo 1939

and healthy city, there were already signs of decline. The house was right next to an abandon awning factory that was converted later to a Catholic Church with a great deal of help from Phyliss. It was actually two houses. It was huge. One part was for the ship captain's family, and the other part was for the servants and housekeepers. Each part had its own staircase and the house was equipped with a ship's intercom system to communicate between the two parts.

Every finish in the house was fine oak including all the doors, windows and wainscots. There were plenty of trim and window panes to keep the tiny fingers of the children cleaning and constantly busy and out of trouble. There was no such thing as trouble from the children in the Crudo household - at least not more than once. One brother was an exception to this rule and was frequently caught in some kind of mischief.

Mrs. Crudo stayed home to care for the children while bearing more offspring. Father sought employment in a trade he brought from his home land. In this case, Phyliss' father was a cabinetmaker, and a fine one at that. If you have a vintage piece of furniture from The Radio Corporation of America in Camden, Mr. Crudo may have had his skilled hands on it at some time.

As with most large families, discipline was essential. The large house population could only function if each member, not only took care of him or herself at a very early age, but then quickly assumed the adult tasks of the household.

Phyliss and her Godmother - 1938

These tasks especially included the care of younger children and babies as mom and dad continued their relentless pursuit to populate the house. The most recent and last member of that pursuit, of course, was Phyliss. In addition to the family children, there were nieces, nephews, neighbors, and priests everywhere.

Traveling though our lives in today's "modern" society, it is hard to imagine how different life was only a little over a generation ago. Today, if one wants to communicate with another, they instantly do so with their smart phone, worldwide, wirelessly.

If someone wanted to communicate with Phyliss, they either walked to her house and talked to her, or called the grocery store nearby and her brother who worked there would run to tell her she had a call. Her brother would then dutifully inform Mrs. Crudo of the call, the caller and possibly the content of the call. It was sort of a precursor to the "National Security Agency" today. Mrs. Crudo was truly a pioneer and a trail-blazer in this and many other fields.

Few other things illustrate the differences of life in that era more vividly than the occasions of a birth or death in the household. Phyliss and her siblings were all born at home as part of routine family functions. There were no ambulances to rush the mother to the hospital. All household activity continued almost uninterrupted as the births took place.

Phyliss' grandmother lived with them for a number of years before her death. She became gravely ill and was treated and died at home. Notification of the passing was by word-of-mouth, since essentially everyone to be notified, lived within walking distance. Of course there was no phone in the home and no phones in the homes of those to be notified.

As with the births, and "health care," almost everything was done in the home. The funeral director was "notified" by the people of the closely-knit community. He came to the house, gave his condolences and embalmed the body in the living room and prepared it for the viewing. The smell of embalming fluid permeated the house.

The viewing, usually the next day, took place in the same living room. Family members, neighbors, and friends paid their respects as they filed into the house bearing homemade food offerings and flowers. It was a combination somber and festive event. There were lots of tears and lots of laughter, if you can imagine that. The proportion of tears and laughter usually varied based on the status of the deceased in the community and the timeliness of the death. The death of Phyliss' nineteen-year-old sister weighed heavily on the community, the household and her most beloved and constant companion and friend, Phyliss.

Later, that evening, the undertaker removed the casket bearing the body in preparation for the Mass and burial the next day. The last goodbye's and departure from the home was a time for only tears.

Phyliss spent her early, formative years immersed in this environment observing and developing her priorities in life. She wasted no time becoming an "unwanted guest and protector," following her older sisters on dates and "excursions."

One day, Phyliss' sister was in the drug store. (Sometimes combined with a "soda fountain"; it was a social "gathering place" for youth of that day) She was socializing with a prospective suitor, who did not meet Phyliss' "standards" for her sister. Phyliss discovered them, and casually approached the two and reminded her sister that she needed to buy "sanitary napkins." I understand, that day, I came very close to not having a wife to marry. The "prospective suitor" never came back.

Phyliss, Jeanette, Theresa, Marion

On the beach in Wildwood NJ

My dear future wife and unwanted guest freely gave her evaluation and opinion of the potential suitors' worthiness or worthlessness. I understand that the evaluations and opinions were not exactly welcomed, but usually quite accurate.

Phyliss was a leader and an independent thinker from the very beginning. She seemed out of place among her siblings, quickly assuming the role of the moral conscience and compass that guided the large family. Soon, older siblings sought her wise counsel. This was a pattern that continued throughout her adulthood.

It appeared that she honed her already copious social and human skills by example and reverse example. Again, this was a rather unique and unusual way of developing her character and standards.

Phyliss would observe people and behaviors around her and conclude that their actions and the way they conducted their lives were flawed and counterproductive and to be avoided, or worthwhile and to be adopted and emulated.

Phyliss and her niece and nephew

Every time she witnessed an act of kindness, mercy, or responsibility an entry was made into her mental notebook of how she should fashion her life. Each time a behavior of contempt, unkindness, or questionable moral value or dishonesty was observed, she entered it into the notebook of unacceptable behavior. The entries were voluminous and covered the full range of human behavior. Nothing went unnoticed.

These entries were not just made to establish the nature of her own life, but also as a reference with which to evaluate the worthiness and suitability of friends, acquaintances, and others she dealt with throughout her life - skills that proved to be invaluable in her vocational pursuits, and I might add, the selection of a spouse. The entries were never wrong, unfair, or misguided and remained steadfast for life. It was as if she had bought a finely tuned Rolls Royce Silver Cloud and relied on its service for the rest of her life.

I have not been able to identify a person(s) or events(s) prior to attendance at Rutgers that influenced or developed her singular ability to formulate such an impressive moral compass to guide her through her difficult life.

It could have only been God-given. It does not seem that her development of her compass of right and wrong was the only trait that was God-given.

Phyliss' also seemed to be endowed by God with a fire of inner faith that was unshakable. This inner faith never showed itself or surfaced directly. There was never any preaching. There were never any readings or quotations from the bible.

Phyliss Crudo - "Fay" - age sixteen - 1943

Yet, it was apparent that her every action, her every word was guided by the teachings of Jesus. Where and when she learned these teachings, is a mystery to me. I never saw her actively pray outside of church or saying grace at each meal.

Her entire education was in public schools. I am not even sure CCD classes for the public school students existed in those days or if she attended if they did have them.

I never saw her read the Bible until she had her stroke at age seventy-eight. Even then, she appeared to read the Bible to derive strength, not to learn. Why would she need to learn something that was a part of her being already? The lessons of the weekly sermon at church were like a description of her daily life.

She would never skip Mass on Sunday, and often attended daily Mass even if it meant rolling up her pajama legs and sporting a long winter coat and racing to the church next door not to miss receiving the Holy Sacrament.

One Sunday a pajama leg fell down below her coat, and saintly Father Longo deftly and kindly brought it to her attention with a simple eye movement. Wearing pajamas under her coat to Mass was probably the greatest transgression of her young life.

Her actions and her demeanor could not be questioned because they were always the embodiment of Christ's teachings to the letter. She went to confession regularly, then and in her later life, even after her stroke. I have no idea what she could have possibly had to confess.

The Irish novelist and poet, C.S. Lewis said, "Integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching."

Oh, my, does that ever describe Phyliss, perfectly.

Somehow she knew who Jesus was and what He required of her. She followed His direction and example without question. Her faith in Jesus and the Blessed Mother was steadfast and unwavering in every aspect of her life. I never witnessed even the slightest deviation from this path in all the years I was privileged to know her.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I was born on Sunday, June 6, 1943 at the Cooper Hospital in Camden. Monday, June 7, 1943 I was less than one day old. On that day, a school day, a week before school was to end, Phyliss was a sophomore at Camden High School. She made her usual walk by herself to and from high school with her books in hand and walked right by the Cooper Hospital where I spent my first day on earth. She had no idea that morning and that afternoon she was only 100 feet away from her future husband.

Phyliss' daily walk from her house to school walking by the Hospital

As our story progresses you will see, fourteen years later in September 1957 after numerous moves around South Jersey, I was living in East Camden with my mother and step father also on Benson Street. Phyliss was teaching at the Cramer Junior High School after a number of her own relocations. Again she was not aware that she was only 100 feet away from her future husband whose house was one street away.

On one fateful day that September 1957 on the first day of school we found ourselves placed in the same classroom, she as my teacher and I as her student. That day was the beginning of our 57-year magical odyssey. Two spirits circulating around Southern New Jersey for fourteen years only feet away from each other for a thousand days finally met and never parted until God called one of us home. This is the story of our odyssey.

My house was on Benson Street, the same street where Phyliss' family lived. The Cramer Jr. High School where we met in 1957 was one block away. I was on the first floor and she was on the third floor of the school every day for four years. Who knew?

**THE CHILDREN'S RESPONSIBILITIES GROW, THE POLITICS OF FAMILY**

As the children each grew older, their household responsibilities grew as well. The cost to manage a substantially larger household also grew. While most went to school, all made an early exit by necessity, or choice, to seek employment outside the home or neighborhood to support the family.

None of her siblings graduated from high school. Her parents never saw the inside of a classroom. Yet, their quiet wisdom easily overshadowed those of us who did. I must say, that Phyliss' wisdom was an exception to that statement. Even her parents and her older siblings relied exclusively on a very young Phyliss for advice, guidance, and counsel, as later did I and many others.

The Crudo Family: Seated left to right: Joseph, Nancy, Rose, Dominick, Jeanette, Nicolas.

Standing left to right: Rose, Phyliss, John, Marion, Theresa, Marie

This picture is dated about 1945 - Phyliss was eighteen. Her sister Marion died a short time after it was taken. Phyliss was inconsolable and heartbroken to loose her best friend. Remember, we never know when we are going to run out of minutes.

The girls concentrated on vegetable picking on the farms of South Jersey at first and then moved to the more common garment industry. Some of the girls worked during the day and brought garments home to work for additional earnings. While working at home, the younger girls helped, making them more efficient and teaching the trade to their siblings.

The boys generally sought employment at one of the many thriving industries in Camden at the time. Among these industries where the family gained employment were the Campbell Soup Co., the New York Shipyard, RCA Victor Corporation, and J.B. VanSciver Furniture Co.

Today, their effective and positive presence is a ghost of the past along with the hundreds of other formerly thriving and beneficial enterprises. This horrible decay has been a blueprint for the fate of most American cities.

Even though I didn't know Phyliss then, when Daddy Crudo was well and the only or major wage earner, I surmise that, like many Western European transplanted families, he was in control of the affairs of the family, or he was made to think that by Mama Crudo. As he aged and his health failed, earnings from the children's jobs outside the home were turned over to Mama Crudo with precise regularity and in their entirety. She became the federal reserve bank of the family and the undisputed money regulator.

All money from any source, entering and exiting the house was channeled through this one unavoidable path, and she alone controlled its management with unchallenged authority. The control of the finances was extended to all the resources of the family. Collection and redistribution were modeled after a socialist regime with a mostly benevolent dictator at its head.

The rules of distribution of resources and rewards were made at the sole discretion of the matriarch. The rules were secret, arbitrary, unfair, unequal, and always disproportionately benefitted the male children of the family. Special privileges and favors were distributed by Mrs. Crudo subtlety, and in strict confidence, amid non disclosure promises from the recipient. The household mechanics were a microcosm of the influence and favoritism that are the foundation of our political systems.

It was a mini system of control and power, with the center of power being the only one who knew (or thought she knew) all the details of the underground workings of the household.

Everyone knew the boys were treated with privilege, and as a result, resentment developed among the girls, except for Phyliss. Her behavior was the antithesis of resentment. To Phyliss family was everything. I never once observed or heard her express a word of animosity or action of the disproportionate or unfair treatment among the children.

She loved them all and treated them equally. Her attitude and behavior were steadfastly founded in the teachings of Christ. Her demeanor was unique among the interactions of the family and continued throughout her life to all her siblings and their offspring. How fortunate I was that she was to include me as a most valued member of her beloved family and that we two would become joined as a family ourselves.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Phyliss' Constant Companion

In loving memory

Sister Marion Crudo Sinon

1926 – 1945

Phyliss' Sister Marion and Phyliss - 1942

Ages sixteen and fifteen
**PHYLISS' RESPONSIBILITIES GROW: THE DOGGIE AND THE TAPE MEASURE**

As her brothers and sisters sought employment outside the neighborhood, Phyliss' employment duties remained closer to home. Phyliss suffered from chronic nose bleeds all of her childhood and early adulthood. This was worsened in attempting to pick vegetables with her siblings. As a result, at twelve, she was quickly recruited to assist in her uncle's haberdashery in the same block as her home. She was not paid for this time, which was considerable.

The circumstances at the store were not ideal for a young girl. There was no bathroom facility in the store. The only alternative was for Phyliss to use the bathroom in the barber shop next door. As with the haberdashery, the barber shop was, of course, frequently by men only. God, it would seem, followed her everywhere.

Positively speaking, work in the store was largely responsible for her extensive knowledge of dress and etiquette as she studiously absorbed the finer points of proper fashion and custom for both men and women. Phyliss quickly developed an excellent sense of proper and elegant dress that she carried throughout life. I again was the beneficiary of his talent and don't ever remember having to buy or select any clothes after we got married. Since I am color-blind, she made certain that I left the house every morning reasonably color-coordinated.

Negatively speaking, the haberdashery was the source of much anxiety for her since she was often left in the store alone. Even at a young age, Phyliss could not help but be influenced by her mother's innate mistrust of the intentions of men. This mistrust proved to be a valid concern on a number of occasions.

The store was frequented almost entirely by single men, often one at a time. The inner parts of the store were not clearly visible from the exterior. Some parts were not visible at all. The store was open in the evenings and it was dark at closing time, especially in the winter.

Phyliss was always vigilant. Ever resourceful, Phyliss capably trained her uncle's German Shepard to recognize improper advances and act on them. He was large and a force that could not be ignored. Additionally, she devised ingenious techniques to block specific advances. One in particular she recounted to me during one of our "interviewing sessions."

When men would come in to purchase trousers, somehow they always had amnesia and could not remember their waist size. Of course, this required Phyliss to take the measurement. This posed a dilemma for her. Although girls of this era were not well schooled in worldly matters, even at this young age, she realized what the male customers' intentions were.

So, instead of using a bear hug with her short arms, which the male customer was anticipating, Phyliss handed one end of the tape measure to the customer and dutifully walked around him and handed him the other end for him to take his own measurement. How she was able to resolve problems like this on her own at this age has been a mystery to me. The problem was solved. She was always a clever girl and an independent thinker.

Somehow, my future wife was protected by God, the German shepherd, and her ingenuity from any harm while working in the store. She had a mission to accomplish and she was undaunted in its execution. She always seemed fearless in the pursuit of her goal.

This protective halo continued to surround her during her many years as a single and unaccompanied woman working in an inhospitable and dangerous environment that the City of Camden increasingly presented. None of the almost thousand students she served really knew the sacrifices she made on their behalf before she even set foot in the classrooms and when she left.

While always vigilant, she never considered her personal safety or comfort over the welfare of her charges. If only more of us could have had her bravery and dedication. She was a humble and remarkable lady, a true gem among mankind. Her loss diminishes us all, and our world is a slightly lesser place without her in it.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
THE FARM: REAL GENDER INEQUALITY AND THE LOST OPPORTUNITY

The large Crudo family and their generosity required that much of the food come directly from the South Jersey farms. The abundance of the summer was consumed, and the surplus was cooked and canned at home for surviving the winter months. Few commercially canned foods were ever eaten because of the expense. Staples such as flour or rice were bought by the one hundred pound sacks directly from a wholesaler. Not to waste a thing, the empty sacks were sown together to form sheets and pillow cases, towels, and even sanitary napkins.

In summers, an open truck would come from the South Jersey farms and pick up adults and children as young as fourteen to pick vegetables on the farms all day in the heat. They left in the early morning; they picked until dusk, and arrived at home well after dark. They were all girl children, young girls, and women.

Many girls and women would go to the farms and stay for the two months of summer in primitive housing and unsanitary facilities. For spring and autumn crops, the trucks would pick up children before and after school for a partial day of picking. There were outhouses for toilets, and some of the children used clothes pins to put on their noses to keep from getting sick from the smell.

One day a woman had her baby in the field. They wrapped it in a piece of cloth, and she went home with the baby at the end of the day in the open truck with everyone else.

Cooking was done on a propane stove and everyone ate the same "preparation" made from vegetables considered "substandard" for the commercial market. The pots, cooking and eating utensils were "washed" by hand with sand and water from a shallow well that was not too far from the "out house."

The situation on the farm was only one of the many injustices of the era. This was particularly true in the immigrant communities. These were times of hard work and long hours for everyone including the children. This was especially true for all the females, from youth to old age.

It was a necessary way of life for the adults and children in order to survive. Most times, it was a situation that was vastly better than the conditions from where they came. It was the way it was, and nobody complained. But, society was crying for a readjustment.

I believe that Phyliss was at the center of that readjustment. She emerged from an immigrant family where even basic school learning was given little importance. She paid for and earned her bachelor and master's degrees and became a shining example of an accomplished professional woman who could, and did, outperform any of her male contemporaries with grace, humility, and ease.

She was not a so-called "activist": noisy, attention-seeking and self-aggrandizing, but a trail-blazing self-effacing, exceedingly effective, example of excellence. It was to be her hallmark to spearhead real gender equality through her teaching by example and her excellent image as an unequaled role-model.

As with every injustice and circumstance, the pendulum of time swings back and overcorrects the injustice. We are in that period of overcorrection, now. Unfortunately, the organizations which claim to espouse advocacy of "fairness and equality" are not motivated by the contrived causes they espouse, but by personal, political, and financial power.

The result has been the high jacking of formerly, legitimate advocacy groups and the redistribution of justice, power, and financial gain to themselves and their selected minions. Left in the confusion, regression, and turmoil is the true and lasting progress made by unique and sincere pioneers such as Phyliss.

Society is left with excesses that result and will eventually initiate a backlash and reverse the pendulum once again. Sad is the course of humanity - to be ignorant of history, only to repeat it.

I am regrettably joyous that you are not here to witness this folly, my dear. I am so sorry that much of your achievement has been commandeered for personal gain by the least worthy impostors among us. It is my hope that this book can expose some these scoundrels who dominate the leadership of our once great country.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

PHYLISS' EDUCATION

Phyliss attended Camden public schools in her early years in elementary school as did most of her brothers and sisters. Unlike all of her siblings, however, she decided to further her education and advanced to graduate from Camden High School.

School and Phyliss were an immediate match. She enjoyed the challenge. She was a keen observer and learner. Jesus became her first love, helping others, and I became her second and third.

After years of ignorance and denial of the dangers of the rise of Hitler, similar to today's rise of the Islamic Caliphate, in September 1939, the world was shocked into confronting the reality that World War II had started. Phyliss was in Jr. High School at this time and spent the next five years living in the turmoil and uncertainty of that time, a time that culminated in a devastating personal tragedy for her.

In May 1945, Germany surrendered to the Allies. There was jubilation in the country and in the world for that matter. Several weeks later, the jubilation ended for Phyliss when her beloved sister suddenly died at only nineteen. Marion was only a little over a year older than Phyliss and they had been constant companions and inseparable. They were truly best friends. To add to the tragedy, Marion had married only a few months before. Amid her mourning of this terrible loss, Phyliss completed her high school education and graduated the following week.

Phyliss: Camden High School graduation 1945

I was celebrating my second birthday as I was having my three thousandth diaper changed. She was recovering from her great loss and began honing her skills to become my wife. My little mind didn't even have a hint of the love that was to be so generously showered upon it. I didn't even know what love was.

She developed her abilities to become an unmatched analytical and independent thinker. This was to be one of her strongest and most valuable traits for her own benefit and for the benefit of those she would mentor in the future. I was to become the most blessed beneficiary.

Because of her love of learning, and excellent performance in high school, she applied for and was accepted into the first graduating class at the newly established Rutgers College in Camden. This pursuit was totally self-motivated, since no one with whom she had contact had traveled this path. No one could, nor possibly would, give her neither motivation nor direction for such an unlikely endeavor. She sought out whatever part-time employment she could to finance her challenge. In the fall of 1945 she began attending college.

Unlike me, she had no guardian angel to guide and mentor her through the path of her educational advancement, replete with the injustices presented by her gender, her ancestry, and her spartan resources. Rather than encouragement, there was a considerable degree of discouragement for her to follow this unlikely avenue from a number of sources.

Phyliss - Rutgers Camden Graduation – 1952

Bachelors of Arts Degree

There was no value placed on furthering one's education in the household, and the long-term benefits of high school and higher education were generally perceived as an exercise for some unknown and questionable benefit that may or may not reach fruition in the future. Most gainful employment centered on vocations or manual labor, employment which was plentiful among the many industries in Camden at the time. For Phyliss to have pursued these employment opportunities would have been a travesty for all of us who received her wisdom, and a waste of her singular abilities.

I learned from her, that the group of professors that started the Camden campus did so with the desire that the college would become an academic oasis, free from the many distractions of other less lofty pursuits. They were tired of the "well-balanced experience of college."

Their concern was to return attending college to become a place where academic excellence and freedom could thrive once again. This philosophy was tailor-made for Phyliss' vision of college as well. The professors were disciplined, knowledgeable, and demanding. These were many of the traits I attribute to Phyliss throughout her life. But, rather than molding her character, I believe they added to it, and enhanced qualities that already resided in her.

For you see, most of Phyliss' traits in adulthood had already developed by the time she arrived at Rutgers. These fine gentlemen merely needed to hone her skills to perfection. They did so superlatively. I sincerely thank you, Dean Hall. Your wisdom, vision, and dedication have not gone unnoticed. During her years at Rutgers, Phyliss thrived in the environment of excellence that these professors created. This was a perfect marriage of circumstance, curriculum, discipline, and remarkable teaching skills.

The fortuitous timing of her attendance at Rutgers while this superior educational team was formed was a most fortunate confluence of teacher and student for the benefit of Phyliss and all the future recipients of her talents.

Much of Phyliss' love of Opera, the Ballet, and Classical Music, and all forms of the performing arts were kindled and sustained during the years with these remarkable and devoted educators. They were academically superior experts in their disciplines, marvelously skilled in sharing and transferring their knowledge to their students, and were motivated and inspired to do so.

Her love of the classics made her a constant visitor to the Academy of Music in Philadelphia, on her own, for a wide range of the arts to experience the performances live. Because of her limited resources, her second home was the "nose bleed seats" at the rear of the hall just under the ceiling. I don't believe they even had seats up there.

One of my more melancholy thoughts has been how much more enjoyable it would have been for her to share those experiences with me. But, then again, she would have had to take me to the performance in a baby carrier. I don't think the other patrons would have appreciated the crying. I guess I should not be so depressed about it, since we certainly made up for the lack of companionship at the performances after we returned from Tunisia.

While Phyliss financially worked her way through these years, they were relatively free of the many burdens that would become hers shortly. During college, there were a number of siblings still at home to shoulder some of the burden of maintaining the homestead and coping with her father's deteriorating health.

Phyliss successfully completed her undergraduate work at Rutgers Camden and received her Bachelor of Arts degree in 1952. By graduation, the full burden of home responsibilities began falling on Phyliss as her siblings married and moved out to establish their families with their spouses. She enthusiastically assumed these responsibilities and was now able to financially manage the household with her first teaching job at James A. Garfield School, an elementary school.

The position was offered to her after a glowing recommendation from a former professor at Rutgers. It was not long, before Phyliss became dissatisfied with the proficiency provided by her bachelors' degree. She soon set her eyes on the goal of completing a master's program. This was quite an intimidating goal since she had to keep a full-time teaching position to maintain the household and care for her parents during the pursuit.

Phyliss - Rutgers New Brunswick graduation photo – 1959

Masters of Education

Further adding to the challenge, was the fact that most of the required classes were given at the Rutgers New Brunswick campus, over an hour away. Not a pleasant prospect for someone who disliked driving and had so many other personal responsibilities. Phyliss successfully endured this pursuit for five exhausting years. In 1959, she received her Master of Education diploma through the mail because she could not attend the graduation.

During her trying studies, she prayed to the Holy Family that she would erect a statue in their honor when she successfully completed her studies. Always true to her word, this became her next goal. She knew nothing but excellence. The statue was carved in Italy from a five hundred pound block of Carrara marble from the quarry used by Michelangelo. It was placed in her mother's garden at the Pennsauken homestead.

I moved it in 1976 to Medford during our relocation to our new home and made a small grotto around the statue. It has been in front of our house for the last thirty-eight years. That grotto gave Phyliss many hours of peaceful solitude especially the years after her stroke.

Her degree was a monumental achievement that hardly gained any notice at all. But, that did not matter to her, the pursuit was successfully completed. She endured to become better at her vocation and to improve the lives of her students. She and God knew her sacrifice. That was all that was important to her.

The Holy Family Grotto - Carved in Italy – from Carrara marble – 1959

Commissioned by Phyliss in thanksgiving for Masters Graduation

As if she did not have enough responsibilities while working on her master degree, the Board of Education relocated her from Garfield Elementary School, to Davis Junior High School and finally to Cramer Junior High School. Much to my good fortune she arrived at Cramer School in 1954. Her eighth grade classroom was two floors above my third grade classroom. We didn't know each other existed . . .

Imagine if one day another teacher had escorted the, then twenty-five years old, Miss Crudo down two floors to my classroom and pointed out the little, smiley, nine-year-old boy drawing airplanes and tanks during math lessons, and then introduced him as her future husband for forty-five year - unbelievably heavy stuff. It would be still be five more long years before God would cause our paths to cross in her eighth grade classroom.

Oh, what a fortuitous and serendipitous excursion we took. We both pranced around Southern New Jersey all our lives to arrive a few feet apart, in the same classroom, and in each other's lives. This is certainly a case of being in the right place at the right time. God put us both in that room together, and we were able to figure out the rest on our own - We just never know how unpredictably God shapes our lives.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

" **UNA DONNA DI GRAN CLASSE"**

She was always a lovely bridesmaid, but waited to be a bride until she picked me . . . all those poor fellows. I cannot believe I was so fortunate. I still have to pinch myself . . . and the camellias too, always the camellias.

General

I first entitled this chapter "Phyliss matures to become the consummate lady." Something just didn't seem right about that title. After a thorough search of many dictionaries, I determined that the definition of "lady" in today's world has too many meanings which are often conflicting and contradictory. Some meanings are actually derogatory and don't even come close to accurately describing her. I decided to search for a more accurate title. Having been unsuccessful with the English language, I perused the Italian language looking for a more suitable moniker.

Phyliss age 18

The name I found that truly describes her is: "Una Donna di gran classe" – a mature woman of dignity, refinement, manners, proper demeanor, who is virtuous, sophisticated and compassionate. That was Phyliss. Actually, Phyliss was much more, but I had to settle for a brief description that was less than a page long.

Phyliss - age twenty

I must give a word of caution: Much, or most of what I am about to tell you about Phyliss, will be discounted by many. It will most likely be labeled as old-fashioned, boring, and uninteresting, possibly even irrelevant or out of date in today's world.

Always gracious, always

Please don't be among those who fall into the trap of believing that. It is the abandonment of the principles that Phyliss held so dear and guided her during her lifetime that have caused the certain collapse of our western civilization. What she signified was that important to our future and she was fully aware of that.

Human history is replete with the collapse of great empires from within caused by their banishment and abandonment of civility and morals.

The United States of America was created as a society that maximized freedom for the individual. However, in order for that freedom to exist and flourish, it must be nurtured in the context of a moral and civil society. One cannot exist without the other. "Freedom has never existed in a moral vacuum" was written in the book, "The Virtue of Civility" by Robert Sirico. He was so right. The moment individuals behave outside acceptable norms; society then passes laws and regulations to prohibit that destructive behavior. That then ends the freedom.

More unacceptable behavior spawns more laws which take away more freedoms. It is a deadly downward spiral. We are witnessing the end of that spiral that began more than two generations ago. We are rapidly approaching the tyranny that always follows. The process is so difficult to reverse without the furor and passion of the people. We do not have that fire. Phyliss and those like her did. But most of them are gone now.

Phyliss' practice of perfection of proper decorum and her passing it on to her students as a role model formed the foundation of the civil and moral society that is necessary for our freedoms to exist. Most would ridicule the idea that minor, continual, and progressive declines in the morays of society could lead to the destruction of an entire civilization. The breakdown of civil and moral society takes place subtly, slowly, imperceptibly. It is an insidious cancer that goes undetected until the patient is on his deathbed. America is there now and the patient is in denial.

Many great civilizations have gone extinct and collapsed from moral decay from within. Ask yourself if our once shining nation is greater, more prosperous, more free, more respected, more unified, more civil, better educated than it was before the insidious progressive movement lead us away from personal responsibility and respect. If you believe that, then you are grossly deluded in your thinking. It is difficult to find a major characteristic of our country that denotes a great society that has improved in my lifetime.

Outrageous hair styles and dress develop into improper and immoral behavior, and eventually into defiance of authority and rejection of accepted norms. The destruction of the family and faith forces the youth to seek the state for its sustenance. Poor and deceptive education produces an uninformed and detached citizenry. Further degradation spawns obscene and illegal activity.

All this occurs slowly until society is out of control. Restrictions on behavior become necessary and politicians become addicted to their increased power and use it wantonly and profusely, not to improve society, but for their own purposes to enrich themselves and their backslapping parasites.

We are at the end of this cycle. That is where we are today. There is no plan to reverse this decay. Most American's will deny that it exists, or worse yet, know it exists and don't care. They will soon care. But, it will be too late.

The most frightening thing about these developments is that they have not happened randomly or spontaneously. They have happened purposefully and premeditatedly! Few will believe that, and they vehemently deny it at their own peril.

This is why the seemingly mundane principles of morals and behavior espoused by Phyliss are so important. Society has ignored her teachings and teachings of those like her. They have done so at their own jeopardy. It is so easy to ridicule proper behavior as silly and infantile. It's not cool. But, you can look around and see where the abandonment of these principles has gotten us. We must come out of our stupor.

The claim you always hear is, "There is nothing we can do about it." Does that sound familiar? In the quotes listed in the "Appendix," Edmond Burke said in the 1700's, "The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing." Phyliss always did something. But, she is gone and we are doing nothing. We are doing worse than nothing. We are active conspirators and participants in our own demise.

We have lost our country and our future by sitting back and allowing the lowest among us to control the public discourse. We are now paying the price of that folly. With the loss of Phyliss and good, involved people like her, there is no hope of preventing our own tragic extermination.

I am sorry, this is so heavy, my dear readers. When you purchased this book you paid money (you did pay didn't you. Oh, that's right, it was free) to be entertained, not be lectured to as I have been told before, by a woman of great "wisdom." But, someone has to get us off our butts before we don't have a butt to sit on. I pray that Phyliss did not live and die in vain. Maybe her story can at least get some Americans and some so-called religious, good people off their complacent butts to "do the right thing when nobody is looking."

So as you read about "Phyliss, Una Donna di Gran Classe," resist the temptation to amuse yourself at her expense, by thinking of her as old-fashioned and out of touch with "modern" society. Look around you. Look, at the cesspool of human waste we have made for ourselves. Is that what you want for your offspring?

Then ask yourself, who is out of touch? Was Phyliss out of touch? Look in the mirror, and then look at your children and grandchildren and ask yourself, "Maybe it is I who is out of touch?"

During her early years, by necessity, responsibilities quickly took center stage in Phyliss' life. It did not seem there was a free minute to fit another endeavor. Somehow among all of this she still managed to dovetail another enterprise that was dear to her. It was as if she started her own university and custom tailored a curriculum for her to satisfy this pursuit. There were no buildings, no students, no professors, no tuition, just Phyliss.

That search would eventually bestow the degree of Doctorate of Being "Una Donna di Gran Classe" upon her. There was no such university, no such curriculum, and no such degree. That did not deter her; she made her own.

Her quest covered every aspect of who a person of character should be.

Some of the general principals Phyliss followed in developing her own, shall we say "trademark of excellence" can be summarized simply: (I will continue to use the term "Lady" for brevity. But, you get the point.)

First a "lady" should be intelligent, well mannered, informed, involved, and well-educated. Check, check, check, check and double check. Her intelligence was endowed by God. She took care of the rest.

Appearance

Phyliss was a believer that appearances are most important and the physical impression one makes on others must be given serious attention. Physical beauty, she had, but it was not essential for her undertaking. What was necessary was that one does the most with what she was given.

True beauty should be enhanced. Nothing should be done to distract from that beauty. If not born with natural beauty, then the most favorable traits should be accented and the less favorable traits downplayed. If the less favorable traits can be changed, certainly change them, within reason. If they cannot be changed, don't fret about them. Obsession with physical beauty is a self-indulgent illness from which Phyliss had a natural immunity. You should also. We all should.

She rarely wore makeup, and when she did, it was used sparingly and perfectly applied. Her style adapted to her strengths and to the norms of the time. She never participated or encouraged the worship of fads or extremes.

The extreme styles always look stupid when the fad wears away. Most times, the extreme styles look stupid during the fad. Observe photographs from past years. How out-of-place they seem today. Also, most fads are created by businesses and counterfeit "gurus" that want you to purchase their new products or services. Why do you think "popular" clothing styles change every season? Don't buy into this insanity.

Later in life, when Phyliss suffered disfigurements, she continued her philosophy and persevered. It did not deter her. Remember, no matter how great your endowment of physical beauty, it is only on loan from God. You had nothing to do with it being given to you and you will have nothing to do with it being taken away. And, be sure my friends, it will be taken away. It may be gradual or it may be in an instant. You will never know. If possessing physical beauty was your priority in life, when it is gone you will be left with nothing. Those who were superficially attracted to you because of it will disappear as quickly as they appeared.

Dress

Her dress was always conservative, neat, clean, and pressed. Her monogrammed blouses displaying "PMC" were always buttoned at the neck, and highlighted with a lovely silk flower, usually a camellia. The colors were coordinated and were always traditional, moderate, and timeless. Patterns, colors, and textures never clashed.

Fashion moguls on television look like clowns. Don't encourage them by emulating them. Scorn and ignore them. Don't make them rich and give them power by buying their folly. Let them fade into oblivion from where they came and where they belong. Those ridiculous "runway fashion shows" populated by creepy skeletons on legs that walk funny are replete with rags produced by the gurus of the "fashion world." Literally, don't buy it.

With Phyliss, modesty was ever present. Her dress was her hallmark. It never went out of style. It was her style, not a style dictated by some imbecile whose intent it is to get rich, by stealing our money and our good taste.

For Phyliss, dress was to cover and protect the body in a pleasing and demure manner. It was to be used to accent the body not expose it. Dress has become a tool to display and reveal the body – a device to entice and titillate. I ask the question, "display, reveal, entice, and titillate for what purpose and for whom." If you had the boldness to ask the wearer, I don't think they would even know the answer themselves. The dress today leaves little to the imagination. For many today, there is no such thing as proper or modest dress, even in church. Some dress as if they were going to the beach, not to visit the Lord.

Hosting

Entertainment cannot take place without the proper tools. Despite her modest income, she insured that she had the finest silverware, china, crystal, table cloths, napkins and serving utensils and knew how they were to be used. These were all bought on her meager salary one piece at a time, all before we were married. Phyliss felt that how you prepare for and entertain individuals you invite is a reflection of how you care about them. Improper hosting was an insult to a guest. It sent the message that you did not care enough about them to take the time to learn about receiving guests and properly preparing for their coming. Don't denigrate your invited guests by being ignorant.

Phyliss hosting Christmas dinner

Etiquette

A lady always is informed of proper etiquette. People say it doesn't matter. That's because they are too indolent to inform themselves. Phyliss was the authority on proper etiquette. The household was not a prison of rules, but when an occasion warranted it, things were done right. Table settings, seating arrangements, greetings were always impeccably engineered. Guests were always treated like family and thought was given to their comfort. Each guest was important and treated with the utmost respect. Food, diet, beverages and activities were always tailored to the preferences and needs of the invited. Above all, they were her guests. They were treated like family.

Behavior

Phyliss was the epitome of textbook behavior. I believe she wrote the book. She never taught her students proper behavior, but every one of them, had a college degree in proper demeanor by the time they left her class. She did it as she did with so many other subjects, by example. The students merely needed to observe Miss Crudo in all the various circumstances during the day and the year and they would have absorbed volumes on acceptable behavior. When they left her class, they went out into the community as good citizens, good children, and good future adults to pass it on to their offspring. It was the end of the subject. It was excellence, again.

Body Language

The importance of body language is underrated. It was paramount with Phyliss. Less was more. She could control demeanor and improper behavior with only minor motions and gestures. Sometimes it only required a silent stare and a subtle disapproving facial expression or shaken head or a famous lip pucker. Crossed arms sometimes escalated into a raised eyebrow, or a tap of her heel on the floor. Occasionally, all these techniques were necessary all at once for particularly troublesome students like me. There was never any need for anger, loss of temper or a raised voice. They were unnecessary and just did not exist.

Verbal Language

A "lady" is a person of few, but meaningful, profound words. Why use thirty words when five will do. Life is too short. Also, it is not the quantity of words but the quality. Proper usage and pronunciation were her standard. There was no such thing as slang – no such thing as gossip – no such thing as profanity. Equally, there was no tolerance of the same. As a teacher, she always introduced new vocabulary to build her students' library of expression. It had to be correct. Language was always even tempered and free of vulgarity and insult. She never raised her voice in exasperation, and expected, no, demanded, the same. Finally, Phyliss' vocabulary and speech was learned, sophisticated, and full of logic and wisdom.

Yet, with all her sophistication, I always observed her "tailor" her delivery to the understanding of those to whom she was speaking. While she was a complex and enlightened woman, she came from parents and a family where formal education was not a dominant theme. The "sophistication" and level of "refinement" of the guests did not matter. She used the knowledge obtained from her origins to make them feel comfortable in her presence. This was a trait that she used with skill in associating with the students and their parents. It was comfortable to be in her company.

Written language

Phyliss' time was before the age of computers and word processors. She took special penmanship, typing, and shorthand classes while in college and upon completion was immediately enlisted to teach the courses. In her brain were a built-in dictionary, thesaurus, and absorbed books on writing style and literature. She was a master grammar and spell checker before anyone knew what they were. She was the "go-to" expert for resumes, school newspapers, yearbooks, and anything literary.

Penmanship

Perfection is the only way to describe her penmanship. If you are about my age, you must remember the placard in front of every classroom that showed the formation of the letters of the alphabet in the upper and lower cases. That was Phyliss' handwriting, unchanged for her lifetime, perfect and consistent. It was a model for each student to follow. It was everywhere: in her lesson plans, compositions, role book, check book, letters, Christmas cards, notes home to parents, and even on the blackboard, everywhere. Everything was written in ink without errors. I don't think she had a single pencil in the classroom for her use. An eraser was a useless tool.

Driving

It seems strange to mention a person's driving habits in a chapter about being a lady. Being a lady was even expressed when driving her car. Her driving was skilled. It was textbook driving. Driving was not an exciting and thrilling activity for entertainment. It was serious business and a sober endeavor. She informed herself of the law, and she obeyed it. She never caused a single accident in sixty two years. She was always calm, collected, focused, and courteous. She bought the best car she could afford and religiously had it professionally maintained. Her passion to teach was generously shared with others and I was her most fortunate recipient. Remarkably, she disliked driving intensely.

Dance

Phyliss attended the usual social events of her school years and events after graduation. Part of her preparations for womanhood was to learn how to dance. The premier establishment at the time was the Arthur Murray Studios. She took the time to learn the Ballroom dances, and quite well I might add. She was a natural. Unlike driving a car, she enjoyed dancing. She never missed an opportunity to pass her skills on to the students who wished to learn. It was never a part of a formal curriculum, but as always, a side benefit to Miss Crudo's students that she granted them this gift.

Her dancing proficiency made her the perfect sponsor of the school dances wherever she went. She even taught me. I was not always her best performing student. Well, at least she always had a partner wherever she went. Dancing was real dancing: timeless, sophisticated and proper. It was not the exhibition stuff you see on TV that really has no rules or the undulations and sometimes vulgarity that are peddled for dancing today.

Phyliss, age twenty, 1952 at the Rutgers senior prom with William Bearcat

a gentleman and an architectural engineer.

Who would you expect her date to be?

She married the next architectural engineer she met.

I am so sorry Bill.

Personality

What can I say about this subject? I was enchanted from the moment I met her to the moment she died. There are just some people you want to be with all the time, and she made it so. Comfortable, entertaining, interesting, challenging, gracious are some adjectives that come to mind when in her presence. Her magnetism was universal. She appealed to the men teachers, didn't she? But, remarkably the women teachers related to her as well.

Everyone wanted to be with her. She was a real paradox. Phyliss never instigated the attraction of the opposite sex with her verbal language, body language, her demeanor, or her manor. Nothing even hinted at suggestiveness. Yet, most of the men who had contact with her would not hesitate to describe her as very attractive, alluring, desirable, and even sexy. She never gave a hint of flirtation or encouragement, but she did undoubtedly attract. I know she attracted me. Phyliss would have never needed computer dating, even if they had it back then.

Humility

Whenever I would hear Phyliss explaining something she had done, an accomplishment, it would be in response to a question someone asked rather than a discussion initiated by her to impress or dazzle another. The conversation was more of an informational conversation than a proud description of her achievements. The concentration was always on what and how it was done rather than who did it. Even when the deed showed real imagination and excellence, there was no attitude of superiority, just a humble presentation. My observation is that this is truly rare among human beings. I never detected a scintilla of ego during her lifetime.

Charity and Kindness

Phyliss' charity and kindness knew no bounds. They started at an early age with her family and friends. They quickly extended to her classmates. They found their calling with the priest, nuns, and religious in a never-ending stream of charitable acts. The giving ranged from helping establish a Spanish-speaking parish in Camden, obtaining citizenship for the religious, drivers' licenses, nursing licenses, college equivalencies, and nursing home administrators' licenses. There was never any exchange of payment for her largess. While there were many of her students who received her charity and certainly her kindness, I can think of one in particular that was her greatest recipient. Oh, was he ever.

Phyliss pictured while teaching typing and shorthand. Always looking to improve herself, she enrolled in typing and shorthand classes outside college courses.

When she completed the courses, she was hired to teach the courses.

Respect

Everyone with whom Phyliss had contact was treated with respect. Her superiors, her fellow teachers, parents, her students, the janitor, every race and ethnicity, her car mechanic, the crossing guard were all treated with kindness and as equals. She assured that her students had respect for the other students, the other teachers, and most especially respect for themselves. But, Phyliss was no "push over." She demanded respect herself and received it.

Accomplishment

This is a subject that would require a book by itself. In actuality, maybe this is that book. There is one thing that I would add here, however, regarding accomplishment. Certainly, Phyliss set goals for herself and these goals led to her accomplishment for her own gratification. I believe that accomplishments for others were never formally delineated or outlined. I do not believe that these goals were ever expressed. I think that Phyliss decided that she was going to go out into the world and do the most good she could based on her talents, training, and resources. Her accomplishments stemmed from that one goal. It appears that she just melded her talents with the perceived need of the people around her and that led to her accomplishments.

Leadership

Possessing leadership can be beneficial. It usually connotes a positive message. But, more often than not, it comports a negative sense. Adolf Hitler was a great leader. You don't see that sentence too often. You actually never see it because he led his nation to oblivion, through destruction, murder, suffering, cruelty, depravity, and death. But, nevertheless, he was a great leader. Being a great leader in the cause of suffering seems to be much easier than in the cause of good. It is much simpler to appeal to the dark side of man using prejudice and hatred than it is to appeal to the good in man using compassion and goodness.

Phyliss was a leader, for good. No egotism, no hidden agenda, no self-aggrandizement, but leadership to benefit others, and to have others benefit others. This is most difficult, but she was a master of leadership for good. She encouraged, others to do their best for the common good without resorting to socialism. The good of the group was always important, but individual effort, responsibility, recognition, and reward were equally important. Each student was an individual and was encouraged to think freely while benefiting him and others. This is the most important and most difficult type of leadership to achieve. But she did achieve it, quietly, humbly, and effectively.

Faith and Reverence

Phyliss had faith and she practiced it quietly and humbly with reverence. She forced it on no one, but it was the foundation of her strength, her excellence, and her humanity. It is faith that created and sustained this great country and its abandonment has destroyed it. Believe what you want, but don't interfere with my beliefs. I cannot imagine anyone accomplishing what Phyliss did before or after her stroke without belief in some higher power other than herself. It would be arrogant self-indulgence to think otherwise. Phyliss knew that well.

Go out at night and look up to the sky at the trillions of stars of the universe and admit to yourself how utterly insignificant you are. Then, state to me that you believe, you, that tiny speck, are greater than any being in that universe. The arrogance of that statement defies belief. In reality, the only being in the universe that does not believe you are insignificant is God Himself – how ironic.

Friendship and Loyalty

Phyliss never abandoned a single friend and she had many. There was no task that was too great to help a friend. More importantly "friendship" was extended to many unlikely and sometimes unworthy individuals. It was only necessary that they be in need. She was a firm believer that it was more worthy to extend friendship to a stranger than to someone who has extended friendship to you. Friendship was never offered with the proviso that the favor needed to be returned. "Reciprocity" was not in her lexicon.

Societal Responsibility

Above all, Phyliss loved God in the form of the Holy Trinity. That constant having been said, her responsibility in life has always been the welfare of others. That is the essence of societal responsibility. Since her energies were finite, there was always a hierarchy in dispensing her goodness. But, if assistance by anyone was needed, and she was capable, she provided it, all of her life. That was a constant.

Humanity

I am not sure what to say of this subject. It seems to be impossible to carry out all of these categories with excellence without having an extreme measure of humanity. Phyliss was the embodiment of humanity. Look in the dictionary for a definition of the manifestation of humanity and you might just find a picture of Phyliss.

Humor

Phyliss had a unique brand of humor. She never told jokes or tried to make people laugh. She just made it pleasant to be around her. It was fun to learn in her class. She could joke and clown with everyone yet maintain a sophistication and demure presence. She always used humor as a tool for enjoyment, never for ridicule or degradation of another. More importantly, it was not her humor, but her ability to appreciate and acknowledge the humor of others.

She even maintained her humor for the eight years after her stroke. It was always there only dryer, more sophisticated, complex and poignant. She always surprised me with her quips and her responses. I believe that humor is one of the most advanced and sophisticated human expressions. During her illness, I always used it as a barometer of her emotional state. As long as she possessed her humor, I knew she was still with me. One of my most rewarding accomplishments in life was I could always make her smile.

Justice

The term "justice" implies judgment. Today, there is so much talk about not being judgmental. When I first wrote on this subject, I strongly asserted that we all judge and I assigned that attribute to Phyliss, especially in her role as educator. My dear friends Emily and Lisa took issue with my description. The more I thought about it, I realized that my view regarding judgment was harsh and my assigning of this view to Phyliss was not accurate. They described Phyliss' technique for evaluation was closer to "assessing" the progress of the students rather than judging them. I had to agree. It may seem a trivial distinction but the connotation of the word judgment is much too severe to describe my dear wife's relationship with her students and those around her.

Phyliss' vision of "teacher" was one who not only educates but also assesses. Education and discipline cannot take place without that assessment. It is the only way an educator can evaluate her effectiveness and maintain order, to dispense reward and redirect. Those who avoid this, operate in a vacuum with no tools to dispense superior education and evaluate its effectiveness and harvest its benefits.

Phyliss' classroom was a model of effectiveness. She assessed her students every day and never bought into the insanity of accepting that this is harmful to the students. She knew that justice could not exist without assessment. Without exception, her students benefited greatly from this timeless concept. Their superior performance was a direct consequence of knowing their accomplishment would be subject to evaluation and assessment. Today we have abandoned this concept of personal responsibility. We are paying dearly for that folly.

Honesty

Dishonesty is the antonym of honesty. If you are dishonest you take things that are not yours. It is impossible to be dishonest if all you have done all your life is give. That was Phyliss, always giving.

The previous comment referred to honesty with regard to things. Another form of honesty has to deal with honesty of thought. Phyliss shone in this category as well. She was always a realist. She never deluded herself or others regarding any subject. Most importantly, she insured that the students be honest with themselves. If you wanted the "truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth", it was Phyliss whom you consulted. The idiom was invented for her.

Epilog to Phyliss is "Una Donna di gran classe"

I guess you are tired of reading by now. I know I am tired of writing. If you thought describing Phyliss as a lady would entail how well she could set a table, it appears you may have been sadly mistaken. I'm sorry.

The seemingly minor and insignificant parts that composed Phyliss' character when taken together as a whole signify what made this county great. It was millions of people like her that formed the foundation of the uniqueness of our republic. We have lost them and their principles and as a result we have lost our identity, our country, and our souls. We have dishonored their memory by rejecting the gifts that they gave us. We have shamed ourselves and their memory.

Phyliss was a complex woman of character. Her life was modeled on the principles on which this country was founded. Any diminution of those principles, whether on a personal level or a congregate national level, diminishes the person or the country proportionately. Phyliss never once abandoned a single principle of importance covered here. Her resulting accomplishments speak for themselves.

But, my friends, as a nation . . . I must defer to honesty . . . former nation; we have massively, and repeatedly violated every single one of these principles. That is why we have not survived.

When a person stands to address the group at an "Alcoholics Anonymous" meeting, the first thing they say is: "I am John Smith and I am an alcoholic." The organization and the membership realize that the first step to rehabilitation is to acknowledge that a member has a problem before he can formulate and implement a solution for that rebirth. We in the former United States of America have not even reached the point of acknowledging that we have a problem, let alone formulate or implement a solution. We are that far gone.

Two common examples of the greatness of America from the past were the war effort of World War II and the NASA "Apollo" program to put a man on the Moon and have him safely return. We got involved very late in World War II, but we won. We got involved in the manned Moon program after initial Soviet Union accomplishments, and yet we won, again. The Soviet Union never did get there. It was the great American Spirit that did it. We were united and motivated as a nation. We got it done.

I recently watched a documentary on the projected Mars manned program. I could not help but recall similar films on the Apollo program filled with confidence and optimism and certainty that the job would get done. And it was done, not once but six times in less than a decade, without computers as we know them.

By contrast, the Mars documentary was filled with timidity, doubt, and negativity. It concentrated more on what cannot be done than what was going to be done. The only reference to the psychological studies of such a long trip referred to a forty year old study by the Soviet Union! Engine tests and other development will be done on obsolete test facilities built for the far less demanding Apollo program. The tests will take place when and if they have an engine. No new test equipment is scheduled to be built.

The huge pool used to train the Moon crew is totally inadequate for training the Mars crew. But, no new facility will be built. The fabrication building used for the Moon vehicle is totally inadequate for constructing the Mars vehicle. Yet, no new facility will be built.

The last straw was the suggestion that they were considering the program to be a one-way voyage because it will be too difficult to get the astronauts back to Earth. This is our United States of America. The scientists are perfectly happy to operate in a program with this mentality forced upon them by a President that has basically destroyed the manned space program through theft of its funding and the elimination of viable programs.

Does anyone with any intelligence believe that this lack of enthusiasm and commitment will ever result in a successful Mars mission? I think not. No one from our nation will set foot on Mars and return in the next generation, or maybe never. Quite possibly, the Chinese will.

Not a whimper was heard from the "scientific community", if there is such a thing remaining, when the Space Shuttle Program with ten productive years left was canceled, sending four thousand irreplaceable scientists out on the streets or worse into the hands of the robust Chinese space program. Have we lost our minds? But, what is at stake now, is not the Mars landing program, but our survival.

I miss Phyliss more than you can imagine, but I am so glad that she is not here to witness how we have wasted the effort she and her contemporaries put forth during their life times for our prosperity and our children's prosperity.

I hate to rain on everyone's parade. This isn't the same country, folks. Back then, we acknowledged we had a problem. We marshaled our resources, our passion, and our ingenuity to solve what seemed to be insurmountable problems. We were one in our endeavors. In modern terminology, we were "stoked." That says it well.

It is not so, this time. It is the eleventh hour and fifty-nine minutes. There is no knight in shinning armor to save the day. As Walt Kelly's famous philosopher, "Pogo." said in 1975, "We have met the enemy and they are us."

Most likely this fatal oversight will lead to our downfall, and soon. It is heartbreaking to see the greatest country in the world with such an auspicious birth succumb to such an ignoble demise, promulgated by its own citizens.

We have become the recipients of the biggest surge in technology since man's presence on Earth began. But what have we done with it? We have become a country of dumb citizens with smart phones. We were so much greater as a people, a society, and as a country when we were smart citizens with dumb phones. We have to choose what path we shall take, and what kind of country we want to live in.

It appears that we have made our choice between enlightenment and ignorance.

Many of us refuse to believe we even went to the Moon.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**PHYLISS' "EARLY" TEACHING YEARS**

Bea Pappas and Phyliss first year teachers

to become life long friends

The Garfield Elementary School

Camden, NJ 1952-1953

Prolog

Each of Phyliss' early teaching assignments and every assignment in her life for that matter, starting with The Garfield School, materialized as the result of a reference from a previous job. Phyliss never applied for a job in her life. Bea Pappas was the first of many life-long friendships she developed with equally superior teachers over the years. Always a steadfast friend, Phyliss and I visited Bea often in her twilight years as she slipped into the darkness of Alzheimer's disease, after a sterling teaching career. Phyliss never forgot or abandoned a friend.

I entitled this chapter "Phyliss' "Early" Teaching Years." As I thought more about the title, something bothered me about it. "Early Teaching Years" implies that they are somehow different from the "Middle Teaching Years" or the "Late Teaching Years." Certainly, logic would direct you to believe that would be the case.

It would seem to be a safe assumption for any endeavor that the more you perform the activity and the longer you perform it, the more proficient you become. The formal training received from teachers and professors, combined with years of experience, produce the adroit, finely-tuned and accomplished professional. The only exception would be if complacency, sameness and boredom or indolence, are allowed to cause regression instead of progress and competency. In this case, the prospective teacher would be poor to begin with and become progressively worse - a situation that could exist with some.

In an attempt to discover what concerned me about a description of the "Early Teaching Years," I reread the letters Phyliss had received over the years from former students, colleagues, contemporaries, and teachers. I discovered that the tone of all the letters was the same from the students of the first year of teaching at Garfield Elementary School to the last year of teaching at St. Mary of the Lakes School, and all the years in between.

Phyliss teaching at

The Davis School, Camden NJ

1953-1954

The comments spanned all through the years of being a teacher, Guidance Counselor, advisor, and Director of the Evening School. They were all similar throughout her thirty five year career from students as well as colleagues.

These were some of the relevant comments: "she was the best teacher I ever had"; "I used her teachings into my adulthood"; "I modeled my teaching career after hers," "I wish she could have taught my children and grandchildren"; "I owe my love of music, theater, and ballet to her"; "I always enjoyed her class and learned so much." ... "I never worked for such a professional." "She gave me such a sense of self-confidence. "She changed my life." "I am able to write the best business letters in my company of one hundred employees, because of her teaching."

It did not seem possible that she graduated with a bachelor's of arts degree and entered her first classroom already as a master teacher and maintained that level of performance for thirty-five years. The curriculum for her degree didn't even include any teacher training courses. My research up until this point only reinforced what I already knew. That she was an extraordinary educator from the day she started teaching to the day she stopped teaching. There seemed to be no change whatsoever over that period. Her teaching was excellent in the beginning, middle, and end of her life's work. I even hesitate to call it a career. It was so much more than that. It was a calling, a summons from above. I don't know how else to describe it.

Not having fully satisfied my objective to discover why she was able to achieve excellence the moment she entered her first classroom, I tried to study some of the techniques she used to see if they led me to an answer. These are some of the things I noticed were out-of-the-ordinary and some of the sources of her effectiveness:

Seating

From the very beginning, stodgy rows of seats were transformed into dynamic circles primed for intense learning. Unbeknownst to the student, in that first month, she quietly evaluated them and strategically formed groups based on their abilities, talents, rapport, demeanor, and their strengths and weakness. In the end, she had eight groups of six students, perfectly matched for a maximum, enjoyable, and dynamic learning experience. Yes, you heard correctly, eight groups of six students. There were forty-eight students in one class with one teacher. (It was somewhat less in the public schools.)

Somehow, she did this all magically, by observation, evaluation, or instinct. On the rare occasion of misjudgment or rapid advancement or decline of a student, she carefully made "adjustments" without a ripple, and without angst among the student. She always assigned herself to be a rotating member among the groups. She magically appeared where she was needed or could do the most good.

It was not unheard of for a member of one group to "float" among the groups if a benefit could be derived for either the student or the group, or both. Everything was fluid and changeable to achieve the maximum educational advancement for as many of her students as possible. She was the constant source of observation, evaluation, readjustment, and reevaluation. The group composition could change during the lesson or from session to session. It was a remarkable and dynamic performance that kept interest and insured progress.

Accessories and aids

Inexpensive aids, props, and handouts were extensively used. I spent many hours making copies on our "ditto machine or spirit duplicator" as they called it. (You see there was no "whining" about not having any supplies or teaching aids or inadequate facilities. Phyliss and I bought and produced whatever was necessary to advance the teaching experience for her students) One of the criticisms of the current Camden educational system is that the students don't have adequate textbooks in good condition. Imagine that with a $360,000,000 budget.

Life lessons

Integration of familiar and common surroundings into the curriculum was the norm. In the classroom in the Catholic schools, she introduced the making of bread and wine and had them consecrated for distribution at the Mass. The children were exposed to the chemistry and science behind these most sacred gifts. All the supplies and equipment were brought from home. And, the amazing part was she wasn't hauled off by the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Fire Arms, for exposing the children to alcohol. Not one student became an alcoholic.

Proficiency

On occasion, especially in the Catholic schools, Phyliss was called on to teach subjects of which she had no particular expertise. She never refused the assignment. To the contrary, it was a welcomed challenge. She didn't need to be proficient in a subject to produce students well-schooled in the discipline.

I don't believe the students even realized how she toiled to keep up sometimes. She presented to them an effortless and effective learning experience. Subject matter she determined that she was lacking in proficiency quickly became a library or homework research assignment for her, the students, and me.

It pleased me to help her and her students; it gave me insight into her devotion to her vocation, and blessed me the wonderful time with her. How ironic it was and how lovely it felt to be teaching my beloved teacher. Once again, wanting to please her, made me want to please myself.

The students were always diligent in their execution of their assignment, eager to present their findings to the group the next day. It seemed the less Phyliss knew about a particular subject, the more the students learned. By the end of the next session, there wasn't a student who did not have broad understanding of the question that no one could answer the day before. It was like magic.

Desk placement

She placed her desk at the rear of the room to quietly evaluate behavior and improve discipline, as if it needed improving. No one did this. She repositioned herself to the center of the room for presentation and rotated while speaking to establish personal communication through eye contact and facial expression. No one did this. Each child felt she or he was having a personal conversation with Mrs. Badame. No child left behind? - She invented it.

Taking notes

I remember most of the students in the classes were reasonably conscientious, certainly some more than others. I am not sure why, but as students wishing to maintain our conscientiousness, (wow, that's a long word, seventeen letters) seemed to have inherited a chromosome that has a "note taking gene." This gene compels us to continuously take notes in class. Anyone knowing Miss Crudo, would be certain that this would be a mandatory requirement (is that redundant) in her class. But, she was rarely predictable. Actually, that's not really accurate. It was predictable that she was unpredictable.

Her unpredictability always had a remarkable logic to it, however. "Note taking" was one of these subjects. As the students sensed Miss Crudo was about to embark on a particularly deep and important topic, out came the pens and pencils and note pads. I guess they were loose-leaf binders and lined paper then. One would have thought that this would have been pleasing to Miss Crudo. You would have predicted incorrectly.

No sooner did the writing begin, Miss Crudo "strongly suggested" that the students put all writing material away. The puzzled looks around of classroom appeared. Everyone thought "What is she talking about?" "Surely she must be joking," as they continued writing. She again insisted that the students put all writing material away. She was serious. Maybe she was drinking too much sacramental wine? But, Miss Crudo does not imbibe.

There was still considerable consternation being told not to take notes. After all, you can't resist something that is in your genes. She told the class that what she was about to explain would be very important and concise. Furthermore, it would be the essence of the subject matter of the class that day. She asked each student to look at her and give her, his or her complete attention.

She emphasized that the primary goal was not to "listen" to what she was saying, but to "understand" what she was saying. This would require them to focus on nothing else except what she was saying. That would not be possible if they were being distracted by the task of summarizing and writing at the same time. They understood and obeyed. They would have ample time after the discourse when she reviewed the salient points and then had time to ask questions to take all the notes they wished. She was right as usual.

A search of the Internet today, decades later, shows that this concept isn't even a glimmer in the minds of today's educators' minds. Every article posted explains how to effectively "listen" and take notes at the same time, a total futile exercise if the goal is to "understand."

To be fair, such a method of transfer of knowledge requires that the teacher comprehends the methodology.

It appears that today, none does.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**JOSEPH'S BEGINNINGS**

As was my dear wife, I was also born in Camden, New Jersey. But, unlike Phyliss who was born at home, Joseph Philip Badame was born at Cooper Medical Center a few short blocks from where sixteen year old Phyliss Marie Crudo lived with her family. While the doctor was smacking my little behind, on the morning of Sunday, June 6, 1943, sixteen million brave Americans and Allied troops were fighting Germany, Japan and Italy in World War II to insure my freedom and good life in the greatest and freest nation in all of human history.

Exactly one year later, on June 6, 1944, at 6:00 a.m., many of these same brave men, who had not been killed or seriously wounded, conducted Operation Neptune, the invasion of Normandy, France, leading to the eventual defeat of Germany and Japan (Italy surrendered in September 1943). Phyliss and I thank the almost one million dead and wounded souls whose sacrifices preserved for us this wonderful country and life with which we were endowed.

Mom and "Joey"

6 weeks old- 1943

I wish we, as a country, had fully appreciated their sacrifices and the sacrifices of the additional millions who came after them. I wish we, as a people, had only fully appreciated their bequest by being vigilant enough during our lives to have preserved it. Unfortunately, to our shame, preserve it we did not. We have been unworthy guardians of their sacrifice, memory, and legacy. I am ashamed and cry out for their largely unappreciated sacrifice of the past and the present. Please, forgive us, our brave patriots. Most of them are gone. Maybe it is better that they didn't know what unworthy guardians we have been.

After I was born, my mother and I settled in Paulsboro. I am not sure where my dad was. When I was six-months old, my parents joined the ranks of one of the few divorced Catholic families of the time. I don't know the circumstances, but I was never to know or meet my father. He was never mentioned in the household, and my mother let it be known she wanted it that way. End of story, I was a good boy, and never questioned her. I understand he died many years ago without our ever having met. I regret not ever searching for him.

During the war years, there was an extreme shortage of manpower for critical industrial jobs. The women of the nation filled this shortage admirably by filling occupations that had been previously populated by men who were now off to war. During my first year, my mom was one such woman filling a job, of all places, in a dynamite factory. She didn't get blown up but soon afterwards contracted tuberculosis. She was admitted to a sanatorium for treatment. I believe it was for three years.

When mom was hospitalized, I was generously raised by my Aunt Mary, Uncle Matt and my two cousins in Paulsboro where they had a grocery store and butcher shop.

Aunt Mary became very ill, so I was taken to Glassboro to live with my Aunt Lucy. I must have been very shy indeed, because I remember insisting that my aunt give me a bath with my underwear on. Aunt Lucy was so very patient. At least it must have saved time with the laundry. My shyness, however, seemed to have worn off with age. I usually don't bathe with my underwear on any more, even when Phyliss was around.

Unfortunately, Aunt Lucy became very ill, as well. I stayed in Glassboro to live with my grandparents. Aunt Lucy's misfortune became a positive for me. The circumstances afforded me the opportunity to learn to speak Italian and English. I was a constant companion to my grandmother and a translator for her whenever she left the house. I thought I was important and special. Actually, I guess I was. At least she must have thought so.

Joseph and Grandma Grace Costanzo

Glassboro NJ – About 1947

I remember headless chickens hanging by the legs on the back porch in front of the garden, to drain the blood after being killed and pigeons being drowned in the kitchen sink prior to being plucked, butchered, cooked and eaten.

I believe these images as a child are what caused me to dislike hunting later in life, although I strongly support the activity for others. It was a stark introduction to the cycles of life and the harshness and realities of life and survival.

Aunt Lucy, Grandma Grace, Aunt Mary

Joey's other three mothers

Glassboro, NJ about 1947

One of my more important jobs was to care for the chickens while they were still breathing. I would feed and water my "pets" and gather their eggs that they generously gifted me. I must have thought, how nice of the chickens to give us these wonderful offerings every morning without fail, but, then why did we thank them by cutting their heads off and eating them.

It was confusing. But, they did taste good, and they made great soup. I used to like the heart and the liver. But, what do kids know? I still appreciate chicken soup. Sorry, my pets.

One morning, there were only a few eggs. I waited until the chickens finished their magic. It did seem like magic. I still don't understand how they do it, every day! It was the perfect food in a perfect package, and they didn't charge us a penny. Where on Earth did they get those shells, and how did they get the egg inside? That morning, I fell sound asleep while waiting. The straw was so comfortable. No one could find "Joey."

Mama Jean Anastasiou with "Joey" age 4 about 1947

Everyone in town joined the search. My sleepy morning produced a great deal of excitement in the small town of Glassboro that lasted for a week. I finally did get the eggs and a reprimand - a gentle one. I guess they were glad to find me, and when I think about it, Phyliss and I were glad they found me as well.

I loved helping with the laundry, just like kids do today, hm. The laundry was on the second floor. It had a clothesline pulley from the window to a pole in the garden. We washed the clothes in an agitating tub with a ton of bleach from a glass bottle with a cork on top. The bottles were brought back to the store and refilled. Not recycling, but reusing! The weekly usage of bleach kept the clothes clean, but they didn't last very long.

The clothes were put through the "wringer" to squeeze the water out. That was fun. But, I always worried that I might get my tiny hands squashed by the rollers. You can't be a very good architect with squashed hands.

The big stuff, like sheets, was squeezed by wrapping them around the wall-mounted faucet above the laundry sink and twisting the other end until we couldn't twist any more. That was hard work. There was water everywhere. Why weren't we electrocuted? Nothing electric was grounded. GFI's, what were they?

My favorite part of doing the laundry was standing on a chair and clipping the clothes on the line and reeling them out on the pulley. I don't know why I never fell out the window. I remember my grandmother must have helped me somewhat, but I think I recall doing almost all of the work.

It was fun playing with the clothes' pins. They made great soldiers - violence! I don't remember any friends. But, who needed friends when you have your grandma. I don't remember my grandpa. What is a grandpa? I didn't have a father, so why should I have a grandfather? My dear Aunt Lucy got well, and I lived with my grandma and Aunt Lucy and her husband, in Glassboro until my mom was released from the sanatorium.

My mom came home. I didn't really know who she was except that she was my fourth mom. I remember she wanted to be something other than Italian, and soon I forgot most of the Italian Language I learned. I thought that everyone spoke Italian except for the guys at the store. It did seem to be a relief to be free of that second language.

We toured South Jersey by bus for a long time to find a place to live. I really didn't understand what the big deal was; I already had a great place to live.

Why did we need another one? I guess each mom needed her own house. I went to live with my real mom and a fellow I was told was my new dad. I didn't even remember the old dad. Were kids supposed to have dads? What was a dad anyway? I thought only mothers had kids.

Jenny Costanzo Anastasiou

My lovely mother

My new home was to be a row house in East Camden, back to where I started. I found out later that's where I started. (I was getting closer and closer to Phyliss, but didn't know it!) It was a nice house, but, there were no chickens. What good is a home without chickens? Where would we get the eggs? There was no garden; what would we eat? And, why were the houses up against each other? My young mind had lots of questions, but no answers. Everything was very confusing and there was no Internet to do research. We didn't even have a computer.

The next year, we moved five blocks away to another row house in Camden, one block from Phyliss' school. Except, who was Phyliss? The name didn't ring a bell . . . yet. How ironic it was, to be born blocks from each other, wander all over south Jersey for twenty-five years, only to eventually wind up in the same classroom. We were so fortunate.

This house didn't have any chickens or a garden either. It was attached to the other houses on one side but not the side where my bedroom was. That was an improvement. But, why did some moms need two houses.

I soon learned that even though my mom was released from the sanatorium, she was not "cured." I remember walking with her to the doctor's office for years of weekly visits for Pneumothorax treatments or "Pneumo" as I knew it.

"Parky" (second from the left) is caught on a rare break behind Horn and Hardart cafeteria on Market St. Phila., with co-workers and card-playing buddies. He was quite a short order cook. I worked with him for one summer. It was a brutal job. But, they did give him a gold plated watch for his 40 years of service. It was too bad they "misplaced" his pension when he retired.

When we got to the doctor's office there were so many people there. We always waited a long time. When the door opened and it was our turn, the doctor pointed at us, and waved for us to come in. He never smiled, and almost never talked. He was kind of creepy for a little guy.

We went into a separate room and using a special machine called a "fluoroscope." The doctor guided a needle into the sack around her affected lung and pumped air or something into it to collapse it so that it could rest and heal. He may have worked on each lung alternately. I'm not sure.

The fluoroscope was like a continuous x-ray that was turned on for several seconds and then off, many times during the procedure. It made a big buzzing sound when he turned it on, sort of like a death ray in the movies. Actually, it was a death ray. He would use the machine to see where the needle was, move it a little, and repeat that until it was in the right place. Then he would pump in the air or some gas and the lung would collapse.

I remember. I was there the whole time watching in fascination. The three of us wore none of the lead protective devices we see today. I never left the room.

The radiation exposure must have been substantial for all three of us. Maybe, that's why Phyliss and I don't have any children. Just kidding, we planned that.

I asked a lot of questions, but the doctor was a man of few words. I think he was glad when I left. My mom explained a lot on the walk home. She knew a lot and shared it with me.

Regarding the radiation, you need to recall, this was the era where you could walk into a drug store, no matter what your age, and for, I believe it was a quarter, stick your feet in a machine and x-ray them just because you were curious. It was very neat.

A mother could even do it while holding her baby in her arms. It was very convenient for her. She didn't even have to put the baby down. Warning labels were no where in sight. The drug store didn't need any night lighting for security. I think the whole store must have glowed at night.

Additionally, once a month, my mom and I would go to a hospital in Philadelphia to have tests performed to make sure she was doing well and I had not caught the disease. It all seemed like an exciting adventure and a learning experience. And, it was. I mean, what kid gets to see a death ray every week?

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**JOSEPH'S EARLY EDUCATION**

Mrs. Stanford's kindergarten class about 1959

Cramer Jr. High School, Camden NJ

I soon found myself in Kindergarten with Mrs. Stanford. She was so nice and so tall. But, I guess to a five-year-old, everybody is tall. My most vivid memory was of that enormous chest that Mrs. Stanford had. (No, not that chest, I was only five - really) It was filled with blocks of every color shape and size. I could build everything.

I think I was an architect even back then. But, how did Phyliss know all this? I was a gooda boy. I always put all the blocks back in the chest. It must have been a cedar chest. Everything smelled so good. I thought, "is this what school was all about - play all day?" How good is that?

My step-father, Theodore, "Parky," about 1954

A kind and gentle man

First grade was great also - great grades, great behavior. But, I lost it in second grade. If kindergarten were my "architectural period" full of construction projects, second grade was my "prolific mad artist period." And, I do mean, mad. I could not understand why the teacher gave so much time to complete our exercises. I was bored, and I talked incessantly, and loudly to get attention, I guess.

There was a table in the front of the room stacked with every type of paper I could imagine - white paper, brown paper, "math" paper, blue paper, lined paper, big paper, and little paper. It was too much temptation for my little brain and fingers.

I started drawing everything - tanks, planes, cars, boats, trucks, fire engines, missiles, but never people or trees. (Thinking about it now, it seems I was preoccupied with the creations of man that moved, and not the creations of God. That was interesting. I guess a psychiatrist would have a ball with that.)

My report card was brilliant red - good grades, but awful conduct, all year long. I was a hand full, as Miss Crudo would find out upstairs a few years later. She was unaware of the rumblings of the Mt. Saint Helen's volcano below her classroom that would rock her world and mine.

My behavior settled down after second grade. Somehow, I made it to seventh grade as an above average student without being expelled once. That was not that great an achievement, since nobody was expelled in those days. Those years were fondly remembered, filled with good friends and superior, and dedicated teachers. We liked them, they cared about us, and we received an excellent, realistic and unbiased education based in reality and fact, and free of political correctness, agendas and junk science.

My home life settled into a routine. My stepfather was a short-order cook at Horn and Hardart "Cafeteria" in Philadelphia (a precursor to the fast food craze) working on the night shift. So, I saw very little of him. He was a kind man, but I had little in common with him. For that matter, he and my mom didn't have a whole lot in common, either. But, they generally coexisted in peace.

Mom and Joe

He would frequently disappear on Friday, payday, to play cards with ship hands on shore leave at the docks in Philadelphia, and then reappear on Monday before work. This did not sit well with my mother, but there seemed to be a benign tolerance when he won. There was not so much tolerance when he lost. Actually, my recollection was he won more than he lost.

I knew he would hold back some of his winnings to start off a new game the next week. I never told my mom. I kept my step-dad's little secret all my life. The negotiations between them were somewhat precious.

Occasionally, my step-dad would come home a little inebriated and not too friendly, and there were a few heated exchanges between him and my mom that were upsetting.

My stepfather was such a kind, simple and humble man with few needs; he would have never harmed anyone. I have heard many worse stories, much worse, of other families over the years. I considered myself most fortunate.

As I mentioned, my mom had a problem with our heritage. Her passionate goal in life, above all, was to divorce herself from that heritage and become a rich and famous star like Greta Garbo, Betty Grable, or Lana Turner. They and many others like them were her role models and her heroines not because of their character or worth, but because of their beauty, wealth, and fame.

It just came to me, that my mom always fantasized and sought to be like these women to be successful on her own. She never imagined herself being married to some handsome star of means and fame to take care of her. Her dream, instead, was to become like the powerful women of her time.

Good grief, she had the makings and the aspirations of a "liberated woman." I had no idea. I didn't even truly know who a liberated woman was. To my great fortune, I was soon to find, not the fantasy, but the real thing. She would not pursue fortune and fame but rather practice humility and spread goodness.

I am not sure where my ideas for selecting a mate came from, but they seem to be the antithesis of those characteristics and values espoused my mother. Most children observe the belief systems around them and try to emulate them. Some, however, observe what's around them, decide they don't like them and pursue another contrary and opposite path. This seems to be an early commonality of thinking of Phyliss and me.

I always thought it to be a huge misapplication of the laws of physics that states "like charges repel each other and opposite charges attract each other" when applied to human interaction and behavior. I never did believe that silly presumption. It may be a law of physics but human behavior is not governed by the laws of physics. In human interaction, opposites may attract each other, but they certainly don't stay attracted for long. My belief, and I believe Phyliss' belief as well, is that persons with like, goals, personalities, religions, and other major life's behavioral determinants have a far greater chance at a convivial relationship that those of persons with dissimilar or even conflicting beliefs. It worked for us, and we agreed on everything.

Mom pursued her goal a number of ways. One was by attending "Charm School." These places would train and "polish" women for betterment or, in my mom's case, in preparation for a possible glamorous career in modeling, or even, or especially, acting.

Of course, the schools catered to those pursuits to sell extras of photo albums for obtaining jobs, fashion shows for selling clothes, and other ancillary revenue producing tactics. My mom was lovely, her albums were great, but she was not connected and probably too short to be a model. But, she always wanted to better herself, and that she did.

She was very talented. She was always well-dressed, poised, an excellent cook, and a great hostess. She had a natural affinity for interior design. Every place to which we moved was a new challenge to redecorate the spaces and buy new carpets, furniture, curtains, and actually remodel the interior. She loved the thrill of shopping for a new living space. But, when the goal was achieved, she tired of it quickly and wanted to quickly move on to the next adventure.

I came to believe that the moving was secondary to the challenge of starting a new interior design endeavor. The practice was enjoyable for her but quite costly. The results were always laudable, outstanding, and professional.

I "finished off" the basement at twelve and she decorated it. I remember it to be a pleasant joint venture. Thinking back, I regret not having the wisdom to direct her into the interior design field. What a wonderful thing it would have been to collaborate with her as part of my architectural career. It was an opportunity lost.

She gave me a sense of responsibility in assigning household chores, which I enthusiastically assumed. She recognized my talents, early on, encouraged their development, and supported their application in my life. For that I am very grateful. Thanks, mom.

She always supported me in developing my art talent. I attended an art school once a week for several years. The school was in Philadelphia. It was called the Philadelphia Museum School of Art. When my teacher left, I took public transit to his home in Narberth for a weekly lesson.

It was a complicated journey up and back. It involved, walking six blocks to the bus station, a ride on the bus to downtown Camden, a transfer to the Philadelphia bridge train, a transfer to the 69th street subway, another transfer to the Narberth bus line, a walk of six more blocks to Mr. Sykes house and then back. My mom accompanied me the first time, and then I was on my own. It certainly must have been a different world then. I think I was nine or ten.

On the way back, I would stop at "Grants" where they had a "lunch counter" in downtown Philadelphia, and get a hot dog on a buttered, toasted bun every week for my lunch. I can still taste it. This adventure improved my abilities and developed my sense of independence. I enjoyed the freedom and the sense of accomplishment of being on my own that it engendered. I still like hot dogs.

My mom was a pioneer. When I was nine years old, she joined the ranks of some of the first working moms of the time. When I got home from school, I stayed with a nearby family with three daughters. One was my age. The other two were older. The youngest girl and I became very good friends. As an only child, it was an interesting experience, and I considered them all as good friends and as a surrogate family.

Our houses were tiny. There were sometimes when I felt that a "guy" introduced into a household of all girls was a little restricting for them. I tried to make myself scarce on those occasions.

They were kind and thoughtful young ladies. I added them to my ever increasing list of nurturing ladies in my life. I think my mom paid them five dollars a week. Sometimes my mom worked late, and I ate dinner with my surrogate family. That was nice, since I don't remember doing that very often at home. They did make me feel I was part of their family. Thank you, Mary Jane, Florence, and Betty.

By eleven, I was feeling quite accomplished and independent. It did not take much convincing to have my mom agree for me to stay alone, until she got home. I joined the ranks of the first "latch key children" of the time. We were truly family trend setters. However, I learned to be careful of what you wish for my friends.

I thought I adapted to this independent life style well, but it rapidly became, boring and eventually lonely. Being alone was not what I envisioned it to be. I missed having my three adoptive sisters around as companions and confidants. Those memories of being alone have now manifested themselves once again and have come back to haunt me. Many years later, as I now write alone, without Phyliss those unpleasant feelings of loneliness have returned. I can tell you it is my worst nightmare. I would not recommend you try it at home.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**JOSEPH'S SUMMER WITH AUNT LUCY AND GRANDMA**

Joseph's Grandma Grace Costanzo

About 1960

I was now twelve years old. At the time, this summer was exactly what it appeared to be. A young grandson/nephew was having an extended stay with his grandmother and aunt. These were the grandmother and aunt who generously raised him as a child when no one else could or would.

The memories were great. But, now, I realize that this summer stay was an essential part of my training and education that were to be more important than almost all my previous educational experiences.

Aunt Lucy married a "gentleman" who was, shall we say "less than industrious." He worked when he wanted to and contributed little to the household. He was not exactly what you would call a conversationalist. I don't ever remember him smiling. What do they say? Love is blind, sometimes. They never had any children, but I don't think it was by my aunt's choice. It was a shame. She would have made a great mom. That is most likely, why she showered me with love. Thank you, Aunt Lucy.

Aunt Lucy was naturalized just three months before I was born. Her timing was perfect. Many years ago wanting to be a legal and naturalized American citizen was a proud and sought after accomplishment. I wish it were so today. The naturalization document lists her as 4'-11" and 102 pounds. Good things do come in small packages.

hoto was taken in Ohio. I have no idea what she was doing there. She was not exactly a traveler.f to war. e nation filled th

My aunt, like many women of that time, became immersed in the garment industry. Noisy rooms stifling in the summer and freezing in the winter, filled with women, sewing machines, floor fans, and the air filled with fabric lint. The job was "piece work." The women were paid based on how many hems or pockets or arms they sewed. Sew a little, get a little; sew your heart out and get barely more than a little.

It was exhausting and consuming work, bordering on slavery. She persevered as did my Aunt Mary. Both were expert seamstresses. Her frugality was only exceeded by her kindness and her generosity. Self-denial was her life. She died at ninety-six with an estate of $350,000. This was not so bad for a seamstress during the war years supporting her household and mother and no income from her husband.

Aunt Lucy just radiated kindness. This photo was taken in Ohio. I have no idea what she was doing there. She was not exactly a traveler. She was 34 years old in 1943 and died a peaceful death in 2007 at 98 years old. This wonderfully sensitive portrait was produced by Olan Mills Studio of Springfield, Ohio. Remarkably, the studio still exists.

In retrospect, I see now that my aunt was immersed in the same environment that Phyliss was, almost at the same time. As with Phyliss, all of her siblings had moved out and Aunt Lucy was unofficially designated as the sole care-giver for my grandmother. Aunt Lucy's large Italian family strongly favored the males over the females. And also not unlike Phyliss, she gladly embraced her "head of household" role with kindness and without animosity or bitterness.

By this time, my grandmother had become confused and her hearing was poor. Aunt Lucy was clearly becoming worn down from the stress. My stay that summer was a welcomed break for her and the extended stay was a chance to renew the love she had for "Joey."

That summer exposed me to the hardship and difficulty of caring for a loved one with the dual disabilities of confusion and hearing loss and how Aunt Lucy devotedly absorbed both hardships with nobility and goodness. Her burden was compounded since my grandmother could not read nor write.

This time together gave me a profound appreciation of the sacrifice my aunt was making on behalf of her dear mother and the services she was affording her many siblings. Her actions encouraged me to visit her often in the years to come.

The saddest realization for me was to come much later in life. Many years into the future, I was destined to assume the role of Aunt Lucy and Phyliss was destined to assume the role of my grandma. After her stroke, Phyliss exhibited some confusion and her hearing loss became worse and eventually turned to complete deafness.

Fortunately, she was an avid reader and my use of a dry-erase board for communications with her became her link with the outside world. Sadly, few would make the effort to communicate with her. Those days that summer, helped prepare me for the care I needed to give the one I loved the most. I have to thank Aunt Lucy for her stellar example that summer and her devoted care of me as a child. Thank you, again, Aunt Lucy.

Aunt Lucy, Uncle Matt, and my mom furthered my education in dealing with the hard of hearing and deaf, since they all eventually became deaf. This, I am afraid, is a condition for which I am destined as well, for the same tumor that took Phyliss' hearing and her life has now occupied my brain.

I pray that when my hearing is gone, someone with the compassion of Aunt Lucy and Phyliss will be around with whom I will be able to communicate.

As you pass through life, be alert for unexpected lessons. Every circumstance will present its own, unique lesson to you. You need only to be diligent, open your mind, recognize these opportunities, and allow them to teach you, if you dare.

If you fail to seize the moment, the opportunities will disappear in the blink of an eye, rarely to return. Once the moment is gone, you will be doomed to thrash your way through life in your ignorance. As it is said, at least your ignorance will be bliss, if bliss be your intent.
**JOSEPH'S SUMMERS WITH UNCLE MATT, AUNT MARY, AND COUSINS**

I was eleven and thirteen the two summers I stayed with my aunt and uncle and cousins in Paulsboro. They had a small "mom-and-pop" grocery store that included a butcher shop.

Uncle Matt is relaxing smoking and enjoying his cigar. It smelled so good.

This was a major adventure for me. I had no male role models in my life. My Uncle Matt became a father figure and my Cousin Anthony became my big brother figure. Aunt Mary was still another of the generous females in my life, and Cousin Catherine a mothering big sister. My cousins were four or five years older than I was, and attended high school.

Aunt Mary and Uncle Matt formed a devoted couple. Aunt Mary was a peaceful and dedicated soul, and Uncle Matt was a reserved and kind gentleman. I never saw him angry or heard him raise his voice. OK. Maybe once I managed to get under his skin. That was my big accomplishment. Sorry, Uncle Matt.

He smoked "Hav-a-Tampa" sweet little cigars all his life and worked in a coal mine when he was a young man. The little cigars smelled sooo good. He never was in a hospital until the day before he died at age ninety-seven. What was that about the dangers of smoking, "second-hand-smoke, and coal dust?" Explain again why it is dangerous to smoke cigarettes, cigars, and e-cigarettes and not marijuana?

Aunt Mary and Uncle Matt ran the store. Anthony worked after school and on Saturday. Catherine was shy, avoided the lime light, and concentrated on household and "mother hen" duties.

My role during the summers was to take Anthony's place in the store. Anthony was of working age, and my presence freed him to work in construction full time during the entire summer. He came home every day with boots caked with mud. I dutifully cleaned and polished them to look like new. I think he enjoyed the reaction of the other workers when he always came to work with "new" boots the next morning.

I learned quickly. I soon was able to stock the shelves, work the cash register, slice deli meats, grind coffee, clean the "show case," the floor, and the butcher block, and keep an eye on the

Joe is cutting steaks with Uncle Matt in the Paulsboro Meat Market about 1956.

"Tastykake" man leaving behind expired goods. Eventually, I advanced to butcher status and was able to cut a side of beef into roasts, steaks, and ground beef. I deboned pork butts and used the meat grinder to make sweet and hot Italian sausage. I learned to sharpen butcher knives and how to maintain all the machines in the store. It was fun.

By the end of the first summer, there wasn't a task in the store I couldn't do. I loved it, it gave me a great feeling of accomplishment, and I was helping my dear uncle and aunt.

I learned the principles of capitalism and the responsibility and hard work necessary to run a business and be successful. The best things that summer were I did not cut off a single finger, nor did I lock myself, even once, in the walk-in refrigerator. For that I am truly thankful.

One of my most important jobs was to gather the week's receipts, count the money, and walk to the bank about a mile down the road on Friday afternoon to deposit it. I never lost a cent, and I wasn't robbed once.

I suspect I was not robbed because of my tough-guy appearance that said "don't mess with me," and the grace of God. I suspect it was primarily, the grace of God, now that I think of it. What was my uncle thinking? It was a different time, I guess.

One Sunday, when the store was closed, I borrowed my cousin's bike and took a trip down the main street in town past the bank. Something made me keep going. Maybe I wanted to see if I would fall off the end of the earth. I was almost sure I wouldn't. I had never been this far from home before on my own. I went for a while until there were no more houses. I was in the middle of nowhere. Maybe I would fall off the earth.

I was ready to turn around when I could faintly hear machines, lots of machines in the distance. The closer I got the louder they became, and now the earth was shaking. I got very close and saw there were machines of every type moving what looked like mountains of dirt. It literally seemed like they were building the pyramids.

Catherine, Aunt Mary, Uncle Matt, and Joseph Paulsboro NJ – about 1958

Left and right as far as you could see was the same thing, to the horizon. I never saw anything like it. Good grief, this was Paulsboro, a sleepy little town where nothing ever changed.

I thought, "What were they building here in the middle of nowhere, possibly close to the edge of the earth?" It taxed my young brain. When I got home, I didn't say anything, because I didn't want anyone to know how far I had gone. What had I seen? It remained my secret and my mystery for quite a while.

Finally, much later, I discovered that the monumental project was the I-295 portion of the Interstate Highway System that traversed Gloucester County. This was part of 46,000 miles of roads that cost 425 billion dollars over a period of thirty-five years.

It was depressing to research. The U.S. regularly spends twice the cost of the entire interstate highway system - a total of almost a trillion dollars on welfare payments of all types, each year! This is what those poor souls during our wars fought to preserve. When I look at what has and is happening, I almost wish that June 6, 1943 never existed. I am only pleased that that day did exist to be with Phyliss and care for her. That alone made it all worthwhile putting up with this insanity.

The entire two summers were filled with pleasant experiences and memories. Among them were these really great items: a real chemistry set with dangerous chemicals and mercury to play with, alcohol stoves that could burn the house down, strike-anywhere matches that you could throw down hard on the concrete and they would light and make a "pop." My favorite, by far, was a little metal canister with a magnifying glass built into the lid from the chemistry set. If you went into a dark closet and held it up against your eye, you could clearly see atomic particles jumping like fireworks. There was no electricity or batteries, just radiation. It was remarkable, but who knows what was in that tube?

It was great, dozens of wild cats we fed meat scraps from the butcher shop, and kittens everywhere that could scratch you to death, sweeping and cleaning the barber shop next door for twenty-five cents.

I learned that you could wet one edge of a newspaper, rub it flat on the floor and use it as a dustpan and fold it over to become a container for what you swept up. The small amount of water caused the paper to adhere to itself and seal. I thought that was ingenious, so ingenious, I still remember the trick, and have used it many times since. Thanks, Tony, I guess the tip made up for the paltry twenty-five cents.

It was a big deal, knowing something that few others did and nobody knows now.

It didn't take very much to excite me. It still doesn't, really. I have always believed that Phyliss and I are not really of this world.

One of the "fondest" memories was the boy-eating mosquitoes, and the corresponding township spray truck that doused us with DDT nightly as we sat outside and actually talked to each other. We even chased the spray truck down the street on occasion. The spray had a great smell, and afterward the mosquitoes wouldn't bite for hours. Now I know what caused my brain damage.

A place called the Socony Vacuum Oil Company was few miles away, along the Delaware River. It was an oil refinery. It was directly up wind of my uncle's store. The air smelled of rotten eggs, sometimes stronger than others but always present. I wonder if my cousin and I are still eligible to have some lawyer to fight for our rights and qualify us for substantial financial compensation. All things considered, it was a great place to raise a family.

I should not forget to mention the forts and cars I made with wooden grape boxes, "spit-shining" everybody's shoes, learning to "curse," trying to figure out what a "jock strap" was, older girls with skimpy clothes, real "knockers" (I guess they were all real then), and always chewing gum, "hangin' out" with the big guys, faked pictures of "nude" women doing "strange" things, our special row in the movie theater, and watching and learning from the "big guys" so I could emulate them when I went home. And people wonder where boys get their strange ideas.

There was a place they called the "dredge." It was an abandoned, bottomless quarry of some sort that claimed the life of at least one young person each summer. Everyone seemed to be upset, but the kids kept using it, and nobody did anything about it. Oh wait, I think they put up a "do not trespass" sign. Yes, that was it. But, it didn't seem to be very effective. They just didn't seem to have a reverence for life and protecting children back then, the way we do today.

Actually, I myself, your trusted author, almost drown, twice in one summer, but not at the "dredge." I couldn't swim, and I had a great fear of the water. Well, not all water, just a fear of it when there was a lot in one place, and I was in it. I could still drink it, brush my teeth, and take a bath, even to this day.

One summer day, there was an enormous storm accompanied by an equally enormous downpour. A number of roads were flooded in town and many cars were stranded. My Cousin Anthony and I set out to be good Samaritans. We pushed a number of cars with young damsels in them to dry ground. It was actually enjoyable, and they seemed to be very appreciative.

Down the street, the road was flooded pretty badly and a car was right in the middle of the flood. We approached it. It began looking like a lot of water in one place and I was walking into it. When we arrived at the car, I was up to my waist, but I was OK. My cousin was a great swimmer. We started to push the car out of the flooded intersection. The bottom fell out. I had stepped into an open manhole.

Thankfully, at that time cars had real bumpers which extended beyond the body. I was pushing on the trunk, slid down and grabbed the bumper. My Cousin Anthony grabbed my arm and pulled me out. Phyliss and I thank you, dear cousin. Lesson: never walk into a flooded street unless you are in a boat.

Again, I was standing at the edge of a lot of water in one place. This time it was a lake. My cousin had come to the lake to try to learn to water ski and a neighbor friend my age and I went along for the ride. The boat owner had my cousin put on the skis in the water and asked if I would hold him in place around the waist until the boat started to pull him. No problemo. You guessed it.

I wasn't ready for the acceleration, and the boat pulled us both into the lake before I could let go. You know the expression: "I was in way in over my head." Well, I was. I panicked. I managed to flail enough to stay afloat, but I was not getting any nearer to the shore. My friend jumped in and pulled me to shore. That probably would have ruined the day and ended the water-skiing lesson. Thank you, Bruno. I never told anyone, until now.

Every summer a few girls would get "knocked up" as they said. What was "knocked up?" I remember getting "knocked down" a few times, but getting "knocked up" didn't make any sense. It defied gravity. That whole thing was still a mystery to me. There was no one to ask. I just had to listen and try to put the pieces together.

There were no secrets in town. Everyone seemed to know. Whatever it was, it appeared that it involved a guy and a gal, but a number of guys would claim "credit" for the deed, whatever the deed was. I told you. It was a mystery to me. It seemed that the gal always disappeared for a while when this event happened, but the guys always stayed around. It was sort of like the rapture. But, I didn't know what that was either. I really didn't know too much about anything, now that I think about it.

There were no casinos then. Gambling was against the law. I guess we would say it was illegal today. Well, except for horse racing. That was different. But, then, everyone could always gamble by placing a bet with the "bookie" at the liquor store, if he didn't happen to be in jail that week. I could never figure out why he would be in jail sometimes and out of jail sometimes. And, why could one gamble at the race track and not down the street at the liquor store? It was a dilemma that I could never understand.

Dear Aunt Mary and Uncle Matt

I would work in the butcher shop during the celebration of Jesus' Birth, you know, the "Christmas Break." Ops, I meant "The Winter Interval." I am so sorry if I offended anyone.

Winter had its own enjoyable memories. I loved selling the Christmas trees. I did it again, Holiday trees. Oh, they smelled so good, and there were so many. They seemed to be so big, but I think I was so little. The best part was after the Holiday was over. There, I finally got it right. There were always many trees left over. What a shelter you can make with a dozen fir trees. My uncle thought it was great because I had to cut many of them up and they were easier to discard. This construction was more training for my architectural vocation.

My other enjoyable memories during the winter were keeping the kerosene stove going in the butcher shop and tending the coal furnace in the house. The kerosene stove was easy to keep going. The coal furnace required real skill. But, I was up to the task.

Coal had to be added during the day and the furnace had to be "banked" before bed. Banking required adding and arranging the coal and ash and adjusting the air intake to slow the burning of the coal to last the night.

The fire could not go out at night because it was a real pain to start a new fire in the morning. Less heat was needed at night because everyone was covered in bed.

My experiences with the kerosene heater and the coal furnace must account for my fascination with anything that burns any kind of fuel, even to this day.

My infatuation with burning fuel could also be related to my desire to destroy the planet, or maybe it's just my desire not to freeze to death, to take a hot shower, to drink pure water, to cook and eat foods and consume goods from all over the world, to use a car and electricity for just about everything.

Oh, my. I guess true conservationist don't do any of those things? Do I sound frustrated?

All of these activities and experiences left me with vivid and fond memories into adulthood. It was quite an education and real ball for a little guy like me . . . as long as I didn't blow myself up, drown, set the town on fire, cut my fingers off, irradiate myself, get arrested, get cancer, tuberculosis, or polio, or prematurely become a father or spouse.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**ABOUT EARLY "LOVE"**

About two months after I published "My Teacher, my Bride," I received a lovely e-mail from a contemporary of mine from school. It was so good to hear from JJ so many years later. We were dear friends starting in the eighth grade. We had evidently wandered around south jersey all out lives from Camden, to Pennsauken, to Medford literally being constant neighbors and not realizing it. In her e-mail she indicated a smile and endearingly remarked, "I thought I was your first love, (smile)." Were we boy friend and girl friend? Well, sort of. You must remember we grew up in a different age. Then, generally, a boy friend and a girl friend were boys and girls who were close friends. That was us.

Today, many times, a boy friend and girl friend usually means a couple swirling in a pot of steaming hormones ready to boil over into every human emotion for four months. They then both jump out into the next pot of steaming hormones with someone else for the next three months until the female gets pregnant and is tempted to commit an unspeakable act. Certainly, that was not the relationship that JJ and I had or wanted. That may be a bit harsh, but let's face it that is what progressive groups want us to believe and promote in every way possible to younger and younger audiences. The apparent goal is to remove any semblance of morality from society and rob youth of their childhood and their innocence. They are unrelenting and they are succeeding.

We were dear friends who were attracted to each other as boys and girls have been since the beginning of time. We enjoyed each other's company. One day while walking to her house, I nervously and sweating profusely stopped, found the courage to reach into my pocket and pull out a friendship ring and put it awkwardly on her finger. I am not sure whether I was more nervous in giving it to her or she was more nervous in accepting it. I am certain she was as surprised as I was.

It would seem that this bond with JJ was unrelated to the beginnings of my infatuation with Miss Crudo. But, in retrospect, I don't believe it was. It wasn't at all. In fact, thinking over my early years of relations with the young ladies of my youth, the associations were integrally woven into the fabric of my attraction to Phyliss and had a great deal of impact on our eventual union.

Subconsciously, it was the nature, character, comradery, and the kindness of my female friends of my youth that established my expectations and developed the vision of my future partner for life.

* * * * * * * *

My earliest recollection of the opposite sex was my preschool friendship with BR. We had a lot in common and spent a lot of enjoyable time together. We really were compatible friends. The details are fuzzy, but I do remember once a small slice of that time together having being spent during, shall we say, a "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours" session. There, I said it. It only lasted a minute. Really, there wasn't much to see, for either of us as you can imagine. Well, maybe you shouldn't imagine.

She was a good friend, and I remember being so sad for her, thinking, "I wonder what happened to hers?" "Where did it go?" I didn't dare ask her. It was too painful to think about. The poor dear had been shortchanged, somehow. I have no idea what she was thinking about "mine." I didn't dare ask that either. As a result, there evidently was not much discussion about the matter.

Our inquisitiveness having been satisfied, that was the end of that chapter. What was all the fuss about? Our curiosity may have been satisfied, but as with all of mankind's pursuits of profound scientific importance, in the end there seemed to be more questions posed than answers generated. Evidently, the answers to those questions would have to wait a while to reveal themselves, a long while.

BR and I continued our friendship, but we drifted apart a bit when school started. We just never seemed to be in the same class. In second grade, RC came along to fill the void. It was so effortless to be with her. I had to keep pinching myself to remind me that she was a girl. All the guys said that girls were "yukky." "RC, was yukky?" I just didn't see it, myself. It didn't seem to be worth giving up such a wonderful friendship just to avoid their ridicule. What was their problem?

Again, the reality of class selection caused RC and me to be separated in fourth grade just when AG arrived on the scene. At the end of the year, I heard that AG's parents were moving. When I found out she was to move, I tore my closet apart and found a little plaster rabbit that I prized. I dusted it off and tried to cover up the little chips with a colored pencil, and ran over to her house to give it to her and maybe convince her to stay.

My frantic and repeated knocks were met with dead silence. It appeared that they had already moved. I was destroyed that my friend had left without saying goodbye. I left the rabbit inside the storm door without any knowledge that she would ever get it. In my rush, I left my pencil home and I had no paper, so I couldn't even write a note. I waited and waited, but never saw or heard from her again.

Fifth and sixth grade saw a resurgence of my friendship with BR, but class assignments had their usual deadly effect. With the arrival of seventh grade, I must have suffered from fatigue and took a breather for a year. The following school year is when JJ and the friendship ring arrived.

* * * * * * * *

"What does all of this have to do with you and Phyliss, Joe?" A lot. JJ's e-mail made me think about her friendship and all those other early friendships and what an omission this chapter was to our story. The more I thought, the more I found a common theme. The theme was true friendship, kindness, respect, and caring.

All these young ladies possessed these qualities and feelings toward me, and I can only hope that I returned the same feelings in equal measure to them. There was no fighting, or disagreement, no unkindness, no deception and meanness, just two young people enjoying each other in harmony. There may have been some minor bumps, but, I don't really remember any.

The associations were the prelude, the foundation, of a healthy bond with the opposite sex. Each young lady, without exception, advanced and developed my positive thinking and knowledge of male / female relations. All of the experiences built on each other toward a healthy and affirmative impression of not just male/female relations, but in general relations between kind and caring souls.

My experiences developed what I would come to expect and who I would pursue as I matured. It further was a testing ground of how my actions impacted the ladies. The associations with these dears laid the foundation of my vision of the person with whom I wanted to spend my life. Little did I know that so early in my life that vision would manifest itself into finding Miss Crudo without even looking for her. It was as if she dropped from heaven at just the right time.

Thank you, to all my young ladies for preparing me for the experience of my life. I can only pray that God has or will grant you a gift of love that was granted to me.

* * * * * * * *

A word of caution to parents, grandparents and guardians: My utopian-like experiences with these young ladies and with my dear wife, may give the wrong impression of the world out there. While my major experiences were all positive, it does not mean that negativity and discord did not swirl around me and that it will not threaten your little loved ones.

I encountered in those years, and even recently, individuals whose behavior and influence was not positive and was not what it seemed to be. It has not and is not so easy then and even now, to distinguish the good from the bad, the truth from deception, the sincere from the devious, or the kind from the evil. This was a skill for which my darling, Phyliss had no equal – I not so much. Recognizing these distinctions among your children's friends and directing their lives accordingly will be of paramount importance for a productive and positive future for your loved ones.

The associates of your charges, whoever they may be, can have a profound effect on their lives. In my case, as I grew up, the influence was overwhelmingly positive. I managed, with a great deal of guidance, to sidestep those detractors that were insincere with ulterior motives. And, believe me, there were detractors. It is not easy and you cannot rely on your young ones to make these life-altering decisions on their own. They are not mature enough and the challenges are too great. Their associates can make their lives fulfilled and wonderful or they can destroy their lives and yours in the process. Be ever vigilant. Be always on your guard. Remember Ronald Regan – "Trust but verify."

How did I get from "About Early Love," to Ronald Regan? Sometimes I have to scratch my head.

Photo Credit: Dreamtime
**MISS CRUDO AND JOSEPH MEET**

The Cramer Junior High School where Phyliss and I met incorporated all the grades from Kindergarten through ninth. I spent my first ten years of education at this school. I completed sixth grade and entered the junior high portion of the school. Mrs. Boss, my seventh grade homeroom teacher was very pleasant and competent. I had a very good rapport with her and my fellow classmates. Being in her class was a pleasant experience. I did well that year getting a "B" average.

Phyliss Crudo, educator

During the second half of the year, I started hearing about "Miss Crudo," the eighth and ninth grade English and Spanish teacher. Everything I heard about her was favorable and those who were in her classes were very fond of her. Her reputation throughout the school indicated that she was an excellent teacher and her classes were enjoyable to attend. She was known to be a demanding teacher but extremely understanding and fair. Many of the students advancing to eighth grade like me were hoping to be in her classes.

I never heard anything negative about her from anyone. I would occasionally see her in the hallway outside her class. She was very lovely and pleasant. She was always dressed so nicely and looked so "proper." Not a hair was ever out of place. I noticed she was never alone. She always seemed to be surrounded by students or by other teachers. I had a bit of envy that I was not one of those students surrounding her. There was something about her.

Students entering eighth grade had to make a choice among studying the Latin, French, or Spanish languages. I remember being "encouraged" by the Latin and French teachers to take their languages, since everyone wanted to take Spanish just to be in Miss Crudo's class. I was no exception. It did not seem to be a case of selecting a language but rather selecting a teacher. I wanted to be in Miss Crudo's class even if she taught "Byelorussian." As a result, the French and Latin classes were very small and Miss Crudo had several overflowing classes of Spanish. Having the truancy officer teach Latin didn't help.

The year I entered the eighth grade, "the powers that be" in the school decided to try an experiment. They formed an "all boys" eighth grade class. Who thinks of these things? There was not to be a corresponding "all girls" class. I was "fortunate" enough to be part of the experiment and joined Mr. Leonetti's homeroom class.

Oscar Henderson, educator

We were not only Mr. Leonetti's bane, but every other teacher had to deal with the "class from hell."

Many of us had Mr. Oscar Henderson who taught us in "print shop." Times have changed, and so rapidly. Johannes Guttenberg invented the printing press in 1439, 1439 folks. In 1958 mankind was still printing with essentially the same technology invented five hundred nineteen years before. In less than a generation that technology has become so useless, it might as well be from the Stone Age.

But, there we were printing the various publications of the school just like Mr. Guttenberg. Even though we were learning the technology of the past which had no future, Mr. Henderson taught us so much more than printing as Phyliss taught us so much more than just English and Spanish.

They both taught us the rules of life, of respect and how to be a responsible adult in civil society. This is the true value of this comprehensive teaching. The technology has become obsolete and disappeared, but the accompanying life principles that were taught were ageless and still with us. If only the subject matter had been taught, we would have been left today with having learned nothing of any use in our adult lives.

Mr. Henderson's techniques today would be considered barbaric and labeled as capital punishment but they worked and they worked well. Transgressions in the classroom generated hours of cleaning the floor of tiny lead letters, placing them in "the hell box" and endlessly sorting them for reuse. Other times an impropriety by one would rain retribution on every one in the class. Try outstretching your arms in front of you and alternately clench and release your fist for ten minutes. The transgressions never repeated, order and civility were maintained, and learning progressed professionally and without interruption.

The point to be made is this. Miss Crudo and Mr. Henderson had differing teaching and discipline styles with the same goal and the same result.

More importantly they were professional and competent and understood human nature and education.

Most importantly, they had the freedom in their respective classrooms to apply their methods with great effect and success without interference from an incompetent system fueled by irrelevant and politically correct principles. They were superior teachers who were free to control their classrooms and as a result we all learned the subject matter and the rules of life. God bless them both. I am sure they are smiling and comparing notes right now.

Needless to say, there were to be no more "all boys" classes when the experiment ended. No one ever talked about it again. God, bless Mr. Leonetti for his perseverance and his patience. There was even a reunion testimonial for him a few years ago. It seemed we really liked each other after all. It was a unique experience. It is hard to imagine all that testosterone contained in one room.

This is the pastel still life that started it all. I was not aware that it was all that great a work. But, I did do it when I was 13. I guess it was not so bad. All that matters is that Miss Crudo loved it; and it was the start of her loving me.

I had no idea when I was drawing it, that it would change our lives.

When the class assignments for eighth grade were posted, I got my wish, times three. I was to have Miss Crudo for English, Spanish, and homeroom – I hit the jackpot – the trifecta. There is a phrase commonly used, "Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it." It implies that you might not like it when you do get it. This was not such a case for me. I was captivated, enthralled, enchanted, beguiled, call it what you will, all at the same time from the moment I met her.

The Cramer Junior High School 1958 Faculty, staff and officers - The school looks as drab and gloomy now as it did in 1958. But, as always, the facility has little to do with the quality of learning. It is the skill, understanding, and industry of the faculty and the diligence of the students that are of utmost importance. We were fortunate enough to have the quality of faculty and the diligence of the students. Nothing else mattered. Wouldn't it be so wonderful if we could have given the same to the next generations? I fear we have not . . . All of these fine people are retired or have left us.

I am painfully aware that my beloved "P. Crudo" is gone, never to be replaced. It looks like I had my eye on her even in 1958.

I had never met anyone like her, during my long life of fourteen years. Actually, now that I am seventy-one, I still haven't. But, to Miss Crudo, I was just another student among a sea of students . . . for a couple of days.

Miss Crudo never limited her teaching to the prescribed subject matter. After the preliminaries were over and formal teaching started, she began to branch into other fields and seamlessly intertwine other interests and disciplines with the formal teaching of the subject matter.

That was the beauty of her classes; she increased student interest by exposing them to other disciplines. To accomplish this, one day she encouraged the members of the class to bring in crafts, artwork, or other objects they had produced to describe them to the class, a sort of show-and-tell session.

Immediately came to mind, a pastel still life of the "Venus di Milo" I had done in my Philadelphia art classes with Mr. Sikes. I completed it the year before when I was thirteen. I was very proud of it. It seem like it would be the perfect choice to show Miss Crudo. I had no idea, how perfect.

The next day many students brought in a wide variety items that they had produced over the years from previous classes and group activities. I remember some of them being quite extraordinary. It was a marvelous technique for her to discover talent in the class and to get to know the students more thoroughly.

Additional important benefits from the session were that the students got to know each other better, recognize each others abilities, test their presentation skills, and develop friendships with other like-minded classmates. A simple request by Miss Crudo turned into a major educational and enriching experience.

When class started the next day, Miss Crudo was beseeched with students vying for her attention to show her their proud achievements. Everyone wanted to be noticed and receive recognition and approval. Everyone did get her attention.

I was initially somewhat shy, if you can fathom that, and remained in the back of the group with my exhibit. I had no idea how my pastel would be received among so many fine exhibits the other students brought to display.

From the front of the class, she acknowledged me when she saw I was holding a rather large wrapped object. She seemed curious. This encouraged me to abandon my shyness and make my way closer to her and remove the brown wrapping paper covering the still life.

It definitely captured her attention. Once the wrapping was removed, I turned it to face her and her expression just blew me away. My goodness, "You did this, Joseph" Without waiting for an answer, she said, "This is remarkable!" I can still hear the words echo today. My feet ceased touching the floor.

The person I had been admiring so much actually noticed me. I specifically remember Miss Crudo was so impressed with my pastel and said so, but she continued to show interest in the other students and their creations. She was that kind and aware of the feelings of all the students. That's why they came to love her as I did.

Years later, Phyliss told me, that this event produced her first recollection of me. Before that day, she had no memory of me at all. From that day on, she said she went from not being able to remember me to not being able to forget me. I was not a student, but a special student with considerable potential. I became, Joseph, someone whose accomplishments she would enhance and whom she would come to admire as well. What a fortuitous day it had become for us both. We just didn't know it yet.

After the class, she escorted me down to the art teacher, Mrs. Patterson, with the pastel. I still don't remember my feet touching the stairs as we went down to the first floor. When we arrived in the art class, Miss Crudo didn't have to say a word. I thought Mrs. Patterson was going to kiss me. I had made a friend for life.

Many years latter, I had a chance encounter with Mrs. Patterson and Mrs. Garbarino, my science teacher in high school. They were so excited to see me, and I them. When I told them I was an architect, they both jumped up and down and clapped their hands like a couple of school girls. They were genuinely thrilled with what I had accomplished. How kind they were to rejoice about the success of one of their students. These were the kinds of teachers we had.

As the year passed, extraordinary learning took place in an extraordinary atmosphere. There were some rocky times, caused entirely by yours truly, but it was an unparalleled experience between students and teachers in all the classes and in our homeroom. Our associations had all the characteristics of a family away from home.

Year eight blended with year nine. Now I was in Miss Crudo's homeroom, English, and Spanish classes. I wasn't in class, I was in heaven. These two years were unique in our lives and formed the foundation of our life's relationship. It was not a school or a classroom; it was a magical place where learning and camaraderie took place, effortlessly, not just for me, but for all of us.

Miss Crudo's unique brand of discipline, superior, yet enjoyable teaching, unorthodox methods, approachableness, openness, and sincere concern for her students gave a gregarious student like me ample latitude to occasionally cause potential classroom havoc, a havoc which I sometimes distributed generously to her and my classmates.

There was no end to my immature, yet occasionally cute antics, whether it was trolling around the class with my desk, imagining it was a car, pretending I was she by wearing her long winter coat while she was called into the hallway by a colleague, or saying, "I'll see you later "Toots,"" on my way to the next class. As they say in French, I was truly "insupportable." There isn't a word in English that quite says it like that.

When I got caught performing a caper, she always responded with a stern, but somewhat contrived and etiolated admonishment. But her barely perceptible, knowing smile would manage to betray her underlying amusement.

I knew she wasn't really angry, the class knew it, and she knew it too. Her manner endeared her to the entire class and, of course, especially to me. She possessed a unique and marvelous mixture, so difficult to achieve, of discipline combined with warm-heartedness and joviality. She truly had, not an iron fist, but rather a firm hand inside a velvet glove. It was a unique pleasure to be in her company.

I kept the class lively, and my fellow classmates entertained. But, they marveled how Miss Crudo never disciplined me by sending me to the Principal's office, not once. She was always more than competent of, shall we say, "Constructively and positively redirecting" any antics of a student in her class, even mine.

Somehow her many skills kept me under control while maintaining extraordinary discipline and a superior level of teaching. On occasion, much to my embarrassment and chagrin, she even turned my mischief into a relevant teaching moment. I was often not as clever as I thought, and never her equal.

She was always capable of subtlety disciplining, me. As disruptive as I was, I was never a match for her quiet mastery of classroom decorum and her relentless pursuit of learning.

No one, in my life experience then or since, has even come close to her teaching skill under any circumstance.

The repartee in the classroom for those two years, rather than causing friction between us, strangely developed the foundation of our strong friendship and mutual respect. There was an enchantment about our interaction that was to last for as long as we both lived.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**JOSEPH'S BROKEN NOSE AND THE END OF HIS INFATUATION**

One of the many extracurricular activities assigned to the very capable Miss Crudo was organizing the "canteen dances." This was not an activity she savored, but one for which she was eminently qualified because of her administrative prowess, her skill with ballroom dancing, and her abilities to solicit the enthusiastic participation of the students and parents.

Actually, there wasn't much for which she wasn't qualified, now that I recall. But then, an unbiased observer I was not then, nor am I now.

Miss Crudo deftly designated various duties to students that she selected for their abilities, talents, and preferences. One of her strongest abilities was skillful "designating." For all the duties assigned to her by the principal, she had no choice but to assign duties to others. It built character in the students and introduced them to the responsibilities of life. She often assigned students duties well above their apparent level of accomplishment, always challenging them to rise to a higher level of competence. It always seemed to do just that.

My perceived talents in art earned me the task to oversee the decoration of the single room called the "gym/auditorium/cafeteria/dance hall" where the dances were held. This room was used for all these activities, but it was suited for none. It had a small locked balcony and a hardwood floor, characteristics that would soon lead to my demise.

While the "jitter bug," "the "stroll," and the "twist," among other dances, were popular, they could not compete with the "slow dances" for "snuggling up" to the young ladies. Much "snuggling up" managed to take place despite the "always proper" Miss Crudo's generous use of her ruler to expose violations of the "snuggling up" rules. I seem to remember that less than four inch spacing while "slow dancing" incurred an appropriate reprimand. I was told recently that the rule was six inches. My knowledge of this rule was gleaned from observation only since I, of course, never violated it, personally.

"Slow dancing" was difficult to execute because the "dance hall" hardwood floor was so scuffed and surfaced with rubber from gym shoes. One day, the week of the dance, another classmate and I got the bright idea to paste wax the entire floor to eliminate this deficiency.

We spent an entire Saturday on our knees dispatching this task. Ouch, our aching backs and the blisters on our knees seemed worth it. But most importantly, the deed was done. The two of us were so proud of our accomplishment. If I remember correctly, we did this only once.

I think I remember the dances were on Friday night, and we had from the end of school day Friday until dance time to decorate the "dance hall." Accessing the balcony was essential to anchor and pin some of the decorations that crossed the room and was important to attach displays.

The balcony was entered from the second floor hallway, but the doors were locked. The janitor had left for the day, and all of the teachers who had keys to the doors were in an after-school teachers' meeting. Normally, Miss Crudo would direct the preparations for the dances, but she was in the meeting as well.

The room had an extremely high ceiling and the balcony was up there in the stratosphere. Being a resourceful student, this was not a problem for me. Use of the twelve-foot, wooden ladder from the boiler room would make it simple to get around this obstacle that was impeding our progress.

I placed the well-used wood ladder, perfectly just under the balcony corner, on the newly-waxed, slippery hardwood floor and mounted the first two steps to pursue my goal. What could possibly go wrong?

My next recollection was seeing the ceiling-mounted exam light in the emergency room at Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital. I don't even remember climbing the ladder.

I was told later, that to stretch to reach the balcony, I needed to violate "the prime directive of ladder use" and stand on the top step. Adding to my violation was not having anyone hold the ladder, and placing it on the equivalent of an ice-skating rink. I cannot, to this day, understand why I lost my balance and smashed my face against the wall on the way down.

One of the astute members of the decorating committee quickly summoned our most competent gym teacher, Mr. Greenwald, who called for an ambulance and helped the EMT's untangle me from the ladder. I did not know my head held so much blood. It went all over our newly-waxed floor, no less.

What a mess it was, a broken nose, a concussion, a bruised ego, and one broken ladder.

I didn't attend the dance that night, and I understood the decorations were noticeably sparse.

There was one consolation, however. I did get to meet the "butcher of Camden," up close and personal. The next day, he came into my hospital room, unannounced. This monster of a man, shoved my nose over with the heel of his hand, stood back, tilted his head and said, "It needs a little more." He pushed again, stood back, tilted his head again, and said, "That's just right." I wanted to tell him, "You should see it from my side," but I was polite.

It was my first introduction to advanced medical technology and excellence. At least now I have a nose worthy of membership in a number of popular ethnic groups. Despite this enlightening exposure to the healing arts, medicine was not my first vocational choice in college. I don't know, after that day the medical profession just seemed to lose its appeal for me. Now that I think of it all these years later, he didn't even treat the blisters on my knees! Where is a medical malpractice lawyer when you need one?

Actually, there were two consolations to my mishap. The first, I just mentioned, was of dubious value, the second had some real benefits. The fall produced a steady stream of female members of the dance decorating committee and others concerned for my quick recovery and return to school.

I received a great deal of, what I thought, was well-deserved attention for my accomplishment. This really helped the bruised ego part. All this attention was not an unpleasant experience, and it almost made the episode worthwhile . . . well, almost.

But, the best was yet to come. Miss Crudo walked into the room.

(It was she who taught me that you walk "into" a room when you enter, not "in" a room. My dear's teaching is still with me fifty-five years later!)

While I certainly was pleased to see her, I was, nonetheless, a little apprehensive about her visit. I truly believed I would receive a much deserved, rather severe reprimand for being so completely and ridiculously stupid. Many might say, justifiably. It was a propensity I carried with me well into my adulthood.

Instead of receiving a reprimand, all I saw was the sincere concern for my well-being on her lovely face. I felt her empathy emanate from her for my condition, and she expressed her relief that I was not more seriously injured. Rather than a reprimand, I received an apology for her not being there to unlock the balcony doors for me and oversee the dance preparations as she customarily did. I readily forgave her.

Miss Crudo's visit that day with her kindness and genuine sympathy turned my infatuation with her to deep fondness and a sense of friendship. I sensed that the felling was mutual. I felt that her presence was more than just a hospital visit to an injured student. I wish she could be here for me to ask her if it were.

Her visit that day actually did make it all worthwhile:

a lifetime of friendship and love for a broken nose.

I'll do that all day, thank you very much.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**PHYLISS' CHARACTER, THE BIG MOVE - TWO LIVES BECOME ONE**

The Crudo's were a large Italian family transplanted from the Calabria region of southern Italy to a large house in Camden, New Jersey. Her siblings grew older and married. They moved out of the house leaving Phyliss, the youngest child, alone to care for her aging parents and to manage and fully pay for the upkeep of the large house and associated living expenses.

This was a responsibility which she enthusiastically and passionately assumed. Adding to the difficulty of these tasks, was the fact that her father was frail with increasing health issues compounded by heart disease and breathing problems, and her mother was partially crippled by a girlhood injury.

The teaching profession, at that time, was not well compensated. To help remedy that, Phyliss worked full-time teaching during the day, teaching evening school every night, and working at the bank Saturday and Sunday, when it was closed to the public. Individually, these jobs were demanding, but together they would challenge even the most talented and energetic among us. Just the logistics around Camden were daunting, especially for a lone woman.

It is a marvel how she added to that burden the loving care of two aging and needy parents and the role of matriarch of a family of eleven. Somehow she met all of her self-imposed, moral and financial obligations with enthusiasm and vigor.

A short time later, remarkably, she was to add the well-being of two priests, four nuns, and a directionless young boy to her growing list of fortunate beneficiaries. All were lifelong recipients of her kindness and love.

Mr. Crudo's condition worsened during the summer from the heat and humidity. The deterioration of the neighborhood in Camden was accelerating as aging parents died, children moved out, and the industrial base of the city declined.

Phyliss investigated having the house air conditioned, but the cost was prohibitive. Never discouraged, she determined that the remedy was to have a new house built with air conditioning and filtered air in safer neighboring Pennsauken, one solution to solve two problems.

With God's help, and her strong will and faith, in a man's world of the nineteen-fifties, she managed to finance and oversee the move, as a single woman with two dependents, limited resources, and no outside help. She was an ever resourceful woman with a respect and love for family and parents. She never complained nor asked for assistance nor received it from anyone, not once.

Among all this activity, Phyliss was unknowingly beginning to become acquainted with her future husband of forty-five years. It is sad to know, in retrospect, that this marvelous mentor and untiring care-giver, full of life and energy would require twenty-nine of those years as a recipient of the same intense care that she gave.

Such are the cruel natures of life's cycle, the unstoppable march of time, and relentlessness of aging and decline. I thank God that through a labyrinth of complex chance events, we were brought together to love and care for each other when we were needed and no one else was there.

The move to the new home was about to become a reality. Phyliss and her parents would be in a safer neighborhood and her father's health would benefit from the new environment. Daddy could never again be well, but because of his beloved daughter's substantial love and efforts, his last years would be more comfortable.

Many years later, what a terrible and sad irony it would be . . . Phyliss could never again be well, but because of her beloved husband's substantial love and efforts, her last years would be more comfortable.

Concurrences of unrelated events were about to make our separate lives join as one, for our lifetimes.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL - THE FIRST DAY OF "US"**

During my two years in Miss Crudo's classes, to say I was enamored with her, and even before, would be a gross understatement of the highest magnitude.

However, the sad day had come, the day I dreaded. It was a warm, sunny day in June. It was the last day of class and my last day to have Miss Crudo as my teacher. It was a horrible day for me, and I dreaded that it had arrived. "I would never see her again," I was sure. I knew it would come, but now it was finally here.

"What was the big deal?" "I could still visit her from time to time." After all, I only lived one block from the school. But, I knew it would not be the same. There would be no more enjoyable learning, and repartee in the classroom, no more sincere concern and counsel, or no more assurance that I was in the presence of the best teacher on Earth. She was such a lady and so accomplished. No more knowing she cared about me and every student. This was a tragedy from which I would never recover. If I could imagine death, this would be it.

Maybe this was a little dramatic, but after all, I was just a youngster, and it was a monumental event in my young life. I never knew anyone quite like her, before or after I met her. Now she would be gone. It was a truly calamitous event for me. I thought it would help to prolong these last moments as long as I could. But, then again, would I be prolonging my agony? Her departure really was agony for me. I awkwardly lingered in our classroom on the third floor long after the other students had left as she gathered her belongings from her desk.

She did not seem to mind at all that I was still there. I remember the waves in her hair were quite lovely as she looked down at her desk. I got the feeling she also would be unhappy not to see me again. Just that thought helped me dissipate my anxiety.

Then I thought, "I did have a purpose being there!" We were on the third floor, her car was far away, and she had a lot of "stuff." Voila! She would need help, and here I am to help! I was temporarily saved, some additional minutes with her! It actually turned out to be more like an exhausting extra hour, up and down those familiar flights of stairs with all that "stuff." I guessed good teachers needed lots of "stuff." I was glad I was there to help.

We got the last load, and she locked the classroom door. The school that had contained the roar of ten grades of students was uncharacteristically silent. The sound of the latch echoing in the empty hallway was ominous and final. Most likely, I would never be back again. I had spent most of my life there. As we went up and down the stairs, I could not help but think, "She sure is in good shape, I am out of breath and soaked, and she wasn't even sweating." I don't think I ever saw her sweat. I just had to assume that ladies don't sweat, they perspire.

We carried the last of her belongings to the car and put them in the trunk. It was a big trunk and consumed her belongings with ease. It was a beautiful 1957 black Mercury Montclair, so clean and shinny. Unbeknownst to me, it would belong to me one day. It was the first of many generous endowments from her.

This was it. I held the car door open for her, (guys did that then, and I still do) and she got into the car. She effortlessly slid into the seat, so ladylike, as she did everything. I thought, "Her legs were so lovely." "Concentrate, Joseph!"

As I was ready to close the door, she began putting the key in the ignition and hesitated. It produced a few more seconds with her! "Joseph, do you have anything to do right now?" "I'd like to show you something." "Would you like to come with me?" she said. "Was I hearing things?" "Be still my heart!" This was a lot more time.

These two questions in this moment, and my answer, changed our lives forever.

My mind screamed, "Of course, I don't have anything to do right now!" "That was a silly question." I would have canceled my funeral to go with her. (Imagine a female teacher asking a male student that today - what a sad and perverted world we have created.) Regardless of what my mind was screeching, I calmly said, "Let me see, I don't think I have anything to do right now . . . Toots." She smiled.

I closed her door and ran to the passenger side, opened the door, jumped into the car, and closed the door before she came to her senses and had a chance to change her mind.

It was a short trip. She only drove for about five minutes. I don't remember what we talked about or if we talked. She was such a careful driver. She would not say where we were going, and I did not care. "It was a secret." (Imagine that comment today!) I just know I was with her. Nothing else mattered. I just thought, "Am I dreaming?"

I think we entered another city as we crossed over a big highway. What did I know? I had hardly ever been anywhere in a car before. We approached what looked like a new neighborhood of single houses. Some were still under construction. She pulled into the driveway of the first house. This one looked like it was completed. Having lived in a row house all my life, it was very impressive.

I was really curious now. "Why had she brought me here?" I trusted her with my life, so nothing evil came to mind. So, I got out and dashed around to open her door, and we both walked up to the front door and went inside. The house looked completed, but there was no furniture. She then told me the "secret." She had just had this house built for her Daddy because he was very sick and needed air conditioning for his heart condition. I thought it seemed so endearing that she still called him "Daddy." They were scheduled to move in the next week. This was her new home, and she was showing it to me!

She thought I would find the house and the new construction of the neighborhood interesting. (The next week, she told me she thought I would be an ideal candidate to pursue architectural engineering as a career, and she thought the construction would be a proper introduction. I didn't even know what architectural engineering was. But, she did, and she was right, as usual. Three years later, I was a freshman at Penn State enrolled in architectural engineering)

She took me for a tour of the entire house, the grounds, and the fenced-in area that was to become her mother's prized garden. The interior of the house was impressive and seemed so large. The kitchen was great. The house had a complete basement, with outside stairs that I would later use to haul tons of grapes to make one hundred fifty gallons of wine every year for her parents to enjoy and give away.

She showed me the bathroom and the three bedrooms. In our wildest dreams, I know neither of us could even imagine that one day, ten years later, one bedroom would be "ours," and that she would be my Paraclete for life.

That day, it was the car ride and the house tour that shaped the rest of our wonderful lives together. I know she said she wanted to introduce me to construction for my future career, but I believe it was more than the introduction to my career that caused her to bring me into her private life that day. Whatever the reason was how glad I am she did. If she were still here, I know she would concur.

Up until that day, I don't believe a single person outside of her immediate family knew one thing about Phyliss' private life. Her professionalism, her impeccable dress and appearance, her intelligence, and compassion, her perfect posture and body language, and her sophistication shouted elegance, refinement, and social grace. It revealed nothing of her modest, humble background and modest means, filled with hardships and responsibilities.

How honored I was to be the first "outsider" to be welcomed into her intensely private world. I find it awe inspiring, how two little questions and one hour could so profoundly affect our future. It was a life-altering day, and I wish I could live it over and over again. Writing this book has helped me do just that.

We left the house, and I noticed that the grass already needed cutting. I gladly volunteered to return to cut it. She readily agreed and thanked me with a smile. She drove me to my house and left.

I was back the next day, and I never left.

That was the end of "her and me" and the wonderful beginning of "us."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**THE COOKIE AND THE DANDELIONS**

In the summer after I graduated from Phyliss' school, my mom and I became regular guests at all the Crudo gatherings, of which there were many. They included every formal holiday and the multitude of birthdays and special events of a family of eleven. Something was always being celebrated.

Phyliss' house in Pennsauken she had built for her parents in 1958

Our friendship was mutual and strong from two years of intense teacher/student learning and sparring, yes, sparring. I was a difficult student that challenged even the copious talents of a master educator such as Miss Crudo.

It was from this background that Miss Crudo and I entered the summer after I left her classroom teaching.

After I graduated from her school that summer, we advanced to a higher level of friendship and understanding due in part to several seemingly insignificant and subtle encounters. I recall two, which were particularly poignant to me, and in retrospect, I believe to her as well.

It was outdoor picnic time at the Crudo household. I think it was the Fourth of July. The weather was particularly pleasant for the time of year.

It was a typical picnic with the folding tables and chairs, paper table cloths, charcoal grille, hot dogs, hamburgers, and chicken, the delicious smell in the air, and lots of people, lots. Miss Crudo was sitting by herself at one of the tables, evidently for a rare, quiet moment. I could not resist joining her.

The picnic with the cookies – Phyliss is sitting alone on the right.

Mrs. Crudo is second from the left keeping a watchful eye on me for her weekly report. I don't think she liked the cookie thing.

We effortlessly talked and joked; we were comfortable in each other's company. It seemed so different. We were outside the classroom, without the formalities and constraints of school, in casual clothes, and no high heels. It was sort of wonderful, exciting, and uplifting.

It made me feel special. I was made to feel special.

There was a plate of cookies on the table. They looked great, and I took one. I'm not sure what made me do it, but instead of eating it, I carefully broke it in two and timidly fed it to a surprised Miss Crudo sitting beside me. To my amazement, she ate it and took the other half from my hand and fed it to me. We both had crumbs all over our faces. She gently brushed them from my cheeks. I did the same to her cheek while we both smiled and laughed.

It was silly, I know. But, somehow, silly was wonderful. I long for us all to be silly again. It was the first time we touched each other, and somehow it was so marvelously exciting. I think I would have called it mildly erotic, if I just knew what that meant. The cookie was good.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was another beautiful summer day at Miss Crudo's house. But there was no picnic, no crowd this time. I was by myself, staring down in wonderment at a brand-new, Craftsman, fire-engine red, gasoline-powered, reel-mower. Miss Crudo had just bought it for me to cut the grass. She obviously noticed that it was quite a chore cutting the grass with the manual mower I was using. She was forever thoughtful of everyone around her. I later came to realize it was a lifelong trait.

I could see right away. It was a wonder of a machine. I had never operated anything like it, and she bought it just to make my life easier. I thought, "Could I run this mechanical marvel without burning down the whole neighborhood." That would not be good, and it would probably upset her. I certainly didn't want to upset her.

I realize now, she had such confidence in my ability; she never doubted that I would be able to use it safely and effectively even though I never operated a gas-powered mechanism. I certainly didn't want her to know that. She never even asked. What a marvelous feeling it was to be entrusted with such a gift after a "life time" of cutting the grass of almost the entire block in my neighborhood with a hand mower.

I was able to quickly learn the basics, since she gave me the manual and there were lots of little "signs" on the machine. I filled the gas tank and was able to start it and figure out the controls without much difficulty. I was very handy, but it was still a bit intimidating. I wanted so much to please her.

To build my confidence, I cut the back yard first, hoping that I would not destroy anything of value or importance. Having conquered that task with dispatch, and surprise, and not injuring myself or others, my growing boldness now allowed me to focus on the front lawn.

As I arrived in front, I noticed a healthy crop of dandelions sprinkled in the grass. "This great machine will make quick work of these," I thought.

But, something interrupted my pursuit, and made me shut down the mower. Instead, I picked a dozen of the loveliest, largest, and well-formed flowers that also had the longest stems. I didn't bother with any of the leaves. The flowers alone were perfect.

I went into the house where I saw Miss Crudo standing at the kitchen sink, with her back toward me. No one else was there. I liked that.

She did not hear me come in because the water was running. I quietly maneuvered myself behind her and tapped her lightly on the back. She turned with a surprised look and then a smile. From behind my back, with a boyish enthusiasm, I presented to her the dandelion bouquet I so proudly assembled and said, "Thank you Miss Crudo for the great lawn mower." She took the flowers, and said, "you're certainly welcome, my dear," and she gave me my first hug.

I never thought of Miss Crudo in quite in the same way again.

I finished cutting the grass, dandelions and all, with the biggest smile on my face. The neighbors must have thought, "Now there's a kid who enjoys his job." - And, oh, did I ever.

The day ended perfectly when I passed by the kitchen window as she affectionately placed a small water glass with the flowers on the sill and smiled at me.

I put the gasoline-powered machine in the shed and secured the door.

The only thing that caught fire that day was my heart.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

© therustygardener.com

The dandelions on the window sill

* * * * * * * * * * * *
OUR EMBRACE IN THE BASEMENT - MOM'S STEALTHY RECONNAISSANCE

One day, Phyliss and I were in the basement that I had renovated the year before. We both had a trying day at our respective schools, and we thought we were having a rare moment alone. Even in these early years of love, we had such a tender relationship; we could calm each other with a glance, a word, a touch. Just being together was wonderful, and that never changed for the rest of our lives.

We were in a quiet, consoling embrace, when, from the corner of my eye, I noticed her ever vigilant mother. Even with her badly deformed leg, she had silently and stealthily negotiated the first few basement stairs to witness our embrace. My heart stopped. Nothing was said, and she just as quietly retreated up the stairs. I don't think she knew I saw her, and I know Phyliss did not see her either.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When she left, I told Phyliss, with much consternation, that I had caused what could be a troublesome event. Her mother was thoroughly convinced that all men had but one thing on their minds. I think she may have been right. But, as always, Phyliss made everything in my life better, and she assured me not to worry. She would handle the matter. I didn't think any more about it, and we didn't talk of the encounter again.

It actually seemed that everything was all right, but the Crudo household felt unusually quiet for the next two weeks when I was there, which was almost always. One day, Phyliss and her mother and father were having a routine discussion in the living room, in Italian, as usual. Phyliss was sitting in a chair with stuffed arms. I was sitting on one of the arms of her chair with my arm on the head rest of the chair behind Phyliss' head. I should have sensed that trouble was nearby. But, what did I know. I was a love-struck teenaged boy. Her mother and father were sitting on the couch facing us.

I could understand most of the conversation from my life with my dear grandmother. It was about some routine household matter. Something piqued my interest in the conversation. I made a comment. As I made the comment, without thinking, I gently "flipped" a lock of Phyliss' hair.

The earth stopped spinning!

Her aging, and frail father, usually quiet, dignified, and reserved, blew up and started yelling at me in Italian and waving his cane. These were serious Italian words that were not in my dictionary, maybe in no one's dictionary.

There was no doubt that Mama Crudo had reported the results of her reconnaissance mission in detail. I was in serious trouble. I had been messing with his favorite daughter, truly a capital offense requiring the most severe punishment. I was paralyzed with fear and speechless. "Dear God, what had I done?"

Phyliss immediately responded to her father's anger toward me in a reserved fashion but also with serious Italian words which were also not familiar to me. It was the first, and last, time I ever heard Phyliss raise her voice even mildly to her dear father. I was so devastated. I had caused two people dear to me and dear to each other to be in conflict. It was a most distressing emotion. My Lord, "Was this the last time I would see her?"

Thankfully, the exchange only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed like it was much longer. Whatever Phyliss said nothing more was ever spoken about it. It was as if her parents realized that Phyliss and I loved each other. In retrospect, how could they not know it? As I came to discover, they did know, and they evidently resigned themselves to this fact. They had great respect for Phyliss and her beliefs and loved me deeply, and it appeared that they acquiesced to her judgment and our affection for each other. To say I was relieved would certainly be an understatement of the highest order.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was not until two years after Phyliss died that a thought came to me in the middle of the night about this brief moment early in our lives. How strange and wonderful the mind is. Her kind and loving father most certainly would not have been angry with me if he could have foreseen the care and love I would give his daughter for the last 30 years of her life when he was no longer present to do so. He would have been so grateful. He certainly is aware now. Only now, fifty-seven years later can I fully appreciate his passion of wanting to protect someone he loved so much. I think it is safe to say we can consider each of us forgiven having had a common goal in life.

This acceptance of a relationship outside of the norms of the day was not a common occurrence in a traditional Italian family. I can only attribute it to the unfaltering strength of Phyliss' character, her love for me, and the mutual respect she and her parents had for each other.

This was one of the first of many conflicts that I observed Phyliss skillfully resolve, effortlessly. She was a true expert of human interaction and a master of mediation, fairness, and forgiveness. It left me in awe, with the realization of her affection for me. It only made me love her more.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**JOSEPH'S DRIVING LESSONS AND PHYLISS' FIRST KISS**

As I grew up we didn't have a car. Not many had a car then. While I was in my second year at Penn State, my mom was able to buy her first car to go to her job when her company moved. Phyliss had a car as long as I knew her, by necessity, since she worked at three jobs. She took me everywhere with her when shopping, delivering, doctors' appointments, mostly for others, or transporting a family member somewhere, which was often. I was her most fortunate and constant companion. I loved helping her carry out her responsibilities.

Phyliss and her trusty Mercury Monclair

These occasions were a wonderful and rare time to be alone with a person I admired so much. What was so magical was that she enjoyed the time with me as well. She treated me as an equal and taught me so much.

The learning was effortless for everyone she contacted as evidenced by the many letters written by former students many decades later. The difference, now, was I had her all to myself. I felt so honored and important. My favorite place on Earth was next to her, wherever that may have been.

Back then, all the cars had bench seats and no seat belts. I was so enamored with Phyliss; I always sat in the middle because I always needed to be close to her, very close to her - a position with which we both seemed equally comfortable.

How truly sad the introduction of the bucket seat was. This was a basic human experience and enjoyment of which future generations would regretfully be deprived.

I think I saw a car recently that had bucket seats in the back too. Now, that's just going too far. Where will the young folks canoodle? There I never used that word in seventy-one years and now I used it twice in one book. Certainly, this is a record. Maybe it has not been around for seventy-one years?

I was approaching driving age, and was anxious to learn the basics of driving. Phyliss accommodated me by letting me operate the gas pedal and she would steer and operate the brake. Gradually, I advanced to operating the gas pedal and the brake pedal. (God was riding with us.)

You would have thought the thrill would have been the driving. But, it was so exciting sitting so close and having our legs touch. I was one big hormone. But, it was not just physical attraction. It is hard to explain.

Her presence just radiated well-being and happiness. The sense of security and continuity was a comforting experience for a young man who had been moved around so much in early life. The feelings of permanence and stability that "Fay" engendered were a new experience for me.

We didn't have a television, so movie theaters and drive-in movies were the only means of seeing a full length picture. There were no multiplexes, and a movie only played for three or four days, sometimes a week.

Phyliss would occasionally take my Mom and me to a movie at a drive-in theater. (Another enjoyment of which future generations would also be deprived)

Of course, I would always sit in the middle, close to Phyliss. I always had a difficult time concentrating on the movie.

One week, my Mom had to work overtime every night and the weekend. There was a particularly popular movie one night, and Phyliss and I went to see it on our own. Of course, I sat in the middle and worked the gas and brake on the way to the theater. I did a little steering as well. I wonder if the other drivers knew what danger lurked on the road?

We arrived at the drive-in. It wasn't far. Phyliss paid the fee, found a place away from the crowded area at the center of the screen, rolled the window down, attached the speaker, closed the window and turned up the volume. The movie started, and I snuggled closer to Phyliss than usual with my head on her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind, and I certainly did not mind either. It just seemed natural. My head fit just right.

The attachment was tender. It was a remarkable moment, and it is burned into my memory. I had no idea what was being shown on the screen, but I was so thankful it was a long movie. I think I remember we turned the speaker off.

As the movie progressed, I raised my head slightly. We did not speak, but I could have stayed there for eternity. I would give anything to be there now.

I raised my head a little more, and tenderly kissed her on the neck and winched, waiting for a reprimand. Instead, the kiss was rewarded with a gentle hug.

We said nothing and stayed that way for the rest of the movie.

It was the first kiss I gave Phyliss and, oh, was it bliss.
" **THE "GIFTS"**

This was one of the first chapters I started writing about our love affair.

I started thinking about writing this book not too long after Phyliss had her stroke. I began by interviewing her and jotting down notes. Every time I attempted to start writing at the computer, all I saw was a blank screen. Nothing came out. I had no idea where to start. The urgency of Phyliss' care took my full attention and resources, and the concept of writing a book unfortunately became a blurred memory until a few months after Phyliss died.

In order to jump start my effort, I thought of the ancient Chinese proverb, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." Completely frustrated from my initial attempt years before, I decided that the way to start was not to write a book, but to write a single page or two about a particularly pleasant experience. I did. I started with the "Cookies and the Dandelions" and "You can never have too many hugs and kisses, my dear."

It worked. Thank you, quotable, ancient Chinese persons.

The short stories were enjoyable and flowed freely from my brain to the paper. This was easy. "Just keep writing stories and eventually, I will have a book." Well, it wasn't quite that easy, but it was a start. The idea for this current chapter came up very early. "What an easy chapter to write." We had loved each other forever and had given each other gifts all the time. It was one of the perfect places to begin the trip of a thousand miles. Contrary to my thinking, it became a very difficult chapter and here I am, nine months later still trying to finish it. The description of the gifts was so complex, that it was hard to express in words. This is my latest attempt.

The title of this vignette, "The Gifts," immediately conjures up visions, at least to me, of a birthday, maybe Christmas, or possibly an anniversary and a small or a large box wrapped in bright colored paper or foil with an attractive bow, carefully tied atop - a lovely and endearing image for most, that recalls the happiest of memories and caring for another. We have all made such a gesture many times. I, myself, have, as well, as did Phyliss.

That is somewhat where I thought this chapter would lead. Except, instead of a wrapped gift, I was going to describe to the reader, the many things Phyliss and I did for each other in these early years of friendship that led to our deeper relationship and eventually, our love, and marriage.

Being forever and hopelessly organized, I even made, not one, but two lists, one for Phyliss' gifts to Joseph and another for Joseph's gifts to Phyliss. How thorough I was. I fear it was the engineer in me coming out. But, wait, I think I can redeem myself.

Instead, this has become a manifestation and a feeble endeavor to convey the loftier meaning of the word "gifts" that Phyliss and I bestowed upon each other. I hope I am able to communicate how much more "gifting" became to us. I hope how much more meaningful and useful it might become for you and your loved one, before, or after your love blossoms. Or, I am sorry to suggest, even if it begins to wither.

This is my attempt; I apologize, in advance, if I fall short of my goal and of your expectations.

From the day after school ended at Phyliss' school, I immediately became a fixture at her house. It was an exciting summer being able to be with my favorite person who had taught me so much while having such an enjoyable time in her classes. Her teaching was the best, our enlightenment was remarkable, and it was all so convivial. She made education and learning, pleasurable. There is no other way of describing it.

After school ended, I could not help but have compassion for my poor classmates having to endure, Disney World, outings, the Jersey shore, vacationing to Europe, hiking, dancing, swimming, skiing, and just plain "hanging" out with their friends with nothing to do but "canoodle." (I have always, so desperately, wanted to use that word. And, now I have. It is such a great word, and so naughty and cute at the same time. There just are not too many words of which you can say that. They just don't make words like that anymore.) Let's get back to the subject of "gifts," Joe.

I felt so terrible for my classmates to have to survive such an uninteresting, tedious, and unimaginative summer. They would have to be without Miss Crudo for three long months, and maybe without her for the rest of their lives. How would they endure that? And now, here I was in her sole presence. I had her undivided attention, for who knows how long, maybe years. I could not help but think, "How fortunate could I be?"

Being an only child was quite lonely. Being an "adopted" child, remedied that quickly. Family members at the Crudo household were always coming in and out to visit, to socialize, have a meal and, of course, a glass, or two, of homemade wine. They all enthusiastically welcomed me as a new member. It was a new and wonderful world for me and I believe the world was a more enjoyable place for Phyliss with my being permanently in it, as well.

Her mother had trouble walking from a girlhood injury, and her father was mobile, but he was ill and feeble and walked slowly with a cane. He usually needed assistance getting up and sitting down. Phyliss worshiped them both, and she met their every need. I enjoyed helping her, help them. It reminded me somewhat of living with my grandma and Aunt Lucy.

It was remarkable being with the three of them. Her parents never spent a day in school, but they were filled with wisdom which they freely shared with me. Their extensive knowledge of the world, illustrated to me at my young age, that wisdom, commonsense, and knowledge of the important things in life had nothing to do with one's level of education. It became clear to me that formal education could not buy these priceless commodities, not then, and certainly not now.

Phyliss was the sterling example how wisdom, commonsense, knowledge and the addition of a formal education could allow a person to achieve almost anything. She possessed them all in abundant measure, and I believed, then, until she died, and even now, continues to achieve anything as a result, through me and the army of children she trained. This was a truism that I would witness many times being substantiated by her in the years to come.

I was impressed with Phyliss as her student, and now as an accepted family member and friend. Associating with Phyliss was quickly maturing me and educating me in the principles that would guide me through my own life and my life with her.

As the summer progressed, my admiration for her and her friendship for me grew. There was an unspoken bond that warmed our hearts. Unknown to me, and to "Fay," that bond did not go unnoticed.

Just a month ago, "Fay's" sister told me that back then, a young lady, several years younger than I, confided in her that she was so impressed with me and had a "crush" on me. She was so attracted that she would love to marry me when she got older. Except for my association with Phyliss, this was an occurrence that would never happen again.

Theresa, promptly crushed the young lady's ambition and said, "You won't be able to marry Joe." "Not too many years from now, Joe and Fay will get married." The idea caught her completely by surprise, as it would have anyone, probably including Phyliss and me. I was barely sixteen and I had met her only a short time ago. The young lady promptly told Theresa in polite disbelief – that she had lost her mind. Theresa responded that she should mark her words, that they would come true. And, oh, did they ever come true.

All those years, throughout high school, and even through college while our love grew, it appeared that we were probably two of the few people who did not know our "secret love" would eventually end in our marriage.

What a bubble we lived in.

I know that the expression "love is blind," refers to how people in love often overlook realities about their partner that could have serious negative impacts on their relationship. Love often conceals the other's defects and shortcomings. It "blinds" them. In our case, it appears that our love was blind not to each other's shortcomings, but completely blind to what was so obvious, apparently to so many others.

My gifting to Phyliss that summer and beyond centered on my areas of expertise. I had little to offer Phyliss intellectually, or in the social graces. What I could offer was my vocational skills and my abilities to build, fix, and transform almost anything physical or mechanical.

The gifts began, of course with cutting the grass and maintaining the landscaping. I graduated to painting, washing and maintaining the car, general house maintenance, and repair and help with the family functions. I advanced to removing a makeshift shed and installing a bright new one on a concrete slab of my own making.

A later and major achievement was the finishing of the basement into a recreation room, office, and kitchen for the sizable family gatherings during the holidays. I was able to accomplish this substantial task with Phyliss' help and the help and expertise of her talented uncle. She was always a champion at mustering assistance when I needed it.

Those gifts to Phyliss from me were substantial and notable, but, here is where the gifts morphed into something much more meaningful and profound. Consequential, seasonal, and particularly appreciated gifts included helping her aging mother in her prized garden during the spring, summer, and autumn months and, most importantly, the annual, autumn wine-making.

Mr. Crudo, much to his dismay and sorrow and to Phyliss', could no longer directly participate in these essential and life-giving activities that had been a part of his being since early adulthood in Italy.

Even thought he could not participate any longer, he observed the garden continuing to thrive and produce the bounty of the harvest, brought into the house for him to inspect, smell, touch, and enjoy. It was so gratifying for him to watch the wonder of the grapes being transformed into wine. These wonders all made his last years so much more meaningful and bearable.

The sight of this miracle from the earth to the family dinner table, allowed him to recall a lifetime of his own participation in this marvel. He was no longer capable, but he saw life continued around him. He lived the harvest through my efforts, and those efforts were engendered by his dear daughter, my love.

He saw that it was good - Phyliss saw that he saw that it was good - and I saw that Phyliss saw that he saw that it was good. We were all pleased. It was a marvelous circle of compassion that Phyliss created for her dear father. She made everything possible for those she loved and even sometimes for complete strangers in need.

There was a unique pattern to Phyliss' character that expressed one of her most driving principles of her philosophy of life. It was not fully apparent to me then or even during our marriage:

The gift that Phyliss always wanted most, was not the gift for her, but the gift she could pass on to another.

The gift that Phyliss wanted more than any other was the gift she could, in turn, convey to her mother and father. She had me give her that gift so she could transfer it to them. It was almost a biblical gift, dating back for millennia of providing the sustenance of food and wine for the health of her parents' lives and souls and those of their family.

Mr. Crudo became the secondary beneficiary of the gift I gave to Phyliss. It was a priceless gift to her to see the pain that her dear father was suffering, melt into memories of his beloved past. Observing the joy my labor created for these two good people who gave life to the woman I admired so much, created so much joy in me as well. It made for great eating and drinking too. Well, the drinking part was a few years away, at least for me.

Quite remarkably, Phyliss never drank the wine. Now that I recall, when the time came, I didn't either. But I did love to make it. You haven't lived until you put your head in a half filled whiskey barrel and experience the smell of effervescing, fermenting grape juice and wine. Those little yeast critters had a wonderful if not very short life.

But, the greatest jubilation for me was the delight it engendered in Phyliss. Her delight was that my efforts given freely and without expectation of reward exhilarated her parents in the sunset of their lives. In her view, there was no greater gift someone could give her than to give her parents something she could not give to them herself. Her unconditional love for them did not go unnoticed by this impressionable young boy. I admired her in school as my teacher, but I was beginning to realize that there was oh, so much more to admire in this woman than just her excellence in the classroom.

I could not help but be reminded of my unfortunate classmates who missed out on my most excellent summer.

Rarely, if ever, during this magical period of early friendship and love did "the gifts" manifest themselves into the description in the first sentence of this chapter. The gifts were oh, so much more meaningful than that clichéd image of a decorated box with a bow on top.

Of course there were the highly visible and numerous forms of gifts that Phyliss gave me over the years. They included her mentoring me for school and for life, inclusion in her private family life; driving lessons, financial help with school and expenses, and, yes, even assistance, advice and enlightenment to protect me from devious members of the opposite sex with ulterior motives. There were several that I recall.

She knew well she was protecting my virtue for my future wife. She just didn't know that wife she was protecting me for . . . would be her. How interesting our Lord makes life when He makes us think we are helping someone else and in reality we find we are helping ourselves. What a delightful trick He plays on us. What is so marvelous thinking back over the years is how many times Phyliss played that Devine trick on me – making me think I was obtaining a gift for another, when I was unknowingly getting it for myself. She was so skilled and convincing. I never once suspected. It was the beauty of being married to her. I miss it so much.

In return for my gifts, but not in repayment for them, Phyliss' gifts to me were more significant, relevant, more subtle and life altering beyond the obvious ones. Above all, I believe that the most significant gifts she gave me had to do with learning the meanings of trust, loyalty, and friendship.

Trust didn't really need any lessons. I observed her unconditional trust of me in everything we did. She showed such an intense trust that it was impossible to even dream of violating that trust. There was nothing I could not confide in her and her in me. How could I betray a person that had such confidence in me? I could not. It is hard to conceive what impact on a young boy that it was to have an adult I admired so much put such faith in me. It had never happened before and I can't remember its happening to that extent after. It was truly a marvelous feeling for a young person.

Trust and loyalty are closely allied. Trust, most times, exists, but goes unspoken. Loyalty often manifests itself in physical reality. Loyalty also needed few lessons. For two years, I observed Miss Crudo's actions in the classroom setting. It was a remarkable display of loyalty which did not go unnoticed by me or the other students. She displayed loyalty to her principles and to her commitments to the students and co-workers. Her word was the gold standard among human interaction. She carried that teaching from the classroom right into our private association. It was a most generous gift for the class and for me personally.

The third major gift given to me was true, intense friendship. It grew out of the manifestation of the other two gifts of trust and loyalty. Unlike the other two, for me, friendship needed some lessons, many lessons. Often youth, and adults as well, use the word "friendship" freely without any concept of its meaning or implication. I was no exception. Phyliss taught me what it was like to receive and give friendship. You have not received friendship until you have received it from Phyliss. All at once you realize what your friendship is lacking.

It took many months, maybe years, but I learned from Phyliss that a friend is not someone you with whom you go to the mall to buy something, or have a good time "clubbing", or go hunting or just generally have a ball. Those are persons with which you have a superficial association. True, dedicated friends have faithfulness, fidelity, constancy, commitment, allegiance, affection, and yes the trust and loyalty we already discussed.

Of course the final manifestation of our friendship and mutual gifting was love.

All during our friendship, our early love, and our marriage, gifts were given and granted, back and forth, with no attempt to count or keep score, or to insure that there was a balance of kindness and generosity. When a gift was given of any sort, the phrase, "But I don't have a gift for you," was never spoken. It was always understood that the gifts were continuous and never ending. They just appeared when appropriate or when needed.

But, all the while, it appears that our exchanges had nothing to do with the gifts. It was the beginning of our true love for each other. It was a love that seemed to be abundantly clear to many around us, before that cupid even thought of lancing each of us with his arrows to let us know what everyone else already did. We were in love.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
JOSEPH'S HIGH SCHOOL YEARS

The education received at Cramer Junior High School from kindergarten through ninth grade was second to none. I remember every primary grade and junior high school teacher as superior in his or her discipline. They were skilled and dedicated teachers who prepared us well for the academic challenges of high school.

As one of the faculty at the school, "Miss Crudo" also gave us a superior academic background in English and Spanish. In my opinion, however, I believe what made her classes different and special were the characteristics described in the chapter "the magic of her teaching" - caring, trust, innovation . . .

She went beyond the academic background and taught us the life skills necessary to navigate through adulthood, after our formal education.

After graduating from her school, my Mom and I became an integral part of her family. That summer, the friendship and fondness between Phyliss and me grew exponentially. I found that everyone in her private life called her "Fay." I felt special that she asked me to call her "Fay," as well. I never discovered the origin of this "nickname," but it felt so comfortable to use it.

It was so seldom that I took off my wedding band, but I was surprised to notice, not so long ago when I starting wearing hers as well, that "Fay, 13-12-68" was engraved inside mine. Having called her "Phyliss" for most of our lives together, it was so comforting recalling a fond memory that had drifted away. I don't remember why it drifted away. I just recollected that it did. Recalling the memory only added to my loss, and I lamented having stopped calling her "Fay." And now, it is something that I can only vocalize into the emptiness around me or imagine in the recesses of my mind. It does not even propagate from without, since most that called her "Fay" are gone as well.

I quickly became part of the family. Fay's mother and father accepted me as one of their own. I did likewise.

Fay was my tutor and my mentor the whole summer and continued thorough out my high school years. Her devotion to this task earned me all "A's" all three years and the position of Valedictorian at graduation.

I owed my achievement those years to her diligence and perseverance. It is an assertion I know she would soundly reject. Her academic mentoring was among the "gifts" she gave me, so unselfishly.

I started to realize that there wasn't much I couldn't tackle with her help over the next three years. With the help of Phyliss' talented Uncle Phil, I renovated a small room in our basement and used that knowledge to renovate the basement in Fay's house.

I worked with her mother in her impressive garden, cut the grass, attended to the landscaping, helped with the wine-making, and fixed everything that was broken. These were all among the "gifts" I returned to Phyliss.

I was so appreciative of the guidance that Phyliss gave me those years. She was the major incentive I had to perform well. I wanted so much to show her my gratitude for her help that I became an over-achiever.

Phyliss guided me through the academic pursuits, but also gave me the encouragement to participate in other activities. Doing well, motivated me to do even better. Achievement, excellence and accomplishment felt good.

I started by wanting so much to please Phyliss, and that blossomed into wanting to please myself.

She had that effect on all her students and everyone around her. What a wonderful accomplishment and legacy it would be for her to leave behind. That one sentence captures her life and contribution to all of us, perfectly.

I don't remember the word "nerd" in those days, but if it existed, I think I would have qualified for the label. I always wore a white shirt and tie and carried a briefcase. It is true. I may have even worn a bow tie on occasion. Oh, my! And, no, please stop smiling, I didn't wear a plastic pocket protector or wear glasses. There's a limit to a young boy's pride, you know.

The 1961 Woodrow Wilson High School Football team, coaches and staff

I have no idea why I am right in the middle.

There is no doubt that the "always be a gentleman in dress and behavior" came from my wanting to be as much like my heroine as possible. But, I didn't entirely fit the mold. I was active in many different activities as well, especially the yearbook, football, and anything having to do with art.

I played varsity football for three years. I was a linebacker on defense. Please, stop laughing. (5'-1" and a whopping one hundred thirty lbs., and I think even those statistics were exaggerations). What was I thinking? I know what I was thinking. My Cousin Anthony, who was much larger, taller, and heavier, and more talented than I, played varsity football on a multi year, league winning team, Paulsboro High School.

He was my only male role model and I wanted to emulate him. So, why not excel in what he excelled? Look. I was a kid. What did I know? At least I had the brains not to play "offensive center," as he did. Of course, Phyliss encouraged me all the time, in every endeavor, and was always my greatest and most enthusiastic supporter . . . It was so comforting to know that she was "secretly" in the stands cheering me on. She was my cheerleader in everything all my life.

I was able to get tackles because the other team could not see me as a defensive line backer over all the monster linemen on both teams. When they did see me, it was too late. I think I had my good moments. But, it was crazy and I was crazy for doing it.

You do hear "bells" when you get wacked with a disaster of a helmet on your head. It's true. I liked to tell people I was given the number "one" because I was the best on the team. In reality, it was the only number that would fit on my tiny jersey. Please, that's just between us.

I remember the head coach using me occasionally to "embarrass" the "star" players when they performed poorly. It wasn't too often, because they were great athletes. I can still hear the screams. "Are you guys going to let "Ba dam aye" get all the tackles?" That really endeared me with the rest of the players. Thanks, coach, Novak.

Actually, he was quite a great guy and coach, as was his skilled staff. They were tough, but kind men. Playing under their tutelage was a fine builder of character for all of us. The friendship and camaraderie was a unique and valuable life experience that I would not trade for anything.

Stop messing with our sports for your own advancement, Mr. politically correct politicians and media! Life is all about risks and choices. Leave us and our sports alone! If you feel you must keep yourself occupied, go play golf with the president. Maybe golfers and spectators should wear helmets.

Being used as an example by the teacher to "challenge" my contemporaries was not confined to the football field. The biology teacher would give a reading assignment to the class. The next session he would circulate around the room and ask six or seven students questions about the assignment. Many times no one knew the answer.

Then it came. "Mr. Badame, tell the class the answer." I seemed to always know the answer. The class just loved me for that. But, they didn't know I had multiple advantages on my side.

(1) PHYLISS: I studied intensely to make Phyliss proud of me; (2) EXPECTATION: I over learned the assignments because I knew that the teacher would expect me to know the answer, and I didn't want to let him down. (3) RESPECT: I had a lot of respect for the teacher and saw some logic to his teaching method; (4) FEAR: I didn't want to embarrass myself. (5) ART: Many of the assignments involved drawings which I enjoyed, and they reinforced my knowledge of the subject; (6) LOVE OF SUBJECT: And, finally, I loved biology. So, it was not by accident that I did well. I apologize to my former biology classmates who are reading this and probably still angry with me. I guess I just wasn't playing fair. Sorry.

I would say I was reasonably well liked and "popular" with many, well at least some of my classmates. I tried to be friendly and fair with everyone. However, the experiences in football, biology, and art and high visibility because of my good grades, earned me many detractors.

There were students who did not like me, and they really did not know me, or want to know me. Sometimes I felt that I became a target for resentment among some. It was a very uncomfortable feeling being disliked by students who do not know you and especially who you do not know either. This was a tough, but a valuable lesson to learn and carry into adulthood.

Phyliss had a favored expression: "familiarity breeds contempt." I would like to take the liberty to modify that expression slightly, based on this lesson. "Excellence breeds contempt." What do I mean? When someone or group "over achieves" or excels in a competitive setting, they become examples and are highly visible.

Those who are underachievers especially those who are purposeful underachievers because it's, shall we say, cool, are now also highly visible, but in a negative way. Without the achievers, the non-achievers just blend in and are not noticed or highlighted. Once exposed, they become the targets.

Thus, they develop animosity, jealousy, and contempt when the achievers appear. The purposeful non-achievers may attempt to discredit the achievers so they are not highlighted themselves. It was not and is not a pleasant place to be. Be alert to recognize this behavior. It is destructive and benefits no one. It is another of life's lessons to learn.

Later in life, as an adult, I realized that this is how our government has evolved and operates as standard operating procedure. As an example, a Federal Agency has almost one hundred entities in our State. These entities are graded and rewarded each year during the budgeting process. Most are incompetently run, especially the larger entities. A few of them perform with excellence.

Those that perform with excellence are held to a higher standard resulting in poor ratings while the incompetent ones are rewarded, despite their woefully dismal performance. Why? The excellent entities have to be punished or everyone will compare them and will notice how incompetent the others are.

Incompetence is rewarded and excellence is punished. If you want more of something, then reward it. So then, there is nothing left but incompetence. No one strives to achieve excellence, since there is no reward for the extra effort that it takes to achieve it.

Excellence and achievement disappear. That is where we are today, my dear readers. As, it is said, "read and weep". Our dear country is gone, whether you acknowledge it or not. Soon, you will not be able to avoid this terrible truth. When you do acknowledge it, it will be too late. It is already too late.

Why do I mention this? I mention it because Phyliss never lowered her standards to fall victim to this mentality. She knew what was right and did not allow the corrupt and ineffective system to influence her pursuit of excellence.

Her influence on me and her other students had the same effect and goal. That goal was to have each student perform to the best of his or her ability and capability, to develop self-esteem, pride, excellence, and success. What is so sad is we don't have a country left in which to display our achievements. I am sorry for the digression again.

Finally, high school graduation came. My graduation as valedictorian and speaking at graduation successfully proved that Phyliss was once again correct. When she met me, five years earlier, I really was not working up to my potential.

Five years earlier, I would have never dreamed I was capable of my accomplishments in high school. I know that if Phyliss were still here, she would strongly contest my assertion that the achievements were not mine at all, but all hers. Thank you, my dear.

As proud as I was of my accomplishments in high school, I do not consider them extraordinary. I was young, healthy, energetic, had a good mind, had very little to distract me, and, above all, I had an unequaled and devoted mentor to assist me.

There was one other whose achievement was so far greater than mine who went virtually unnoticed and unheralded. In the Appendix entitled "The Beautiful People" under the heading of "Bonnie" you can read about this truly remarkable young lady whose adulation is long overdue. It is so sad that she left us so long ago and is not able to read my tribute. At least we can give her the dignity of not forgetting her. Please read her story and don't forget her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There were many remarkable and sometimes sad stories that swirled about in high school that went largely or completely unnoticed at the time. I just came to realize some of them. Bonnie's story was one and "Maria's" story was another. I relate the saga of "Maria" in the next chapter. Please take the time to read about her.

**I JUST MET A GIRL NAMED "MARIA"**

I apologize to the reader for this short detour from our love story to convey this sorrowful, but necessary tale. This tragic series of circumstances swirled around Phyliss and me, during my high school years, sadly without our full awareness. If we had known the full story then, we may have been able to correct and save a precious, innocent, young lady from a life of torment, despair, and loneliness.

We are so sorry to have missed this opportunity to correct a bevy of deplorable occurrences.

This story is a feeble attempt for me to receive a modicum of redemption of my oversight.

I became aware of the details of this story as I was researching the tale of our lives and love. The story recounted to me during a phone call with this dear spirit to console me about Phyliss' death, gripped me with sadness. The story screamed to be told. I asked to tell it. I was enthusiastically granted her consent to let the truth be known.

I was in high school. Miss Crudo always encouraged parents of her students to participate in the activities conducted during their education. Two of the parents of a brother and sister about two years apart were particularly helpful. Miss Crudo and I became friends with the entire family since we encountered each of them at school events, mainly the evening dances. If you were friends with Phyliss, you were friends with me.

The siblings were my contemporaries and the epitome of fine students in academics and behavior. The girl was the essence of benevolence, kindness, and innocence. She was possibly too innocent for this world. She was a true rarity of mankind. The phrase "a diamond in the rough" comes to mind when thinking of her.

Her "old man" was a strict disciplinarian. The mother was kind, but subservient, and compliant to her husband's demands, of which there were many. In retrospect, the level of the "old man's" discipline was excessive considering the model behavior of his children. Unfortunately, we may have assumed that the model behavior of the children was a result of the excessive discipline. I was to find out. It was not.

There began to appear some signs that suggested that there was some baffling, out-of-character behavior occurring in this seemingly model family - two beautiful children and involved parents. The behavior involved the girl.

It seemed that there was some increasing "friction" between the girl and the "old man." As a result, the girl was beginning to have episodes of running away from home. On occasion, as a family friend, Miss Crudo was recruited to help in the search for the daughter.

Miss Crudo used her prowess and contacts in the community to find the girl and bring her home. She was commonly found in the local Catholic Church, sleeping on the pews or in the "Little Polish Community" in Camden.

Rather than confiding in Miss Crudo, the girl began to see her as an extension of her "old man's" discipline and reach. She was unsure of whether Miss Crudo was her friend or one of his "agents."

Because of this, Miss Crudo could not break through to the girl about the reason for her baffling and out-of-character behavior. Miss Crudo believed she was making peace, keeping the family together, and removing the girl from danger. The girl was confused, and developed a mistrust of everyone.

Unbeknownst to Miss Crudo and me, and anyone else for that matter, the "old man" was skilled at presenting two personas - one to his children and wife, and another to the outside world.

This seemingly "normal" family was in reality a "hell-on-Earth" and a prison for the children, particularly the sweet girl. Fear dominated the lives of the wife and children. No friends, in or out of the home, were allowed and isolation and control were the tools used to sustain their unremitting detention.

The siblings resided in the same bedroom on single beds a foot apart throughout high school. While no sexual abuse occurred, there was no such thing as privacy from the "old man" in the bedroom or in the bathroom. This lack of privacy continued during the young girl's maturing and particularly sensitive years through puberty.

Violence, beatings, and verbal abuse took place regularly. The frail and helpless girl was predominately the focus of the cruelty. He was a large and powerful "man." Forceful, open-handed slaps to the face and body and kicks to the shins and spitting in the face were the usual "punishment" for nonexistent transgressions. He was particularly skilled at concealing the injury resulting from this physical abuse.

It was common before dinner started, for the girl to suffer a few advanced blows to the face "just-in-case" an infraction occurred at the table. The mother was silent, compliant and in fear. Yet, the girl never had animosity toward her mother for her silence and inaction.

When she granted me permission to write this, she implored me not to mention her mother's name. I honored that request, and would not mention any of their names. At the same time, she did not fear that some might recognize the characters in this sad tale. It was a liberating feeling that her story would be told.

An innocent conversation, in the girl's bedroom, between her and her only "friend" one evening triggered a tirade of lesbian accusations and aggressive, physical removal of the friend from her "place of residence." ("Maria" implored me to not use the word "home.") The friend never returned and neither did anyone else.

The next day, the traumatized girl had to ask her friend in school, "What is a lesbian?" The poor child was being castigated for an activity she didn't even know existed. It wasn't even part of her vocabulary, not to mention, a part of her behavior. The embarrassment with her classmates was overwhelming as the story of the incident circulated among her classmates. She was further isolated by occurrences such as this.

Miss Crudo sensed the innocence and shyness of the girl. As a family friend, she convinced the father to allow her to accompany her to her favorite movies, "Don Quixote, the Man of La Mancha," and "Ben Hur."

Miss Crudo was further able to obtain permission to allow her to attend the junior and senior proms. This task could not be accomplished until the girl was introduced to the refinements of dress, hair style, make-up, and dance. I was not aware, at the time, of the level of mentoring and assistance she gave on a personal level. I have no idea where she found the time and energy to share her benevolence to so many others.

The girl was very interested in Spanish and the Spanish Culture. Miss Crudo gleaned this and invited the girl to accompany her to Our Lady of Fatima Church in Camden each Sunday.

Miss Crudo previously lived next to the church and was instrumental in helping the pastor, Father Longo, establish the parish. She continued helping Father Longo long after their friendship as neighbors. She returned every Sunday to attend Mass conducted in Spanish almost always accompanied by Maria who had a avid interest in learning the Spanish language.

Miss Crudo was one of the girl's few contacts with the outside world, possibly the only contact. She had the demeanor to engender trust in everyone she met. She was not one to be intimidated by the "old man," and he always presented a kind persona to her. He was a good actor with dual personalities.

She was so respected, that the "old man" allowed his daughter this rare excursion out of the house each week. The two of them used the weekly Mass to hone their skills in the Spanish language, culture and traditions for almost two years.

During the church visits, the girl developed one of her only true friendships in her life. The friendship that blossomed was with an equally innocent and kind Hispanic boy, who attended her high school.

When Miss Crudo parked the car in front of the church each Sunday, he would be waiting eagerly at the curb. The little boy would race to the car and open Miss Crudo's door, and then he would dash to the other side of the car to open the door for his friend, the girl. If Miss Crudo were aware of the "love affair," she certainly did not divulge it to anyone.

This friendship would have been an intolerable outrage and curse on the family in the eyes of her "old man." He was truly intolerant of such an association. Those times were unkind to minorities, and the unkindness continues to this day. Miss Crudo had no patience for intolerance. Everyone in her associations was afforded equality of opportunity - everyone.

The innocent "love affair" merely consisted of being in each other's company, star struck looks, and harmless conversations. They never even kissed or held hands. It seemed to be reminiscent of a sanitized and immaculate version of "West Side Story" with the gender roles reversed. This "affair," however, predated that classic by several years.

It was the late "1950's" and interracial friendship was quite a transgression in the norms of the society of that era. But, what did these two cherubs know of norms and society. They were just two lovely, free spirits that had stumbled into joy in each other's company in an unforgiving world. They were a true life version of Tony and Maria.

I recognize it, because Phyliss and I lived a similar forbidden life in our early friendship. I am just so dismayed that Miss Crudo and I could not have directed an ending to this story as happy as ours was.

I asked the girl why she had not revealed the abuse to Miss Crudo during all those rides to and from Our Lady of Fatima Church and her home. She said she wanted to, but she feared what her "old man" would do to her . . . and to Miss Crudo. The girl was in conflict, trying to discern if Miss Crudo were her friend or an ally of her "old man" for finding her and taking her back home when she would run away.

How sad, that only a few sentences could have saved this pure soul from a life of loneliness and pain. If only she had known, my dear wife would have made it her crusade to correct the horror. Implacable defense of the downtrodden and oppressed and corrections of injustices were her hallmarks throughout her life. The girl was obviously shaken when she learned of her missed opportunity by not confiding in Miss Crudo.

It distresses me greatly that this tragic story is not over.

One day the little boy became extremely ill and was taken to the hospital. It was grave . . . the boy died . . . mysteriously. His demise was from a strange poisoning he received from fresh fish . . . bought from the supermarket managed by the girl's "old man." His suffering lasted two long weeks until he died a horrible and painful death in an "iron lung." (a most unpleasant, last ditch, mechanical breathing apparatus of the nineteen-fifties)

The girl was understandably distraught, and inconsolable upon hearing of his illness and untimely death. She was destroyed. Her frantic response to his death revealed her secret to the "old man" and the entire community. Everyone now knew of their "affair".

Strangely, the "old man" reacted to the knowledge of the friendship and death, with compassion, rather than anger. That evening, he took her to a local diner and they calmly had dinner together. When they finished, he asked her if there were someone with whom she wanted to speak about what transpired.

She wanted to speak to Father Longo who was so kind to her at Mass every week with Miss Crudo. Father Longo's saintly aurora and kindness consoled the girl like no one else could. It was not the first or last time that "the Walking Saint" performed these miracles of compassion. They drove home in silence.

The "old man's" cruelty returned the very next day.

This precious and lovely human being, beseeched with such turmoil in her life, told me how fortunate she considered herself to have had a "father" for one day of her life. From that day to this, she never used the word "father" and referred to him as the "old man." Mournfully, she said she considered herself to have no "father."

After the funeral, Miss Crudo was beginning to be suspicious of what might be going on in the home. It was difficult to know for sure. What was to be done? Police or school involvement would surely destroy the family and expose the sensitive girl to further humiliation among the other students. And, what if her suspicions proved to be unfounded?

Teenagers can be extremely cruel, especially when they sense vulnerability. Secondly, without Maria's involvement there was no proof, just conjecture.

How could Miss Crudo remedy the situation in case her suspicions proved to be valid? Ever inventive and creative, deftly, she filled out an application for the girl to compete for a year's study program in Spain to master and improve her communication skills. The girl was already advanced in the language because of her association with the boy, the Masses in Spanish, and her language courses in school.

There were many applicants for one position and the competition was substantial. There was to be one winner only. Quite remarkably, she was selected to go to Spain for a year. This was the first I had ever heard of my dear wife's campaign in this young girl's behalf. She did everything so quietly, with humility, and with not the least expectation of recognition or reward.

What a wonderful victory it was. What an ingenious solution it was. The trip would dull the pain of the death of her dear little friend, remove her from the house, away from the embarrassment and stigma at school, allow her to become fluent in Spanish, and increase her independence. And, maybe, she could even complete her senior year in Spain, and then petition the court to become an emancipated minor. What a life-changing series of events this would be for her. All of this would be made possible by the clandestine and successful application made by Miss Crudo.

Miss Crudo presented the fruits of her endeavor to the "old man". He emphatically and adamantly rejected the opportunity that would have saved his daughter's life. After all, he was the source of her suffering and was not interested in saving her life. His cruelty may have been exposed, and he would lose control of his daughter. That was unthinkable. On whom could he release his wrath with her out of his reach? His answer was "no" \- end of debate.

Miss Crudo and the girl were devastated. The girl was doomed to complete her junior and senior years in the United States. Miss Crudo's hands were tied, she was heartbroken, and she was out of ideas.

Oh, but the tragedy was still not over.

It took the sensitive and lonely girl eighteen years to fully recover from the death of her first devoted and endearing love. It was eighteen years of wondering what her life would have been like with her soul mate, and eighteen years of pondering the unusual circumstances of his death.

About ten years later, in the midst of her mourning, she met a "fellow" and after a short courtship, hurriedly married him. She was desperate to get out of the house. They had a child. Finally, some happiness had come into her life, even though her mourning of her first love was not yet over.

**Then, the beatings started**.

Was there no end? History was repeating itself. She quickly divorced and has lived alone all these years. How could such an innocent soul be subjected to so much suffering?

The only solace the girl could receive was from a dear friendship she had managed to maintain - a solitary friend from high school who had been thrown out of the house that night. She confided in this friend as the only source of love she had. In the middle of the marital tragedy this friend became very ill and began losing weight, a lot of weight. She visited with three different doctors who all diagnosed her with multiple sclerosis.

At the time, there was great publicity of the suffering of the child star Annette Funichello with the same horrible ailment. The friend could not bear to endure a similar fate and committed suicide.

An autopsy showed that she did not have the fatal disease.

How this girl had the courage to bear her own burdens and then deal with the loss of her only friend can only be attributed to her faith. Few others would have been able to endure her never-ending series of tragedies.

Now finally, so many years later, she receives some serenity and happiness as she talks with her adult daughter so amorously every day. They provide a quiet comfort and solitude to each other. As one of few shining events in her life, the dear daughter represents her proudest and most rewarding accomplishment.

She finally has found an island of peacefulness and happiness in the unforgiving and stormy seas of life. This was a peacefulness that was almost lost as many others were lost previously.

Phyliss and I had been truly blessed to have found true love when so many others had not.

Phyliss did not know the underlying evil of this story. I just discovered it, myself. Maybe it is better that she did not know it before she died. It would have dismayed her even more to think that we were so close to being able to change this young girl's life, and we were not able to do so.

As we take our path through life, we begin to realize that there are pitfalls, quicksand, and minefields everywhere. As we advance, certainly we must avoid these obstacles that may impede our progress if we are to successfully reach our goals.

But, lest we become too self-absorbed, we must be observant and help those around us who may not be so well equipped to navigate the course of life, as well as we. This is certainly a case of "becoming our brother or sister's keeper." I am afraid we may have missed this opportunity, my dear.

Again, I am sorry for this detour, but, now having taken it, I hope you will forgive me and understand why I had to take it. It is a lesson learned too late for me.

You have our deepest apologies my "little girl." Maybe, my dear, you can have some solitude, and I can have some redemption, knowing that your story has finally been told, after all these years.

Now that this heavy, personal burden has been lifted from you, I pray your spirit here on Earth will be free of its shackles and your soul will be able to rest in peace in the world to come.

It was my obligation, no, my privilege, to tell your story.

Thank you for entrusting me with this honor.

**OUR FIRST KISS - OUR LAST KISS**

My high school years witnessed a gradual and steady building of the relationship between Phyliss and me. During those three years of high school, I was aware that there were rumors circulating around the students, and faculty members of Phyliss' school and mine of our, shall we say, "unusual relationship."

The rumors ranged from "they are just good friends who enjoy each other's company," to "they are having a passionate and steamy love affair, how juicy."

In reality, neither version of the rumors was true. Phyliss and I never discussed them, but I am sure she was aware of the rumors, as well. Frankly, I don't think either of us cared what the rumors were.

We both realized that our association was unique, special, and rare. We knew it was a once-in-a-life-time occurrence, and for most couples, a never-in-a-life-time occurrence. Neither of us was going to let silly, and sometimes vicious, rumors destroy a remarkable relationship. What people thought or did not think, was of no interest or importance to either of us.

As I think back, my oblivion to the rumors was laudable, but it was Phyliss' disregard for the rumors that was really remarkable. I was a "kid." I had nothing to lose. Most young guys would have worn our association as a badge of accomplishment or conquest. I certainly did not. Oh, did I not. I knew what I had, and I was in awe that she would choose me as her best friend. I could not think of a greater honor, even now.

Phyliss was an adult in a responsible position of authority, with a family and reputation to maintain. She had everything to lose. But, it didn't matter. She knew our bond was good, it was right, and that is all that mattered to her. It seemed her attitude was "bring it on world." And, I thought, it was I who was being so gallant.

We were extremely comfortable in our fondness for each other, our joy in each other's company, our perfect compatibility, our mutual respect, and the benefit and help each gave to the other. We were good human beings who, together, contributed to our community to the best of our abilities, and we received a great deal of comfort knowing that.

What was most important, we knew for certain that whatever our individual contributions were, we were persons who were an order of magnitude better together than apart.

One very astute and remarkable teacher, very early on, expressed it perfectly. He said, "You may be able to defeat Miss Crudo, and you may be defeat Joe Badame, but you will never defeat them together." This pronouncement was made long before our deep and exclusive friendship fully developed or was even apparent to each of us or to others.

Phyliss and I never took his description literally in the context of a competition, but the general message of the phrase was perfectly accurate. The profundity of his conclusion must have been lost in my young mind, but, I am sure, not in the mind of Phyliss. Maybe it wasn't lost on me. I still remember its resonance to this day.

The impact of the combination of our acting together was always far greater than each of us acting individually. This proved to be true for our entire lives together. How observant, brilliant, and prophetic was Mr. Palumbo.

Was Phyliss a consummate lady of unquestioned moral character? Most certainly she was. Did she love me deeply? Unquestionably, yes, she did. Was I the lovelorn, "frisky," always persistent, teenaged, hormone factory? You bet. Did I love her deeply? Without question, I did. But, how did Phyliss reconcile these seemingly opposing forces for three years?

She did it with skill, kindness, sensitivity, and perfection as she did with everything.

I can still hear the ringing of the admonishments peppering our association. Those years were filled with: "Where did you pick up these ideas?" "If you insist on this behavior, something drastic is going to change." Do you understand me?" "Don't you ever do that again, young man." If this happens again, you will never see me again." "Understood?" "If I have to walk out that door, I will, and I won't be coming back." . . . She never walked out that door . . . I couldn't bear to think of her walking out of that door and never coming back.

But, I was an absolute mess and a real challenge! Poor Phyliss, she was as adamant as I was persistent. It seemed, I was always walking a thin line, a very thin line, but she kept me on it. Oh, did she ever.

It was almost like a contest, but, I was never her match; the score was always so lopsided; she always won. Maybe, "won" is not the proper term. She was always the adult, and managed to keep our association within bounds, but do it in an amazing and amiable way.

I must have caused her a great deal of internal grief and soul searching. I'm sorry, my dear if I did. But, as always, she was truly remarkable especially in light of my challenges, which were abundant, persistent, and constant. I was a handful.

Through all of this, and her other responsibilities, she never abandoned me. She truly loved me, and I knew it. I truly loved her, and she knew it. How fortunate we both were. We had each other from the beginning . . . and to the end. I am just now beginning to fully realize how remarkable and rare this is in this life.

After I gave Phyliss that soft kiss on the neck at the drive-in movie theater, she allowed me to give her an occasional tender kiss on the cheek when and if the occasion warranted it. An attempt at a kiss on the lips initiated a turned cheek and an admonishment from her voluminous library of "admonishments for Joseph." She always called me, Joseph.

Phyliss had guided me through college applications that final year in high school. I was accepted to Penn State, in architectural engineering and the University of Pennsylvania in architecture. I applied to the Webb Institute of Naval Architecture which had a full four-year scholarship program. I came close, but no cigar. That would have been interesting with my propensity for sea sickness. I can see it now on the shake down cruise of a ship I designed. "Where is the naval architect?" "Oh, he is aft, sir, throwing up."

The University of Pennsylvania was far too expensive for my limited resources, and Penn State had a superior architectural engineering program. Buildings don't usually move so that would solve the sea sickness problem. The choice was an easy one, I thought. It was the only one. But, now in retrospect, I think how wonderful it would have been to have lived at home all those years of college, close to Phyliss. Now that she is gone, it gives me great pain and remorse having lost all that time with her when we were both young and healthy.

Atlantic City had been the farthest I had ever been from home. This was a major move for me, but a bigger move for us. We had been in close contact for two years, and almost daily contact for three years. Now we were to be apart for months, an eternity. This was not a pleasant prospect for either of us. Adding to our dismay was the fact that during the summer after high school graduation, things between us were different, much different.

I think the anticipation that our lives together were to radically change in a few short months triggered a higher level of mutual love between us. With the rigors of her teaching and my learning fading for the summer, life was slower, more relaxed, more tender, more devoted . . . and more serious. My persistence lessened, but my love had changed. It had matured and grown . . . a lot. I was beginning to become an adult, and, for the first time, began acting like it.

Certainly, the physical attraction was there stronger than ever, but the attraction became secondary to the bond of really mutual love and respect. I was starting to feel what Phyliss must have felt all along, and it was delightfully wonderful.

Her wisdom during those three years of "admonishments" and "never walking out of that door" despite my behavior was now revealing itself to me. She knew my deep and mature love for her was in me all along, and when it surfaced, she relished and embraced its emergence.

Her reprimands lessened and then disappeared. Actually, they were no longer necessary. There was a quiet understanding and unspoken bond between us. We were of one mind and had become one being.

The euphoria of that summer increased to a crescendo when the day for me to leave for Penn State arrived. It was an ominous and awful day. The leaving for a college adventure should have been exciting, but the thought of the separation dominated and overwhelmed that feeling for both of us. There was no anticipation or joy.

We made the somber seven-hour trip to Penn State. I could drive up, but I could not help Phyliss drive back, in the dark, on a mountain road. That worried me, since she had never driven that far before. For that matter, neither had I. She wasn't that fond of driving anyway, but did it so perfectly.

We arrived at my dormitory, checked out the room, and unloaded the car. The room was great. The room mate was not. "What was that "roommates' compatibility survey" I filled out?" A reserved, South Jersey, Italian boy perfectly happy with dormitory life, was to room with a caustic, fraternity-seeking, Jewish boy from the Bronx who didn't mind arrogantly asking if Phyliss were my mother. How could I survive a year of this? What were they thinking? Welcome to Penn State. I guess I need to write another chapter about that one. It might take another book.

At the time, I wasn't aware that the dormitories of East Halls were four, brand-new high-rise buildings set off from the main body of academic structures in the middle of a field a mile from the center of campus. All I could see was blackness. I thought we had just landed on the Moon and the space ship was going to return to take my Phyliss back to Earth and leave without me. The emotional destitute enveloped us both.

This was it. We took the elevator down to the lobby, and I walked Phyliss to the car. At the car, we engaged in a final embrace. We both had tears in our eyes. It was the emotion of this moment that made us realize how much our love had grown. I don't think either one of us realized how much more it could and would grow.

It didn't seem possible.

As we partially released our goodbye hug, Phyliss leaned back, looked me in the eyes, gave me the most endearing smile, caressed my face in her hands, while gently drawing me toward her and gave me the most tender and loving kiss . . . on the lips . . . and told me she loved me. This was our first kiss. I refrained from admonishing her.

I never felt closer and more at one with another human being than I did at that moment.

She got into the car. I closed the car door and she lowered the window. We each gave a feeble wave goodbye. She slowly drove away, receding into the night. I stood and watched in desolation as her car lights became a vanishing point. I waited all that time for that kiss.

Now, finally, I had received that first wonderful kiss . . .

She disappeared into the darkness, for what seemed would be forever.

That was, at once, the happiest moment and the loneliest moment of my life.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On another lonely night, fifty-two years later in the emergency room, Phyliss quietly slipped into a coma as the result of another stroke. The nurse disconnected her from the monitor to take her to the radiology department for a "Cat-Scan." Her eyes were closed. She was limp, lifeless, and unresponsive.

Before they moved her, I leaned over and gave her the same tender and loving kiss on the lips she gave me as she left me at college. She softly kissed me back.

My love never woke up, and died the next day.

That was our last kiss . . . and this time . . . it would be forever.
**JOSEPH'S "NEVER-ENDING" YEARS OF COLLEGE**

Missing Phyliss

My first full day on the main campus at Penn State found me still reeling from Phyliss' departure and our goodbye kiss, and the prospects of living with that thing they called my room mate for an entire school year.

I got up early, before my "companion," got dressed, and went outside to air out my brain. I walked over to the parking spot where Phyliss and I parted, and it made my melancholy mood and my despondency even worse.

I was so engrossed in the reality that she was gone. I didn't pay much attention to my surroundings.

I moved my attention from the parking lot, and looked around and now, in the daylight; I realized the new dormitory complex was, in fact, sitting in the middle of desolate farm land. I could see the campus buildings in the distance, way in the distance. It was the end of season, and the wind was blowing sand and the remnants of the harvest across the fields which were now barren of the life-giving sustenance they had provided over the summer.

The sun was starting to rise, some of the outside lights were still on, and no one was around. The buildings looked like egg cartons turned on end and the lights came on in each room against the still darken sky as the students began to rise.

I was not only without Phyliss; I was alone.

It seemed that I was in an apocalyptic movie where the population had been killed off by an alien race with a terrible disease leaving the buildings pristine and untouched. I thought, "Why had only I survived?" This should have been the event of my life, but it didn't seem like it. It entered my mind, "What on Earth are you doing here, Joe?"

"You should have left with Phyliss, last night."

I grabbed a doughnut at the cafeteria, got some change, and went up to my room to start unpacking. I stopped at the pay phone in the hallway. (Yes, folks, I am that old, you know, the big black thing on the wall that eats money and lets you talk to someone far away. Well, trust me. That is the way we used to do it. It was crazy, huh? Barbarians, we were. It was literally only a "click" more sophisticated than smoke signals). I made the call. The voice at the other end of the phone was so familiar and wonderful, because it was hers, but it was terrible at the same time because it was so far away, a world away.

She greeted me with the same words as when she left, "I love you," and I did the same. We were telling each other the obvious. She had made it home safely without incident, but the drive was not pleasant. I was so relieved. She arrived home a short time before I made my call. She had only gotten a few hours sleep. It was a sad call. It ended when the operator interrupted and said to add more money. I had run out of quarters. I hung the hand set on the black box on the wall that would be our sole communications lifeline until Christmas.

I walked down the hall to my room. I thought maybe Phyliss' departure had clouded my thinking, but much to my dismay, my room mate was still there, and indeed he was as obnoxious in the daylight as he was in the darkness.

I had to get out of there.

I took the one-mile-hike to the center of the campus where I was to spend the next five years. It was a square mile of manicured utopia. Everything was in its place. Even at this early hour, students were walking singly or in pairs in unhurried blissfulness. "Were these the people who were transplanted here by the "body snatchers" to replace those that died? "Why was I so forlorned and they so apparently happy?"

Maybe I am being a little melodramatic by peppering my story with a little bit of drama. But, truthfully, that's what that first day felt like. My mind set was all about Phyliss. My being without her and so far away permeated my every thought. Wow, loss of your love cannot be explained in words or communicated, it must be experienced, and it is not a good experience. This loss would be repeated oh too many times over the next seven plus years.

Each time we separated, it did not get one bit easier. Three things made the separation barely tolerable: the rush of love at the beginning of the separation, the knowledge that the separation was temporary, and the anticipated reunion at the end of the separation.

1) The rush of love that surfaced when we parted was intense and indescribable. It was far greater than the constant flow of love during continuous contact. It was a sad event, but, sort of wonderful at the same time.

2) The knowledge that the separation was temporary engendered a feeling of hope and anticipation during the months of being apart. It sustained us both. It made us so much more appreciative of each other when we finally reunited.

3) And finally, the glorious feeling and outpouring of love when the separation was over. It felt like the gush of air you take after you have been underwater holding your breath to the limit of your tolerance.

These years were like a roller coaster of highs and lows, but the ride seemed endless. Time would tell. It was not.

One advantage to having a horrible room mate was the joy of getting out of the dorm and going to class. When class was not in session I would go to the library (remember those) and hope he was asleep when I got back. Maybe I was being unfair, but I was to find that I was not. Fortunately, he spent a considerable amount of time at the fraternity house.

A note: My comments about fraternities and sororities, I am sure, will anger many, since many have fond memories of their experiences, and my recollections are peripheral and are based on very limited experience. I am sure, especially today, that the experience is much more positive. I can only hope it is.

Fraternities and such

He was obsessed about pledging a fraternity. Nothing seemed to be more important than his membership and acceptance. One weekend it was the job of the "pledges" to place eight inches of sand on the entire ground floor of the "frat house" to prepare for the weekend "beach party." It was tons and tons, truckloads of sand that had to be moved in and taken out.

Of course, there was no concern that the building might collapse.

I surmised from his account the next day that the party was populated with generally poor behavior. The report was they all thought it was so wonderful and a success, whatever "success" meant. I always pondered if the parents of the girls attending these parties had any idea of how questionable their daughters' behavior was to participate. They probably didn't have any idea what they were doing. They must have thought they went to college to get an education. I guess they were getting an education, but, in what? The entire scene had no appeal to me. I was there for an education and this seemed to be, at the least, a major distraction from that goal.

Various activities and childish, demeaning, and destructive rituals did not end with the weekend parties. They continued throughout the school year. Many were impromptu, in the middle of the night and included activities that bordered on illegality and certainly immorality. As a "pledge," it was his "responsibility" to serve his brothers by preparing and cleaning up after each event. He was in and out during all hours to accomplish these tasks.

These activities reinforced the atmosphere of control and influence within the social structure of the "house" somewhat like the dominance hierarchy of a colony of chimpanzees. These diversions further developed "meaningful male bonding," that would last a lifetime and generate fond memories, good character and value for the community for life. Who knows? Maybe these antics were a good introduction to life in the real world. Wow, now that I give it some thought, maybe I missed the whole point, didn't I.

As our glorious and learned new Pope has said, "Who am I to judge?"

I could not help but remember when Phyliss explained to her students that her insistence on excellence in and out of her classroom was founded not only on their well being, but her own as well: . . . that someday they would be her dentist, doctor, mechanic, plumber or electrician. My observations made me shutter to think what would happen to our country when these elite specimens were released into the general population and became the "movers and shakers" of our society.

I am so sorry to say, I no longer need to imagine that awful prospect. We are today, reaping what we have sown. How ashamed we should be to defile the memory of those who sacrificed before us and gave us so much. I am so sorry, but, I fear that being sorry will not make it better. I can only wonder, "How did we get here as a country from such a noble and patrician beginning?"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Many years later, I sent a letter to the president of The Richard Stockton College of New Jersey in Pomona, New Jersey, protesting the illegal habitation of a boyfriend of one of our God children's three roommates in college-owned housing. She and the two other girls were quite uncomfortable and upset by this uninvited male among them sharing their living space and bathroom. Many times, he was in the living quarters, designed for females, with only minimal privacy, alone, with only one of them present. It was fraud, (he was not paying room and board), uncomfortable, unwise, asking for trouble, and potentially libelous for the college.

The president responded, in writing, arrogantly, and defiantly, that it was none of his business, none of my business, and nothing could be done about it, and nothing would be done about it. He was such a sterling public servant. He was a true guardian of our children's character and morals. "How did we get here?"

How can we raise responsible, moral, and law -abiding citizens for future generations when our so-called leaders are clueless reprobates? We select them, we hire them, we pay them, we tolerate them, and we allow them to pollute our society and our offspring. We are no better than they. "How did we get here?"

In the profound paraphrased, wisdom-filled words of Ann Barnhardt, "Evil is never satisfied with mere toleration – it progresses to ratification, then celebration, then co-participation and finally ends with the inevitable destruction of the participants' souls." Ann Barnhardt - 2014

During my years at Penn State and the University of Washington, this tolerated behavior, while not universal, was certainly not rare within the fraternities and, to a much lesser degree in the dormitories. After experiencing the superior education, behavior, and model given to us by Phyliss, this part of my college exposure was most disheartening and disturbing. "Just how did we get here, fellow Americans?" Ask yourselves, my dear citizens.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The situation with my room mate continued, and got worse. The monster was a bully, an ignorant bully. He taunted me, ridiculed me, and assumed I was an idiot. The severity of his antics began escalating. I tolerated this behavior for weeks by ignoring it and by not being in the room with him as much as possible . . . until . . .

One day his harassment became physical. Unexpectedly and unprovoked, he gave me a "bear hug" from behind and tried to wrestle me to the floor. Instinctively, (I had no self-defense training), I extended my arms behind me and returned the bear hug behind me by clasping my wrists. I bent at the waist, rapidly, as I dropped to my knees and threw him over my head and across the room with considerable force. While he was still dazed, I sat on him with my knee on his throat. I am not sure which one of us was more surprised and astonished, it happened so quickly.

I made it clear that if he continued his behavior there would be serious consequences, more serious than throwing him across the room. In a whimpering voice, he agreed to cease and promised me he was only having some fun. I informed him that I did not find his childish and outlandish behavior a bit amusing. He never harassed me again, and, I never told anyone of the incident until now. I wish I had. The Moral: Bullies must be confronted with greater force than they apply. They will stop their bulling for good since they are basically imbeciles and cowards. Violence sometimes has its place.

Pardon my language, please, my dear readers, I don't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities. But, I believe this is why the pejorative, "asshole" was invented in print the first time in 1965 as a vulgar insult, approximately concurrent with my room mate's entering my life. What great timing!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The exposure to male camaraderie seemed to have run its course, and its social "value" had been sufficient for me after that first year. I believe the allure and appeal of the bi-monthly water fights had saturated my already meager interest as well. Much to my dismay, the State College shoe store was sold out of waterproof boots. My sophomore year, I requested a single room, and got it. I lived alone the rest of my college days.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Classes

My first class in architecture was interesting, so interesting that I still remember it, fifty-two years later. The professor introduced himself. I am sorry I don't remember his name, but he was great. After he introduced himself, he told us to take a walk around the engineering building, (it was huge) and then go home.

We all looked at each other, as if to say, "Is this why we came to college?" We left the class, and walked around the building as we were directed. I had no home, and I certainly did not want to go back to the dormitory and face my obnoxious room mate, so I went to the library. After my initial exposure to college life the week before, the solitude of being surrounded by the accumulated wisdom of mankind's greatest minds was relaxing and invigorating.

During the next class, he gave us a surprise test to describe what we saw when we took our walk. We were imbeciles; we knew nothing. He was illustrating how we go through life seeing nothing, and to be an effective architect and engineer (or any professional for that matter), we had to observe, absorb, categorize, and recall everything.

Most of mankind's (sorry, humankind's) great achievements were accomplished by individuals who were superior observers and thinkers. Why do you suppose they call the buildings that house the world's great telescopes observatories?

Lesson one was learned, an excellent and important lesson for everyone:

Lesson one

Open your eyes and you will see, learn, and understand. What you add to your success from observation, evaluation of those observations, and incorporation of the conclusions from those observations, will exceed, by far, what you will learn from your formal learning in the classroom. Best of all, it won't cost you an additional nickel of tuition, and one moment of your time sitting in a classroom.

This concept is what made Phyliss a master teacher. Certainly, she gave her students a superior education of the subject matter, the best. But beyond that, she had already made critical observations of the interactions of humankind, evaluated those interactions and incorporated those conclusions into critical thinking. She deftly intertwined these priceless gems of knowledge into the fabric of her subject-matter teaching without being detected, until years later.

Best of all, she became the real-life embodiment of those lessons in her deportment as the ultimate role-model. Make her your role model. I know I did.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Lesson two

"Please, class, please, I beg you, pick a vocation other then architecture! It sucks." (He didn't really use that word, but it is so appropriate; it had a slightly more vulgar meaning then) A few learned this lesson well, and switched to the law school the next week. I was among those who did not learn the lesson. For those who chose the alternate major, it would prove to be quite an irony.

Imagine, I was in the group that failed the first two lessons. I failed to open my eyes and be observant. I stayed in a profession that was replete with impossible learning and work and so little reward and ability to be unable to make a living commensurate with the effort required.

Oh, well, it was only a lifetime wasted. I not only wasted those five years, but I wasted the next two years learning how to be an urban planner. At least I was consistent. Have you looked at a "modern" city lately? What planning?

I did learn about a bunch of guys that dreamed up ideas of utopia, wrote books about them, gave lectures to others, bowed after the accolades were given and rebelled to the criticism from other guys who dreamed up ideas of their own utopia and then died. In the end, everybody went home to live in the hell-holes we call cities that they had created.

"Modern" man is just not meant to live in cities, planned or unplanned. Those addicted to the excitement of the "urban experience" please don't e-mail me vulgarities. It's so vulgar.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It is fortunate that we don't think too hard about things when they are happening. Only after they have happened do we start to think. My entire college education for seven years cost about $8,000., for all seven years (tuition and room and board!). I got a few small scholarships, and "national defense loans" (yes, we went into debt then, too) and my mom, Phyliss, and I paid for the rest. I pray that God may bless them. Yet, over the past forty-five years, I paid the State of New Jersey, Division of Law and Public Safety, more than $8,000. just to renew my architect and planner's licenses. That's right, the same agency that regulates gambling. What a deal!

Now, after all that education, someone decided that an architect should have two more years of "apprenticeship" to polish his skills. Then, he was ready to be tested in writing for two days and tested verbally in person to see if the tests of the last seven years had adequately tested him and were of any value at all.

Passing this final test meant that the architect was now ready to "serve humankind."

But, wait; to keep up with the times, he should continue to be tested for the rest of his life. They decided to call it "continuing education," yes, that sounded good, continuing education. This way, the architect could be tormented for the rest of his life with learning and testing and more learning and testing of the testing. This would be a good thing for "society" and be justification for collecting more fees. Yes, this is good. The fees could then be recuperated by deducting the costs of attending seminars at exotic resorts sponsored by product manufacturers. This is really good. That way the cost could be unknowingly be transferred to an unwitting population of taxpayers. I bet you didn't know that.

To make the torment complete, it was decided to base all of this testing on "junk science." During this time, he can be taught to design solar buildings that are not really solar, green buildings that are not really "green," and sustainable structures that are no more sustainable than the buildings before all this insanity got started.

In the end, this poor soul in search of a career found out that an architect is an unsuspecting and dim personage, usually male, dressed in mismatched attire, and sometimes a bow tie, whom some people "promise" to pay a pittance to authoritatively, sign and seal documents, for the purpose of deceiving another personage, called a building code official, also usually a male without a tie, declaring, erroneously many times, that the documents were prepared by someone who actually knew what he was doing.

Other personages would come along, called contractors, read the documents, declare them defective and incomplete, many times rightfully so, and build whatever the hell they wanted. Then all the personages, except the architect, disappear like smoke, in the hope that what was built doesn't fall down or leak. The architect then looks around and asks, "What just happened?"

If it does fall down, still other personages, called Esquires, with the help of still other personages called "Your Honor," hunt down the architect and take back the pittance he received and anything else the poor soul happened to have accumulated or will accumulate to remunerate the descendants of the people who were in the building when it fell down, and to enrich themselves so they can promise to pay a pittance to another architect to sign and seal documents for another building code official and another contractor to build their new "dream" house.

Eventually the destitute architect has no choice but to become a professor at Penn State to warn his students not to become architects because the profession sucks, but rather to enter the law profession instead. Well, you get the idea. I promised you I would reveal the irony at the beginning of lesson two. And, now I have done so.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I got it backward

The "man of the house" and vocations: I knew, from the day I met Miss Crudo, how wonderfully unique she was. Her uniqueness was something that impressed me personally. All my life, I tried so hard to impress as many others as I could, to have the same level of appreciation as I. This is a task that I regretfully admit that I had only limited success in achieving.

As I am researching this book, I am relearning how special she really was. I think back of all the years I knew her before we got married and how much of that time was lost during our separation all those college years. I long so much to recover that time. One of my true regrets is that time would have been so much better spent with her, supporting her, and making her life less difficult. All the education I needed was that which I received in the two years in her classroom and the years afterward as part of her life. Another regret that festers in my mind is how I got such an important alleged truism backwards.

Our society teaches us that "the man of the house" must support his family and that his profession or vocation is of prime importance to provide for the family. I adopted that goal, and got my education and pursued my profession as society required of me. I wanted to support my love and make her life as stress free as I could. It was the "manly" thing to do.

Phyliss, with her passionate love of me, put her life and her career secondary to mine to pursue the goal set by society and embraced by me. Thus my regret is that although I had full realization of her wonderful gift of teaching, I allowed my career pursuit to dominate our lives together. I got it so backward. Her gift was so much more valuable than mine. How much more meaningful both our lives would have been if I had subordinated my professional pursuit to hers.

Regretfully, I cannot change that now, or ever. This book is a feeble attempt to correct this wrong.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Fraternizing with the ladies, or not

All throughout high school and continuing into college, especially through my college years, Phyliss and I never really asked much of each other except that we use our talents to the best of our abilities. It seemed we always knew when, and what the other needed and we were there to provide it or help, automatically. A formal request was rarely required.

It was like mental telepathy - communication without speaking. It felt so comfortable to be one and at ease with each other. There was no wasted energy or time on damaging or destructive behavior or discussion.

There was one thing she did ask of me, often, which I continually denied her as often as she asked. She was always concerned that I did not experience the normal camaraderie of associating with individuals of my own age, especially young ladies. Here I was, the person she loved more than herself, and she was concerned that she was robbing me of the "normal" life and experiences of a young person. She was truly remarkable.

If I followed her advice, and did find someone that appealed to me, she would have gladly, outwardly, rejoiced for my happiness, while secretly dying inside. I know this more surely than I know the sun will rise tomorrow. She loved me that much. What I believe she had not totally realized and accepted, at least at first, was that despite my youth, I was mature enough to know that I loved her as much and as intensely as she loved me.

The years away from her at college were not easy. It was not just being separated from her that caused my angst. Our relationship, when I was in high school, was mutually agreed to be kept "secret" for a number of fairly apparent reasons, even though, remarkably, the subject was never discussed.

For some reason, I chose to maintain that same secrecy throughout my entire college career. I am not sure why. I was totally separated from her, and very few ever saw her or even met her. They were two different and unconnected worlds. It was like living dual lives. But, it seemed that this void in my history and my unwillingness to share it with others merely instigated more mystery and curiosity. It was a difficult enigma to deal with along with the other demands of college. I did not seem "normal." In reality, I was not "normal." The unasked question seemed to be "what was Joe hiding." Joe was "hiding" a lot.

This conundrum did not deter me. It merely reinforced my desire to stay faithful to the one I loved. One thing that made it so effortless was she was so easy to love. No one out there even came close, then, after, and even now that she is gone. That is what my youthful and uncluttered mind thought then, and what my aged and worn out mind thinks now.

Phyliss always encouraged me to fraternize with females my own age. When, I not only refused, but implemented my refusal, her heart most assuredly jumped for joy. How content I am that I always chose her and gave her that joy. There was never any question of her choice of me and I was so content to return the accolade.

Having now lived a full life of observing others seek love with difficulty, or even failure, I thank my darling for sparing me that difficult task. It was as if the heavens opened, and she just fell into my lap, well figuratively, maybe not figuratively.

I heard a little quip a while back. A guy goes up a gal he is attracted to, that he doesn't know, and asks, "Did you get hurt?" The confused gal responds, Hurt from what?" The guy says, "Did you get hurt when you fell from Heaven?"

That's the way I always felt about Phyliss.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Her Daddy dies

I completed my freshman year, and rushed home to the waiting arms of my love. It was such a glorious reunification. The joy of our reunion soon turned to sadness several weeks later when her father died. It was a monumental loss for her. How fortuitous it was that after my extended absence, I would be there in the time of her great need. The tragedy of her trauma and mine are detailed in the next chapter.

The beautiful people

I put mention of this subject here because attending college was the first time this phenomenon came to the surface of my consciousness. The subject had materialized early in my childhood, adolescence, and grammar school days without my understanding, and festered for years until I had the maturity and the time to absorb the reality of it. It was my attendance at Penn State that triggered my awareness and my ability to evaluate it. The subject is too long and distracting to place my coverage of it fully in the recounting my college years, so I placed it in the appendix to allow the full coverage of my evaluation of the terrible manifestation of this unfortunate and destructive human behavior.

I am talking about the created chasm, the abyss if you will, between "the beautiful people" the fashionable, the glamorous and the privileged of our society and the "not so beautiful people," the scorned, the less fortunate, the unglamorous, and the downtrodden. I implore you to read the subject. It may save someone you know a lifetime of pain, and suffering.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

A semester in Florence

An architectural engineer becomes an architect: The years went by basically repeating the same pattern of the loss of leaving, the grief of separation, and the joy of reuniting. My life at school settled into a pleasant routine and I received what I considered to be an excellent education. Thank you, Penn State.

It is somewhat comical, maybe comical is too insensitive a word, morose is probably more descriptive, how we, who have had the privilege of attending college on a manicured campus away from home and stress, believe at the time, that no one ever worked as hard as we. Shortly after graduation, we come to notice that those were the most carefree years of our lives. That was true for me those years. It is quite painful for me now to realize the heavy burdens that Phyliss bore during my relaxed years of education and the years of unrest during her own burdens. I just wasn't mindful of it at the time.

My fourth year arrived quickly. The second semester brought a rare and unexpected opportunity that had not been foreseen.

The architectural department had arranged for that year's architectural class to spend a semester in Florence, Italy studying under Leonardo Ricci, an Italian professor of quite some fame. The project was to have the class study his concept of an integrated urban environment.

Florence, Italy, the Arno River, Palazzo Vecchio, and the Duomo

My problem was I was enrolled in architectural engineering at the time and not eligible to participate. The first four years of the curricula of architecture and of architectural engineering were identical, so I was able to transfer to the school of architecture without losing any credits, and therefore to qualify for the study-abroad program. My difficulties with keeping up to the ladies in my advanced math classes were also telling me my talents might be better suited to architecture rather than architectural engineering. My brain was just not wired like theirs. I struggled for good grades in less complex math and got them, but I was lost in their esoteric world of theory and numbers in the more advanced courses. I just was not at home and could not compete on Venus. I quickly relocated to Mars where I could breathe easier.

How did I afford the trip? Of course, my love, made the plane trip possible. Our class arrived in Florence and stayed at - a finishing school for well-to-do European girls. Yes, you heard right, a group of drooling, testosterone-dripping, chest-thumping, ogling, immature American architectural college students, lodging and dining in the same "Pensione" with a group of lovely, young debutantes from France, England, Italy, and Belgium. How does the phrase go? "You can't make this stuff up." "Who thought this could work?" "What could possibly go wrong?"

Fortunately, the outrageousness of the behavior of some of our group was so repulsive that my participation in the antics was not even a consideration. Once again, my loyalty to Phyliss was not in question. It is a miracle some of our class did not spend the semester in the "carcere" rather than the classroom. The ladies seemed to be stuck between being attracted to the crazy behavior, and worrying about being assaulted. It was a paradoxical and unenviable "position" for them to be in; no pun intended.

The educational and historical parts of the semester were glorious, the study was engaging, and the captivation and history of Florence and the hill towns like San Gimignano were enchanting. It was an experience of a life time. But, there was another, more enchanting experience to come, if that can be imagined.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Viaggio di Paradiso

The semester ended, and I tried to catch my breath from Ricci's endless energy, charisma, and flamboyance. It was time to return to comparatively dull, America. But, the return had to wait for something that was more important. It was June and I was in glorious Italy. I rented a car, well a Fiat six hundred, anyway, and started to drive to Rome. I stopped half way and stayed at a small local hotel and had dinner at a nearby restaurant.

They served a one-liter carafe of local wine with the meal. The meal and the wine were superb. I drank the whole carafe and they refilled it! It was the first and last time I was drunk in my life. It really "snuck" up on me. I was fortunate that I did not drive to the restaurant. It was difficult enough walking back to the hotel.

The next morning my head had cleared, and I drove the remaining way to the Aeroporto Internazionale Leonardo da Vinci (the Rome airport). But, I was not there to fly home. I was there to join Phyliss for a five-week tour of Italy, Austria, and Switzerland. After years of being in love, we were finally alone for the first time in this magical place for lovers. It was five weeks of exhilaration, exuberance, euphoria, and turned heads.

In most European countries, at least then, tourists had to present their passports at the desk of the hotel when they checked in. They kept them until you left. They all noticed our ages and different names and rolled their eyes, but we didn't care. What must they have been thinking? It was sort of fun watching their reactions. They didn't have a term yet for what they were thinking.

It was such a wonderful experience for me because this is what I had wanted since I met her, to be alone with her and enjoy her company. But, more importantly, was that she enjoyed being with me so much, as well. After all the years of her helping me, now I rejoiced in knowing I was helping her. I never had seen her so at ease, so alive, and free of all the responsibility of home. She was truly happy, unencumbered, enjoying herself, and so obviously and completely in love with me. I assure you. The feeling was completely mutual. It really was, "Paradiso."

Inside the classroom, Phyliss was always stately, demure, and refined, but with a distinct, but reserved, sense of humor. Inside her, however, was this wonderful, clever, intelligent, even mischievous, and convivial individual who relished life and was just enjoyable to be around. This trip with me, through Europe was a remarkable release for her to be herself. And it was so rewarding that I could be a catalyst for her enjoyment and be an integral part of her happiness. This was to be a mutual pattern for our lives together. What a glorious beginning it was.

The sights we saw were wonderful and varied. The history and the natural beauty were remarkable. But, as before, the attraction for me was Phyliss and for her was Joseph. As at the drive-in movie, the ballet, the shore, the mountains, the cruises, our reason for being was each other's company and the experience together. We could have been anywhere doing anything. It really did not matter. Maybe the Beatles were right? "All you need is love."

I was so pleased God had placed us together to rescue her and give her happiness, a happiness which she returned to me in copious measure.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

As we toured, we noticed we were being stopped often by the "carabiniere" (the Italian state police). As soon as they saw we were American tourists, they apologized and let us continue. Finally, we asked the "hotel impiegato" (hotel desk clerk) at the next hotel about this seemingly strange behavior of the police.

He said he noticed we had Naples license tags on our rented vehicle. That was our problem. Whenever the police would see a car with Naples license plates, outside of Naples, they would stop it for possible contraband stolen from tourists and being moved by thieves in Naples to be sold elsewhere. Ah, the glorious land of our ancestors. We were to personally experience this phenomenon later in our excursion.

We continued our tour, and witnessed the magnificent landscape and centuries of history pass before us. Our accommodations were varied, different, and unique. One was more interesting, charming, and intriguing than the last. They were not exactly "Motel 6." We visited all the favorite tourist cities as well as the tiny walled cities and towns that were not tourist attractions. We took the famed Amalfi Drive, a tortuous coastal road to Sorrento and stayed the night. It was truly picturesque, romantic, and enchanting even though it was a "white-knuckle" drive. I can still hear those European bus horns on the curves with no guard rails.

The next day we made our way to Mount Vesuvius and climbed the challenging, but uninteresting slopes to the top only to be greeted by hordes of Italian flies. Well, Sorrento was nice. We descended and drove to nearby Pompeii, and then finally to Naples, the "birthplace" of our rental car.

We hurriedly booked into our hotel amid the usual bewildered looks of the staff, checked out the room, and preceded past an unusually large number of uncharacteristically idle chambermaids. We found out later in the day why they were idle.

The city was unlike any of the others we visited. It was unkempt, dirty, touristy, and filled with beggars, (sorry, the losers of life's lottery).

At one point, we had to descend into a pedestrian tunnel to negotiate an impossible traffic nightmare at street level. Behind us were two suspicious young men, and at the other end, at the exit of the tunnel, we could see two other characters gesturing to the two on our side of the tunnel. The two behind us were talking in Italian and were overheard by Phyliss. It appeared that their intentions were not good. They were not.

Without batting an eye, she turned and confronted the dear "ragazzi," admonished them in a stern voice as if they were two of her wayward students. They turned and left grumbling something under their breath. She told me they were conspiring to rob us in the tunnel along with the other two, upstanding, Naples' citizens. They apparently decided to pursue easier "pickings." She never did tell me what she said to them to discourage them. That was Phyliss, never intimidated and always in command. She was fearless.

As we walked, we noticed that, even with the heat, all the men wore long winter coats, and everyone, I mean everyone, carried a briefcase, even the women and children. As we approached a number of the long-coated men, it appeared we were going to be "flashed." We were flashed, but not by a pervert, but by a rather well-organized thief.

There were the transistor radio specialists, the watch specialists, the jewelry specialists, you name it they had stolen it. All of this took place in daylight and in plain view of the "carabiniere," who were unconcerned about the activity. We had seen enough. Now we realized why the Naples license tags were a certain kiss of death on the highways.

We returned to our room to find all of Phyliss' newly-purchased lingerie had been stolen from our luggage. Strangely, I don't remember seeing any gals in a long coat selling negligee – you know - a sort of mobile "Victoria's Secret." What a shame. The entire city was one big theft-ring monster and fencing operation, feeding off the tourists. It was filled with beggars, thieves, pickpockets, muggers, and assorted other lowlife. The city was a crime machine. No wonder so many from Naples immigrated to the United States to escape this cesspool.

Surely, there are many Neapolitans of high character. I know many of them. But, there is something wrong with an ancient, thriving, and so-called civil, society that tolerates the victimization of unsuspecting tourists that are the lifeblood of their livelihood. Vergognati, Napoli!

Arrivederci, Napoli. We checked out with the unconcerned and complicit desk clerk who showed disingenuous surprise that we were leaving. Phyliss, of course, "gently" persuaded him to return our deposit. We returned to Sorrento for the night. We were able to get our same room back from the previous night. The desk clerk in Sorrento gave us a knowing nod when we told him our experience. He said we were not the only ones to have returned after a day in beautiful Napoli. The only benefit to our stop in Naples and the thievery was that Phyliss didn't wear any panties the rest of the trip. I am just kidding, folks. Really, you didn't think I was serious, did you?

* * * * * * * * * * * *

We left Naples and Italy with a much different impression than we had from all those songs about Napoli. We didn't mind at all returning our little Fiat six hundred with the license tags from Napoli, not one bit. As unexpected and unpleasant as the stop in Naples was, I still remember it fondly because the experience was so intimately entwined with the warm and affectionate memories of my love. They will be with me always. She was quite a gal, and quite a master of her environment.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Penn State invaded by "Leonardo"

It sounds like a newspaper headline: Now, where was I in my tale of my education? Oh, yes, Leonardo. Well, technically, my side tale of Italia was quite an education. That fall, the first semester of my fifth year saw the arrival of Leonardo Ricci from Florence to continue our group studies. The project was to design the components of his vision of the future city of man that we began in Florence. He was an impressive figure while we were in Florence, but it did not prepare us for his American performance.

Ricci is directing the construction of the model base

Upon his arrival, he was transformed into a powerhouse and a dynamo of a man with remarkable leadership and endless energy, and charisma. He commandeered the entire School of Architecture, like Captain Kirk on the "Enterprise." His star ship was the Department of Architecture and we were the crew in search of "bold new worlds." It is quite a realistic analogy. We were in the presence of an architectural and planning visionary.

He was a master of organization and motivation. Everyone had his part, but his direction melded all these disjointed parts into a masterpiece of a final product. It was a marvel and a privilege to watch and participate in his wizardry.

The project started with what we learned in Florence, and for the first time it materialized on paper. The best artists, the best designers, and the most imaginative of our class were identified by him and were encouraged, no coerced, to take what was in Ricci's mind, add to it their own talents and place it on paper.

He guided with an iron hand, but no one's imagination was stifled, a remarkable accomplishment, and the mark of a master teacher. Our skills had never been put to use like they were by Ricci during this project. If you were wondering, I was not in that elite group, by a mile. Those few students outshone us all, and Ricci found them immediately and was the power source of their light.

The rest of us worked within this master plan to accomplish whatever magic we could contribute. Sometimes our contributions were mundane, but resulted in part of the magic somehow. We also were persuaded to produce beyond our normal capabilities under his guidance. I can only describe him as a "talent extractor."

The culmination of the project was a huge model of a city made mostly of fine woods in many sections to allow transport. It was a massive undertaking involving huge amounts of materials and commandeering workshops all over the campus and even workshops of students who lived nearby.

One day the massive model was on the ground floor of the three-story atrium of the engineering building being worked on by us all. We looked up and he was standing on the railing of the third floor balcony, directing the construction like a "god." It was a sight to behold. You could see he savored every moment. It was his passion and it infected us all.

One student had a dual major in architecture and theater arts and he conscripted him to engineer a theatrical presentation complete with lighting, narration, and music. The presentation was professional and attracted the attention of the entire campus.

The concept and the design were not without controversy and detractors, but Ricci just thrived on the debate. After all isn't that what a university is all about, the free presentation and debate of ideas resulting in learning. It was so unlike our bastions of education today. They stifle and discourage, even prohibit, free thinking not ordained by the elite. This is what we send our children to school to learn in the land of the free. God help us and God Bless the environment that molded us. Oh, I wish we could return to it.

Enormous credit must be given to the administration of Penn State and our two architectural professors for allowing Ricci full reign to command the project. They recognized his leadership and talent. And by acquiescing to, supporting and enhancing his leadership they magnified the value of the semester for the entire class, the university and for Ricci himself. Lesser men would have resisted and protested the relinquishing of their authority. Genius is not just born of flamboyance and boldness in the sunlight, but also from quiet humility and support from the shadows. Thanks, Professor Insera.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

After all this praise, I could not help but make some comparisons with my dear. What was common, despite their widely divergent styles, was their ability to inspire the interest of the students, to mobilize them, and motivate them to want to participate, excel and learn, without exception. There was a sense of unity, a sense that the class was one with a common goal, to learn. Everyone was an individual, but working together. It was a formidable exercise. Every student produced beyond what his perceived capabilities were before exposure to Ricci and Phyliss, these two masters. The talent was in there and they were the conduits for those talents to be set free.

It is a pity that Leonardo and Phyliss were two of the only people I have met that were able to observe their students, determine their strengths, and direct those strengths toward the common good of the project, the class, or the endeavor. Bravo, Leonardo and Brava, Phyliss.

Unfortunately, regarding Ricci and Phyliss, that was where the commonality ended. Ricci was loud, flamboyant and full of ego. Phyliss was humble, quiet, and demure without a trace of ego or arrogance. Ricci mobilized the class to implement his vision.

Phyliss encouraged each student to formulate and implement their own vision. It was unclear what Ricci beliefs were outside of architecture and urban planning. Phyliss' moral compass was as clear and unequivocal as daylight.

Once again, I had met an unquestioned master teacher and once again, Phyliss shone like the sun among the planets. She had no equal that I could find or have found.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Throughout my life, I observed so-called leaders of the nation, the state, the city, the classroom, or even businesses that were incapable of applying this most basic, yet essential principle to the completion of a task. Every day the world wastes millions of man hours delegating individuals to assignments, tasks, and jobs for which they are not suited and as a result, perform poorly.

A perfect example of this terrible waste of human resources was to surface many years later at my work in Princeton. I had returned from two years in Tunisia, totally familiar with Moslem Architecture and customs, and fluent in French. Eduardo, a native Frenchman, who spent four years in Morocco designing and building Moslem Architecture, was also working in the eight-man office.

No one in the office had one bit of experience with Moslem customs or architecture. The office was commissioned to design and build a substantial Moslem Mosque, an extremely rare project in the nineteen eighties. Almost everyone in the office worked on the project . . . except Eduardo and me. We were never even asked to comment on the project.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Photography

At Penn State, during the semester with Ricci, I bought a used Nikon thirty-five mm SLR camera. Every day of class, I took at least a roll of film (remember film? I guess not) and documented every bit of progress we made on our project. I developed all the film in my room in the dormitory. I had thousands of negatives. No digital files here, folks.

In the last weeks of the semester, I made small photos of each negative, gave them a number, and mounted them on two four foot by eight foot boards, and took orders from anyone who wanted photos of our work. I printed thousands of photographs for the students, the university, and for Ricci. Some of them were mural sized. I processed them in the gang showers after everyone went to sleep. I earned enough money to help pay back my Mom and Phyliss for much of the help they both gave me. It felt so good. Come to think of it, I should have stuck with photography.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Internship in Camden

I always needed to work in the summers to help pay for expenses. I began working formally in the summers when I was sixteen. My first job was a dishwasher at the "Horn and Hardart" restaurant in Philadelphia. That was fun. The next two summers I worked at the Campbell Soup Company in Camden as a quality control inspector in the can-making section.

The pay was good, but the hours and the conditions were terrible. The noise was so loud I went home sick to my stomach for three weeks. Neither job was giving me any experience in my chosen profession. It was necessary for me to remedy this in the summers between college years.

One day, I popped in, unannounced at Radey and Radey Architects. Bud Radey hired me on the spot. It was an architectural student's dream. I would work there during the summers designing schools. After I would leave, the staff would complete the drawings and implement construction.

When, I returned the next summer, the building was under construction and I was given another school to design. It was wonderful experience. Bud Radey and his father, Frank, were true professionals. They always took their roles as mentors to an intern very seriously. By exposing me to all aspects of the profession, they gave me a marvelous foundation for my future career.

One day I had not brought my lunch and went down to "Hardee's" and had two double deluxe hamburgers with all the fixin's, two cokes, and double fries. Oh, I forgot about the frozen custard. It was way too much for my small frame. I didn't have diabetes then, but I was well on my way.

Bud Radey was always flamboyant, unpredictable and adventuresome. When I returned to the drafting room, Bud burst in and yelled, "Grab your camera, Joe. We are going flying." I was the undeclared office photographer. We drove down to the Aerohaven airport only to find aviation fuel dripping from the engine of his plane. "Not a problem, a wrench will fix that and we will be on our way." He was fearless. I was not. "Maybe we should wait until the mechanic comes back from lunch, Bud," said "the king of motion sickness" sheepishly not having fully digested the cow he ate and becoming ill from the smell of the fuel.

We were going to photograph the site of the West Milford High School and that was it. But, he did agree to rent another plane. Thank you Lord. I think. The plane was brand new with wings under the fuselage instead of on top - a seemingly minor difference whose significance would reveal itself in an hour.

After a somewhat turbulent flight we arrived above the site and circled for another 20 minutes to reach 12,000 feet. Bud said to get in the back seat and start photographing. "But, Bud I can't photograph, the wing is blocking the line of sight." "No problem, I can fix that." A hard 45 degree bank to the left for10 minutes and a hard 45 degree bank to the right and back again to the left did the trick. It also distributed my lunch all over the interior of the brand new rental plane. Bud was very quiet on the way back, as was I. I did get the pictures, though and developed them so we could present them at the West Milford Board of Education meeting the next night. Bud decided we should drive up for the meeting instead of flying.

You may ask what value this experience during my apprenticeship had for getting my license. It was a valuable lesson learned. It taught me not to eat at Hardee's before the exam. I passed.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

University of Washington

Seattle was the hippy-dippy "paradise" of the nineteen sixties. I wanted to pursue my education and seek a master's degree. Urban Planning was a field closely allied to architecture and it seemed a natural choice. Interest was very high in master planning of our cities and regional areas. The University of Washington had an excellent school, and I applied and was accepted. I rented a tiny apartment, one-half hour north of the city. I hated the loneliness. I knew no one and was detached from the social life involving other students.

Any attempt to socialize was met with parties filled with drinking, sex, and pot. The entire society seemed to be oriented around self-gratification. Any behavior was accepted and OK. It was a world of the flower children and the beautiful people. Sort of like today.

Seattle and the west coast in general were the Mecca of drug experimentation and the hippy movement. Remember Timothy Leary ("turn on, tune in, drop out") I wanted nothing to do with it and that further accentuated my detachment and loneliness. I desperately missed Phyliss. The three thousand mile separation was so unmanageable and insurmountable. Going home, even for the holidays, was not possible. The experience was to be the precursor to the separation malady that Phyliss and I suffered when my Peace Corps service began. The almost permanent nature of the separation was the breaking point for Phyliss and the catalyst for our marriage.

The field of Urban Planning was very popular in the sixties, but it was a subjective and inexact "science." The field was filled with theories, with none of them proven or tested. America was a test place for these new theories since it was the first country to be designed from the beginning around the age of the automobile.

There was no scientific foundation for the theories, and there were plenty of them. It wasn't completely apparent then, but much of the popularity of the field was due to the abundance of funding and encouragement from the federal government for cities to develop master plans.

They were developed, presented, paid for, and placed on a shelf in the mayors' offices to gather dust. Then, every town and city just did what they wanted. What they wanted was based on corruption, favoritism, and politics. Does the phrase "Zoning variance" sound familiar? Entire cities, towns, and regions were made up of "variances." Nobody followed the "Urban Master Plan."

By the time I graduated two years later and got out of the Peace Corps two years after that, there was no more funding for "master plans" and no jobs as master planners. Another two years were wasted on still another cerebral exercise.

It was a shame there wasn't a professor my first urban planning class who encouraged us to go into a different field as there was at Penn State. I guess it didn't matter. I probably would not have listened to him either. Then again, the professor probably did not have a clue we were in a dead end profession any more than we did.

It would not have been so sad an exercise, if it had not taken me away from Phyliss during such a difficult period in her life when she needed my support the most. Being the precursor to the expected and extended separation during my upcoming Peace Corps service, it became a warning to us of the suffering that was to come from such an extended separation. It certainly was a major factor to tell us this was not how we wanted to live.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

More Photography

In Seattle, I again used photography to sell photos to the class. It was not so lucrative this time since there was no common project to sell the same photo to many people. Differing conditions usually require differing approaches. This is a valuable lesson to learn and apply.

So, I responded to an ad for a darkroom technician. I worked beside an expert and learned a great deal from him. The photographer we worked for could be humanely described as inept. He should have never been allowed to touch a camera. Many times in life, the incompetence of one person spawns an opportunity for another. Remarkably, a second valuable lesson appeared from one experience.

The owner's lack of expertise became a huge advantage for me. The negatives were so poorly taken, that they needed emergency surgery in the darkroom to make them produce acceptable photographs. The fellow I worked with was a master and showed me all the tricks to make that happen with friendship and generosity. The resulting photos were excellent after our magic in the darkroom, and the boss thought he was such a great photographer. I am not sure what he did when we left. I was able to help payback my dear benefactors, with the earnings from photography once again. Photography had been "berry, berry" good to me.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

More internship

To supplement my evening work in photography, I found employment at an architectural office. It was a perfect partnership, a black architect and a white architect. It was a wonderful experience to see the two men work so well together during such a troubled time between the races. Do you remember the riots of the sixty's? The office had such an air of camaraderie and cooperation between the bosses and the bosses and the staff. They were both true professionals and gentlemen. The work in their office was interesting and added greatly to my professional education. It was enlightening and comforting to see these two men work in harmony on our little peaceful island, while we were surrounded by an angry sea that was on fire.

Leon, the black gentleman, realized that I was in Seattle alone from New Jersey with no family. He asked if I had plans for Thanksgiving, invited me to join him at his family celebration, and I gladly accepted.

Leon greeted me at the door, and introduced me to the gathering. The reactions were from very cordial to a little cool from some. Small talk before dinner was friendly with one young black man noticeably absent from the conversation. We began the meal. It was delicious, and Leon was the perfect host. I was made to feel comfortable and at home.

As the meal progressed the conversation was redirected by, the heretofore quiet, young man to the subject of "being a man." I think he may have been Leon's nephew. The conversation between Leon and his nephew became heated when Leon very deftly challenged his nephew's rhetoric which had little substance.

Leon was a mature thinker and tried to illustrate that "being a man" involved more than strength and testosterone, but also, caring, sensitivity, bravery, and kindness. The nephew wasn't getting Leon's wisdom, and there was anger in him that made everyone at the table uncomfortable, especially me.

I felt Leon's pain in not being able to redirect the young man's anger and insistence. I thought, "Being a parent is not going to be easy." I was getting some sense of the racial discord going on in the streets during that era, if there were such generational turmoil at a usually sublime family gathering within the home on Thanksgiving Day. It was a learning moment for me of what a difficult task our country had ahead.

It was unfortunate that the dinner was a bit blemished by the young man's attitude, but I have always remembered Leon's able leadership in the office and his kindness in the profession and that Thanksgiving Day to a lonely young man so far from home. Thanks, Leon.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Two lives saved by God

The little girl at the crosswalk: I was driving back to my apartment after a full day of classes and tests. It was afternoon, but unusually dark and overcast on a rare snowy day in Seattle between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I was distracted and buried in my thoughts of school, my jobs, and unbalanced finances.

It was a beautiful snow that settled on the trees and objects, but it melted immediately when it landed on the streets and sidewalks. It looked as if the streets had been magically plowed so carefully. The scene, regardless of its appeal, did not elevate me from my depressed mood, my distraction, and the potential tragedy that lay ahead.

There were two lanes and there were cars parked on each side, lots of traffic lights, and dense confusion. My mind was not on my driving. Suddenly, my brain kicked into gear when I saw a little girl running away to my left. I just saw her as my car passed, just missing her feet and legs by inches. She was so tiny and running so fast. I was so relieved to see her safely on the sidewalk. I was driving a heavy monster station wagon that would have most assuredly crushed her tiny body.

My brain went blank. I immediately pulled over to catch my breath. I had nearly killed or seriously injured her because of my inattention. The little girl had done everything correctly. She was crossing at a marked crosswalk, and afterward I noticed a car in the opposite direction that had stopped for her to cross. It took fifteen minutes for me to compose myself and continue to drive the rest of the way to my apartment.

For the rest of my life I often thought how God had saved her to grow up and have a family and live a full life. I so hope she did. It truly made me a much more cautious driver. God had also saved me at the same time. Her death or injury would have been an impossible thing to live with, especially considering my culpability and my carelessness. It was a frightening lesson well learned, for a young man who had almost destroyed two lives in a careless moment. I was learning so much about life during my stay in Seattle, almost all of it outside the classroom.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The drive home, alone

My first year in Seattle came to an end. I planned to drive home, spend the summer in New Jersey, work, and be with Phyliss. I quickly found that America is really a big country. I drove from Seattle to New Jersey through the northern states. It took me seven days. I don't remember much about the country except there were loads of diners with very friendly waitresses where you could have a delicious breakfast for thirty-five cents and free refills on coffee. And they say there is no inflation. Try that today. Somebody is not telling us the truth, folks.

The interstate highway system was only about one-third complete. It was built in segments that branched east and west and eventually joined with other segments that did the same. The results were one hundred miles on and then one hundred miles off the interstate, each time through complex, confusing, temporary construction zones filled with little towns, construction dirt and potholes.

It was a hot and tiring, gauntlet without air conditioning, plagued with a vapor-locked carburetor, snapped fan belt, blown tire, and a burst coolant hose. There are so many people who idolize those old cars. I think I will pass on that one. They belong in a museum, not on the road with me in it. The car just ate gas, tires, and, my energy. I slept in the back at truck stops. I looked out the back window and marveled to think that all those truck drivers out there do this for a living, every day, all day, just so we can eat apples in the winter.

It was an experience, but not a good one. It was again more learning outside the classroom. I was thinking I had made a mistake planning to drive back to Seattle at the end of the summer, through the southern states and up the west coast with Phyliss. She had absolutely no trepidation about taking the trip back, as long as it was with me. God was so good to me.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The drive back with Phyliss

The trip from Seattle to New Jersey was about three thousand miles. The trip back to Seattle was about four thousand five hundred miles. The two trips were similar, but the countryside was more interesting driving back to Seattle especially up the west coast through California, Oregon, and Washington State – truly marvelous states except for their insane politics and detached arrogance and illogic.

The sights were unequaled: the endless Grand Canyon, Meteor Crater, the Carlsbad Caverns, the vast and abundant farms and vineyards, the majestic redwoods, the rocky coast at the Pacific and having the sunset over the ocean. This was another trip we could enter into our logbook of remarkable experiences together.

But, as always, for each of us the real scenery was sitting right next to us. What a difference it makes traveling through a lifetime, not alone, but rather with your loved one. There is no equal. How fortunate we both were. My wish and my prayer are for everyone to be able to do the same with someone they admire and who admires them.

It was a wonderful sixteen days of what would be once-in-a-lifetime experiences with our favorite person. This time there were no mechanical failures. God was with us. Maybe those old cars were not so bad after all, just old and tired, like me. Do you think that Phyliss had something to do with the car running flawlessly on the way back? Hm.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

My crisis/Phyliss' crisis

About four months before graduation at the University of Washington, I was notified of my acceptance in the Peace Corps for service in Tunisia. I was working on my thesis and became very ill. I could not eat even the most benign meal without severe digestive complications.

The medical center and testing gave no relief. Living alone, away from the university, I began to have anxiety and panic attacks. I feared that I had a serious illness and might actually be dying. No one would ever miss me or find me. I really had no friends. The only manifestation that I died would be an empty seat in lecture hall or a missed phone call to Phyliss.

I decided to move into a dormitory on campus for my last months at school. I thought, at least someone would find my body. I ate more regularly, but my stomach pains continued. The tests showed nothing. Nobody knew what was wrong with me. It was torture for Phyliss knowing that I was deathly sick and she could not help. I persevered through my thesis and completed my work for my degree. I quit my jobs, sold my car, packed and flew home to a frantic Phyliss. She was so concerned for my well being, but so relieved that I was close by.

My stay at home was short lived since Peace Corps training started in less than a month in Estes Park, Colorado. My illness continued unabated with a new doctor and more tests. There still was no diagnosis or treatment to give me relief. There was no relief for Phyliss either; she was suffering as much as I was. I was accepted in the Peace Corps, and I was determined to serve regardless of my ailment. I thought, "I was in misery, but still functional, and I had not died yet, so how serious could my illness be?" Amid still another terribly tearful goodbye, I left Phyliss for Estes Park.

I arrived, and the excitement, change of venue, and preoccupation diverted me from my malady the first week. There was no time to be sick. Then, it happened, my ailment gradually left. It was never diagnosed, but it never came back. It had to be anticipation and anxiety of leaving the country on an unknown mission that caused the severe digestive problems and pain.

The reason the doctors and all the tests could not find anything, was there was nothing to find. Phyliss was so relieved. Her reaction to the possibility that she might lose me, overwhelmed me. I knew she loved me deeply. This episode proved to me that I was not a major part of her life. It proved to me that I was her life.

Finally, my never-ending years of college were over and I could get on with my life of applying my newfound education and start making "big money." At least I still have some sense of humor left.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**DADDY'S DEATH AND THE AFTERMATH**

I was home from my first year at Penn State for the summer of 1962. Phyliss and I were now truly "secretly" in love to all those who were legally blind and had an IQ of forty-two.

The years had not been good to her dear father who was now failing rapidly from heart disease despite the air-conditioned home Phyliss had built for him. Even though he was bedridden, she took devoted care of him at home while working three jobs. No sacrifice was ever too great for her parents, her family, or me.

The help I could give Phyliss that summer was very limited. Her sister recommended me for a job with her - twelve hours a day - seven days a week, inspecting cans at the Campbell Soup Company, for the entire summer.

The twelve-hour shift left no free time. Every day included, two hours of travel, eight hours sleep, and two hours to recover from the hearing loss and nausea caused by the noise, lacquer spray, and fumes from the dozen open molten lead baths used to solder the cans. (More about the lead, later) Her sister worked there all her life and is now ninety-two years old and healthy. Phyliss' generation was certainly made from strong stock.

As a result of the job, Phyliss and I saw so little of each other that summer, much to our dismay. I hated the job because it was exhausting and, more importantly; it kept us apart and limited the help I could give her.

What torment it must have been for her to work such hours and come home to her dying father, with only her aging mother's help. How lonely and alone she must have felt. Some relief came when day school ended, and she could at least spend the days with her increasingly needy father.

Soon after the summer started, Phyliss arrived at my door in mid-morning between my work shifts. This was an ominous and an unusual event. "Why was she here?" She wore a somber face instead of her usual wholehearted smile that she always gave me.

She was sobbing. Her father just died an hour before.

We both knew he was terminally ill, but no one is ready for the moment when it comes. She was obviously in shock, as was I. But, I had the additional pain of watching her suffer. Phyliss was blessed with a large family. There were brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and neighbors. Add a dozen priests and nuns who were life long friends and the group represented an army. But, she came to me for comfort in her most desperate hour. I should not have been surprised, since I would have looked to her for my own comfort in a similar crisis. It was yet another affirmation of our love.

She was seeking consolation from the one she loved the most. I gladly gave it, and tried to absorb what seemed to be unending sorrow. She came in. We both cried in each other's arms for what seemed to be forever. I felt so bonded to her at that moment - a bond that was never to be broken.

We both agreed that we had to cut our grief short and get back to the house, and her mother. I don't remember the drive.

When we arrived, Mama Crudo had tied up daddy's jaw with an old nylon stocking to help preserve his appearance at the viewing. She was not crying, but her face was furrowed with the sorrow and grief of a lifetime. She was always a woman of remarkable strength.

It was my first experience with death of someone I knew and respected. I remember it didn't seem possible how he could have been so vibrant and now so permanently lifeless.

Ignoring the weight of her own grief, Phyliss quickly composed herself, and dispatched the tasks at hand with efficiency and professionalism. Notifying the undertaker, informing the many family members, caring for her mother, selecting the garments for her father's funeral, notifying the priests and the church, and involving me in the execution of all of it was in her capable hands.

That she would honor me by allowing me to assist her in these serious tasks warmed my heart, drew us closer, and made me love her more, if that were possible.

I had completely forgotten about my job and later received a reprimand for my unannounced absence, but it was of no importance to me.

The undertaker arrived quickly, and her father's body was removed with great sorrow to Phyliss. At this point, Phyliss and I were openly consoling each other with no repercussions from her mother or family members. From this moment, they knew. And we didn't care.

Anticipating the onslaught of family and friends, Phyliss engineered the traditional preparation of food and accommodations. I gladly rolled up my sleeves and relished the opportunity to help my love in her hour of need.

It was a strange time of sorrow and joy for me. Phyliss had unselfishly helped me for so many years and now was a welcomed opportunity to help her. In her admiring way, she made me know that my presence gave her a comfort that no one else could give her. The emotion was marvelously mutual.

As the day turned to evening, the house filled with friends and family. The Crudo family had made many friends in Camden at the Catholic Church and with eight married children, the family itself was large. (Phyliss, of course, was not married, at least not yet, and her sister Marion died when she was only nineteen years old)

The wake at the house turned into a family gathering of food and drink, while Phyliss assumed the role of organizer/worker. She was obviously in shock at the loss of her dear father and was the apparition of exhaustion.

She appeared to be functioning on adrenaline alone. To reduce her burden, I asked her what I could do beyond the catering function I had assumed.

She graciously welcomed my offer to help, and indicated that the logistics of such a large funeral would be daunting. Customarily, the funeral director would provide cars for all the members of the family. With such a large family, the hierarchy, order, family politics, and arrangement would be difficult tasks indeed.

She assigned this important and difficult task to me, a nineteen-year-old. Be still my heart. How lucky was I? This day affirmed to me that I would never let this remarkable woman out of my sight. I didn't care what our age difference was or what people thought. I felt so close to her by the end of this day. I never wanted to leave her side.

I quickly made the announcement to the gathering of my intentions to try to organize the procession of vehicles from the houses to the church, from the church to the cemetery, and back to Phyliss' house. This included dozens of family members, and I don't remember how many cars.

I commenced my task, and got about halfway done, when a brother-in-law, known for his belligerence and loud mouth, began openly challenging my authority to do so since I was not even a member of the family. I was aghast, but quickly recovered and defended my right to do the job.

Enter Phyliss, exhausted from the extensive preparations and the grief of her Daddy's passing, but always equal to the task. She silenced the brother-in-law with a few authoritative sentences and what seemed to be the wave of a magic wand and returned to her previous duties.

I was able to finish my task without further interruption; successfully, I am proud to say. There was an unspoken glance of appreciation and affection from Phyliss, as always.

If there were a priest in the room, I would have married her on the spot, instead of six years later. It would have been the first combination funeral/marriage ever. I was in such awe of her abilities, her character, and her love. I felt so fortunate. It was an honor to be in her presence. The house was crowded with people. But, they all seemed to be moving in slow motion and someone turned off the sound. It felt like there was no one else there but her.

That week, I was honored to accompany Phyliss and her uncle to the funeral home when the formal arrangements for her father were made. It was my first experience with death, and rather surreal for a young man.

The funeral home was in Camden in Phyliss' old neighborhood, and the director was a fixture among the many Italian residents. He had managed the funerals of everyone in the family who had died. Little did I know that his son would manage Phyliss' funeral many years later.

What I learned that day from Phyliss, guided me to organize her own funeral, thankfully many years later.

The facility where the viewing took place was small, somber, and dark. Phyliss arrived early, bringing our mothers and me with her. Only the director was there. I got to view death up close for the first time. As people came, many said, "he looks good" or "he looks like he is sleeping." All I could think was this man I knew as gentle, kind, and full of life, Phyliss' lifetime love, – looked like death.

The room began filling with smoke and its odor, only adding to the unreal nature of the event. Much to my dismay, it felt more like a pool hall than a "viewing." This was the first realization I had of the permanence and irreversibility of death. This realization was to overwhelm me with sorrow years later with the loss of my dear, who was, now standing next to me.

I didn't know what to expect of a "viewing". I think I came expecting a reverend, respectful, and somber gathering – lots of crying, handkerchiefs, and sad faces. I was alarmed that the gathering was soon to become loud, and morphed into a party-like atmosphere.

The air now became filled cigar smoke. I was in the back, but my heart was with Phyliss next to the casket. I knew she was so fatigued and that she would rather be mourning her dear father in private reverence and solitude with me at her side to comfort her.

Instead she was destined to endure the endless handshaking and embraces from many people she didn't even know. The whole affair made my heart bleed for my dear Phyliss. It was a sad evening for me to see her suffer from the death of her father and to be denied a peaceful time alone with him. I felt helpless – I only wished I could have spared her somehow.

I remember very little of the next day of the Mass, the burial and the festivity afterwards. I do remember it was another exhausting day that I was kept from grieving with Phyliss and from which I had no power to rescue her.

The whole ordeal of Grandpa Crudo's death was repeated many times for Phyliss and me with the same painful results and memories. We both developed a strong dislike and discomfort for the public mourning of a loved one. Strangely, over the years, Phyliss and I came to associate the same discomfort with weddings and other gatherings.

I guess we just would have preferred to celebrate the event more intimately. It seems that our preference for seeking exclusivity may have come with a price and explain my terrible sense of loss now that she is gone. Whatever the price, the years of joy were worth the pain.

It seemed that for the two events, the spectacle became the objective. The mournful and respectful death of a loved one at the funeral, and the love of two people joined for life in matrimony in front of God, seemed to be lost in the lavish events filled with trivial diversions. The distraction from the true meaning, piety, and solemnity of the events distressed us both.

It was this redirection from the real meaning of the events that drove us, many years later, to elope to Rome. Thanks to the massive endeavor and unstoppable tenacity of Phyliss, we were married in St. Peter's Basilica in quiet reverence, solitude, love, and happiness - without spectacle and fanfare. It was our event and ours alone. We even had to hire witnesses.

Our focus was on our love for each other and the solemn meaning of our union. Through the years with Phyliss, I noticed many other traditions and activities where we were completely out of touch with the "norms" usually accepted or practiced by society. They were for others, not for us.

Marvelously, when we experienced displeasure with the accepted "norm," we always were in unison with each other in the substitution of an alternative. I guess it all started with our refusal to accept the norm regarding our relationship, our ages, our courtship, and our marriage.

Fifty-one years later, our mutual thinking molded my organization of the solemn and simple viewing and Mass for Phyliss. The Mass was followed by a private interment in her crypt. To the surprise and dismay of some, there was no festivity after, only the quiet joy of the knowledge that her suffering was over and that she would rest eternally in heaven with Jesus.

That is all that concerned me. That is all that would have concerned her. That was all that was important.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**ADULT EVENING SCHOOL**

While I was at Penn State, Phyliss' teaching at the Jr. High School eventually ended when she was offered a position at Woodrow Wilson High School to be the guidance counselor and National Honor Society advisor. Once again, Phyliss had not applied for the job, but the principal had heard of her talents and chose her to fill the vacant position. Things were done that way at that time - selection based on personal recommendations, trust, performance, and reputation. Oh, if we could only go back to that time.

Miss Phyliss Crudo – Director

Woodrow Wilson Adult School

Phyliss was so accomplished that there didn't seem to be a position at which she would not excel. Being a guidance counselor was no exception. For two years, the high school students were the beneficiaries of her excellent advice as I had been the prior years. They were quite fortunate, as was I.

The Adult Evening School was housed in the same building as the high school. It wasn't long before the director of the evening school, noticed her capabilities and offered her a job as the administrator of the program. After a few years, her capabilities became obvious and, Phyliss was promoted to be the principal and then the assistant director of the school.

The director retired, and Phyliss was selected to replace him. Because of her accomplishments in her other three positions, Phyliss hit the ground running with Mr. Hackett's capable help. Now as the director, Phyliss quickly assessed every aspect of the school, eliminated the weaknesses, and expanded the strengths.

Miss Crudo with Holton Hackett - a trusted and most capable co-worker

A prime example of Phyliss' trademark white blouse and Camellias at the collar

This included the staff, faculty, curriculum, finances, and facility. She left no area untouched. As always, she insured that her unbiased decisions were made professionally. They were made to promote the advancement of the school, academically well-founded, and tailored to the needs of the students and in their best interest, and for the well-being of the community.

One of her first tasks was to evaluate the faculty, remove the incompetent and the unmotivated and replace them with superior performers. She was not timid in her pursuit of excellence. She drew heavily from individuals she knew were industrious workers, competent and talented teachers, communicated well, and inspired the students. The words, favoritism and cronyism, and nepotism had no place in the school under her capable watch.

A former student came back to school to thank Phyliss for her excellent education and guidance. Phyliss knew her to be an excellent student and casually questioned her about her years since being in her classroom. The woman hadn't even a vague intention of looking for a job. Much to her surprise, Phyliss convinced her on the spot to accept a teaching position. It was a position that she executed admirably. Phyliss had the ability to judge character and recognize excellence almost immediately. After all, she picked me for her husband, didn't she? Sorry, a little tongue-in-cheek humor.

Much of what Phyliss did was what any excellent administrator or CEO of a company would do. The key word here is "excellent." There were very few that met that criterion. This transformation of the school took place in the first eight months of her arrival, and would be impressive by any evaluation. But, Phyliss did not stop with improving the obvious.

During her evaluations, Phyliss went beyond the details of the school and studied the composition of the student body. In order to meet their needs, she had to know her audience and their requisites. It was not enough to just, blindly, teach a rigid curriculum without knowing the characteristics, needs, and desires of the students.

She found that the student body was populated by an abundance of individuals, who worked in the area. They needed their high school equivalency certificate to advance in their place of employment.

The curriculum was adjusted accordingly to meet this need, with the proper structure for them to be tested and certified. There was more.

Phyliss interviewed students and found that many worked variable "shifts." Much of their "off" time did not occur when the school was open. Some knew others that could not attend at all for various reasons. There were no funds to extend the school hours. This appeared to be a sad and insurmountable problem facing Phyliss. Her pursuit continued.

Ever enterprising and never intimidated, Phyliss met with the men of management of the many employers in Camden where her students worked. She approached The Campbell Soup Co., the New York Ship Co., and the RCA Corp among others. She presented a proposal to them. It said that if they collectively and proportionally provided the funds, she would arrange for the Adult Evening School to be open twenty-four hours a day, every day to service their students. They readily accepted her offer, and she made it happen.

There are an abundance of claims of gender inequality and ancestry bias today. Imagine an Italian woman, a Catholic, a child of immigrants, financially struggling, fifty years ago, displaying this type of leadership and innovation. This kind of achievement, from a woman, did not and was not allowed to exist in that era. But, Phyliss did not know that.

The idea was bold, the politics were daunting, and the execution was intimidating. It was not intimidating for my future wife. Once she had an agreement, Phyliss had to implement the legal structure for this to work. She did.

Now the task was centered on the school. Could she deliver her promise? She arranged for the continuous occupancy of the school. Staff members were reassigned, and new members hired. Extra security was required for the evening hours. Shifts had to be established and coordination of the various staff had to be put in place. And, the increase for Phyliss' salary had to be accommodated. That is a bit of humor in this serious tale. Phyliss did not ask for nor accept an additional nickel for these increased responsibilities, even though she could have. It never entered her mind. She was just doing her job.

It is hard to imagine, but all of these accomplishments were done in the first year and a half of her directorship. I sit at my keyboard in awe.

With this whirlpool of activity and accomplishment, what was Phyliss' personal life like at the time? It must have been so calm and serene to allow her to execute such a consummate achievement.

At the time of her directorship of the Adult Evening School, I was finishing my thesis three thousand miles away at the University of Washington. Plans were already made for me to go to Estes Park for Peace Corps training almost two thousand miles away. Then I was to go to Tunisia, four thousand miles away for two years for my service. Phyliss and I would be apart for more than two years, after seven years of extended absences traveling back and forth to school.

I had been asking Phyliss to marry me forever, but we both knew that circumstances made it impossible. We both realized that and resigned ourselves to reluctantly wait until I returned.

During her directorship, Phyliss was devastated about the idea of being separated from me for the duration of my Peace Corps service. This was serious mental and emotional anguish with nowhere to turn and no one to counsel or comfort her. She perfectly hid this anguish for fear of discouraging me in the pursuit of my goals.

I am so upset, no destroyed, no demolished, no ravished, oh hell! There aren't any words in the language to express how I feel about missing the signs of her torment while I was "seeing the world." The hurt won't heal or go away, ever. I wish she were here to tell her how sorry I am. I know she would forgive me. But, she is gone.

While Phyliss was performing the impossible at Evening School, she was suffering this terrible personal loss.

I have no idea where she could have gotten the strength to survive her trials. It had to be her faith. We had always given each other strength, but this time, I was the cause of her anguish. I was a world away. Many young people today cannot comprehend the isolation there was without today's communication system. Phyliss was totally alone to cope with her pain.

Thank God, Phyliss rose above her personal hell, devised a radical plan, and executed it. She would quit her job, marry Joseph, and join him in Tunisia. The impossibility of this task was irrelevant. Phyliss was undaunted.

After all, she had worked tirelessly to make the Adult School into a well-oiled machine that could run on autopilot for decades, or so she thought. She had completed her job with distinction. She resigned, and finally pursued her reunion and marriage with the love of her life. It was the first time she had addressed her own needs, before others.

Several extremely competent coworkers took over the interim administration of Phyliss' accomplishments. They performed a yeoman's work in preserving what Phyliss had created. I wish this were the end of the story. I am afraid it is not. It is so sad.

The board of education, in all its wisdom did an extensive, but grossly incompetent, search for a new director. As an architect, I am always impressed with how long it takes to build something, and yet, how little time it takes to destroy it. I guess it is because building something is a deliberate act to exacting standards. Destruction is a mindless and random act and can be done quickly since there are not many requirements beyond, don't kill anyone nor destroy the nearby buildings.

Writing this chapter, it has become apparent that there are exceptions to my previous observation. Phyliss created her masterpiece of learning in a year and a half. It took her successors a full five years to destroy it.

If the story of the fall of the City of Camden or more particularly the Woodrow Wilson High School and Evening School were unique, it would be a sad story indeed. But the truth is that it is not a unique story. It is a story repeated thousands of times all over the United States. It happened right before our eyes. I am ashamed to say that it was my generation that caused the monumental and precipitous decline of the cities and the education systems in the country.

The monumental legacy of excellence that Phyliss left behind in education was the direct result of the high principles and character that she practiced and passed on to the system and to each of her students. We were left with the best and we squandered it all in less than a generation. How appropriately named the Woodrow Wilson High School was. It was named after the president whose despicable policies and governance started the cancer that consumed our great country. His administration was the beginning of the end for requiring individuals to assume personal responsibilities for their actions and to pay consequences for irresponsible behavior in society.

Welcome to Camden, NJ - the most dangerous city in America. FBI – 2012 Statistics for cities over 75,000 for both violent and property crime. What a legacy. My poor Phyliss, she tried so hard. She left so much and we had not the will to keep it.

There are only a few comments on the Woodrow Wilson Face book page today. But, two that caught my attention were: "The best: you can even get shot at that school, lots of luck." It was labeled, "The most dangerous school in the USA." My God, people, what have we done? Phyliss and I apologize to the coming generations. We were given everything. We have left you nothing but heartache, rubble, and debt. We are so sorry. I have no idea how we can repent for our sin. Please forgive us somehow.

Today, the business hours of the Woodrow Wilson High School Evening School are 7:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. weekdays, three hours a day. There are no nighttime hours and no weekend hours. The school's overall ranking in New Jersey is ranked three hundred twenty-one of three hundred twenty-two. Research shows that a twenty-four hour adult school isn't even a remote concept today, not in Camden and not anywhere in the country that I could find in my search.

I found a report published by the National Education Association to try to glean where New Jersey ranked nationally for a comparison. There was plenty of information about income, expenditure per child, student-teacher ratios, attendance, and on and on. There was not one word about student comparative academic status and performance. What can I say folks.

I am so sorry, Phyliss, you are gone and your excellence is gone with you. I am so relieved that you are not here to read this. It is a chapter without a happy ending. I know I had a most depressing and difficult time writing it and reading the article that was being posted while you were dying. It appears that what you and your colleagues accomplished and left this once great city and country, died with you.

Below, are excerpts from a post on the site, "I am Camden" The emphases are mine. It was posted on October 29, 2013 at 3:01 a.m. by Darran Simon of the Philadelphia Inquirer the day Phyliss died, ten hours before she took her last breath.

I don't know how we got to where we are today . . . having come from where we were yesterday.

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Darran Simon - Inquirer Staff Writer - October 29, 2013, 3:01 AM

Large numbers of children don't feel safe in the hallways of Camden schools, (they) say they lack essential textbooks and technology, and don't believe they are being prepared for college or careers, according to findings of a survey released Monday.

About a third of the students surveyed - around half of them in some schools - expressed a desire to attend a different school. Teachers polled also expressed dismay at the appearance of their buildings, and a quarter of them said students in their schools do not care about learning.

The indictment of conditions in the city's public schools drew a call from Superintendent Paymon Rouhanifard - recently appointed by the state after it took over the district this year - "to implement dramatic changes." "It cannot be incremental," he said in an interview . . .

The survey was conducted by the school district in partnership with the Bloustein Center for Survey Research at Rutgers University. About six thousand three hundred students and staff in twenty-five schools responded in June to queries seeking to identify their concerns, and the results are seen as a baseline for changes, officials said. School Board President Kathryn Blackshear could not be reached Monday evening . . .

Rouhanifard said the survey results show the urgency of the need for change in the beleaguered district, most of whose schools are among the state's worst-performing. The superintendent, who is in the middle of a one hundred-day listening tour, said the district would unveil its broader strategic priorities by December. . .

Nearly half of 2,500 students in grades 3 to 5, and a third of 1,750 students in grades 6 to 12, said they do not always feel safe in hallways and bathrooms, according to the survey. The district was cited last year by the state for previously underreporting acts of violence and vandalism.

The unsafe feeling was worse in eight of the 21 middle and high schools, including Woodrow Wilson High School, where more than 50 percent of students reported not feeling safe. Nearly a quarter of school staff across the district also said they did not feel safe.

Rouhanifard, who was appointed in August, said he had moved to tackle school safety first. The district has worked to update all school security plans for the first time since 2006 and is installing more than 100 new cameras, officials said. Mayor Dana L. Redd and Camden County Police Chief Scott Thomson are instituting a "safe corridors" program, which would map routes to and from school bus stops and walking routes, and increase police presence there. The routes should be operational in about two weeks, the superintendent said.

In February 2012, the state Department of Education sent a team to the district after a Camden Courier-Post article called into question the accuracy of the district's reporting of violent incidents through the Electronic Violence and Vandalism Reporting System over the previous two school years . . .

Rouhanifard said that the district had been collaborating better with the police and that he had made it clear to principals that violence must be reported. Barfield, secretary and former president of the district parent advisory council, said the survey results pointing to a lack of educational materials affirmed what he had seen over the years. . .

"You go into the classroom and you see kids have old, ripped-up textbooks." Rouhanifard said the district had pumped $5 million into buying new textbooks and technology. Students in all literature classes and kindergarten and elementary math classes have a textbook to use in school and another at home, the officials said.

About half of the educators said some students cannot be motivated to do schoolwork. On the other hand, around half of the students queried at Camden and Woodrow Wilson High Schools said they would like to be at a different school. "There is a lack of instructional rigor, coupled with the fact that the culture and climate are not where they should be," Rouhanifard said . . .

Darran Simon, staff writer, the Philadelphia Inquirer, October 29, 2013

Read more at  http://mobile.philly.com/news/?wss=%2Fphilly%2Feducation&id=229637811#TrZes5UMJbPcD1Bu.99

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The Camden system must be so inferior because of lack of funding. The yearly budget for the Camden School system is only about $350,000,000. That's right six zeros. Spending is $25,500/student and the student teacher ratio is 10.5/1. In her last 15 years of teaching, Phyliss had average classes of over 40 students. How did we get here? We should hang our heads in shame.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
**JOSEPH JOINS THE PEACE CORPS**

For most of the years of my young adulthood, Phyliss suppressed her strong love for me and insisted that the exclusivity of our relationship would harm me, due to my youth and our sixteen-year age difference.

She continually implored me to date and associate with ladies of my own generation and age. I vehemently rebelled at the idea, and refused to follow her advice to fraternize. I was adamant about this. It was the only time I ever defied her usually-wise counsel. We both would soon be glad that I did.

All throughout my college years, I earnestly beseeched her to marry me. My efforts always fell on deaf ears. She was genuinely flattered, and said so, but politely declined my persistent proposals. I never realized, until years later, how desperately she wanted to say, "Yes." She was so skilled at self-sacrifice and concealing her own desires, to protect me. Once again, Phyliss ignored her own happiness for others. My success in life and the care of her mother took priority over her own wishes.

But she was right, as always, to decline my offers. How could we dovetail my pursuit of my education, her responsibilities at home, and marriage? I really had no right to ask her to marry me. I had no way of supporting her and her mother without an education and a job.

It was early, 1968. I was nearing the completion of my second year of graduate school in Seattle at the University of Washington. Phyliss and I discussed my future after graduating, extensively. I told her of my deep interest in the Peace Corps that John Kennedy had started. I found the prospect exciting. I was anxious to put my seven years of college to practical use, and the thought of helping others at the same time strongly appealed to me.

My somewhat misguided, faith in the worthiness of mankind, my desire to help others less fortunate, the great human suffering I observed around the world, and my optimism were strong incentives to join the Peace Corps. In large part, I attribute these desires to observing Phyliss conduct her benevolent life for the benefit of others for the previous eleven years.

I was twenty-five, and there was the ever present concern of my being drafted and entering the Vietnam War. This was a concern that weighed heavily on Phyliss continually throughout my college career. She could get no relief from this possibility to ease her concern. I was the love of her life. She could not bear the thought of my being separated from her, suffering, and dying. She would have gone to Vietnam in my place, if she could have arranged it. It haunts me that I was so unaware of her immense suffering regarding this possibility.

I cannot say that the prospect of going to Vietnam did not enter my mind in my Peace Corps decision making. However, I did not believe it was a major consideration since, like graduate school, I believed the Peace Corps service was not considered a substitute for the draft by the military. I would have been still eligible to be drafted. Including this prospect in my thinking did not seem to be useful or constructive.

Other of my architect volunteer contemporaries must have believed this to be a substitute for the draft. The draft ended several months after we arrived in Tunisia. About a third of them submitted their resignations and returned to America. Their leaving was certainly a black eye for American altruism in the eyes of the host country. It was not a sterling moment for our country, and it was an action that was difficult for me to reconcile.

I was there training to go overseas to help others and learning along side my colleagues with the same desire, or so I thought. The realization that they were there for a deceptive and selfish purpose shook me deeply. What was even more disconcerting was the thought that I had not perceived that deception.

It was only years later that I managed to assuage myself when I realized that the Peace Corps with all its training and psychological testing did not realize the deception either. I didn't feel so bad, but it was an important life lesson about trust that I learned. I began to understand what a novice I was in this field of judging and understanding the true character and motivation of others after years of close association with a woman whose word was her bond. Phyliss had no equal when it came to determining the true motivation of others and the practice of deception.

Phyliss encouraged my pursuit of the Peace Corps as she did all my endeavors. I later found that she was secretly reluctant to give me encouragement because it meant more painful separation from me. Each time I traveled further from her, her love increased proportionately, as did her anxiety. She never showed me this discomfort, only enthusiasm. Again, she skillfully concealed her distress, and I was not observant enough or perhaps not mature enough, to fully appreciate and lessen her deep internal sadness. I am dismayed that I did not detect her anguish. She hid it so well or I was so blind, or maybe a little of both.

Peace Corps training camp - Summer 1968 – the H bar G Ranch, Estes Park Colorado

Architects, Planners, Family Educators and Planners

Without being aware of Phyliss' consternation, as we discussed, I placed my application for Peace Corps services with my preferred country selections: (1) the Philippine Islands; (2) Nepal; (3) Tunisia. What was I thinking? I was selected for Tunisia because of my degrees in Architecture and Urban Planning. Both disciplines were needed for this in-country assignment. Unknown to me, my acceptance in the program devastated Phyliss. She suppressed her personal feelings and hid this from me, and supported my participation for fear that it would interfere with my decision and my pursuits.

I graduated from U of W and flew home to an unusually, emotional, and tearful reunion with Phyliss. I had to soon leave her again for Estes Park, Colorado for Peace Corps orientation, training, and French lessons. Another unusually tearful departure took place as she concealed the disappointment of our separation, again. I still wasn't getting it.

I was not picking up the subtle signs of her devastation that were staring me in the face. I am so sorry I did not see them. I was truly dense. I must have had some subconscious awareness, since I was never again to miss her signs of concern and love for me and her discomfort of our being apart. Maybe there was hope for me yet.

The training near Estes Park took place in a series of farm buildings and barns at the H bar G ranch. By the way, it is still there. Accommodations were purposely spartan and austere. The group consisted of about thirty, mostly male architects, and about one hundred twenty mostly female "family planning specialists."

There was, shall we say, considerable "fraternizing" between the two groups. I had no interest in the "extreme friendships" that blossomed around me. I had the best friend in the world waiting for me at home as she so loyally did for what seemed to be forever.

What I perceived then, as years of opportunity and adventure, I now view as wasted years in comparison to what I left behind. I guess some of that feeling is my profound grief surfacing. Now, that she is gone, every moment I was not with her invokes extreme sorrow and pain – the same sorrow and pain she must have felt.

The training was mostly psychological, which dismayed me, and French lessons which dismayed my demanding, but excellent, sometimes brutal Tunisian teachers. It was not my finest hour. To "pull up the ranks" they formed a class of the three poorest French students of whom I was the poorest. I was number one at the top in high school. I was number one at the bottom in French. It was a classic Reversal of Fortune. Move over, Claus von Bülow.

As an adjunct to our academic training, we hiked each weekend in groups through Rocky Mountain National Park, nearby, to develop our physical endurance. Each excursion acclimated us to a greater altitude until the final outing to "Long's Peak" at fourteen thousand six hundred feet. Even with the gradual acclamation, breathing was laborious. The trips were difficult, but the beauty was extraordinary. The exercises developed our stamina and camaraderie among the volunteers. These developed friendships were useful, since we were called on to work together in-country a number of times.

After two months of intense training, we prospective volunteers flew to New York, where we connected to another flight to Tunis, Tunisia. As I was leaving the country for two years, Phyliss was entering her most difficult time. It was the beginning of the adult evening school year, where she was now the director, embarking on a brilliant new program of her own design which I addressed previously. Again, I had no idea.

In 1968, overseas communication was a near impossible endeavor. Additionally, all communication with Tunisia was primitive at best. It is hard to fully appreciate this from where we are today. Voice communication was costly and had to be arranged through an operator who spoke no English, days, and sometimes, weeks in advance. Quality was poor, and phone locations were rare. There were always disappointments and glitches.

An air mail letter took a week. Air parcels were prohibitively expensive and sea parcels regularly took three months. Dealing with customs at each end for personal travel and parcels was a nightmare of regulations, red tape, and corruption. There was no way of dealing with the rules, since there did not seem to be any.

When you left the country, you might as well have gone to the Moon. Ironically, men would go to the Moon later that year and have superior communications with Earth than we did with home.

Additionally, volunteers could not return home for the two-year duration of service. This was a major isolation and separation for Phyliss that I did not fully comprehend. Phyliss did and it secretly dismayed her terribly.

The intense activity and excitement further hid from me her ravaged emotions, yet she dispatched her overwhelming responsibilities, flawlessly, as always, while I was busy "touring the world." I am so ashamed that I did not feel the full magnitude of her suffering until I wrote this page. How could I have been so self-absorbed and detached from the one I loved so deeply?

If this chapter gives you the impression I was dopey, I was.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
**TUNISIA, THE PEACE CORPS WITHOUT PHYLISS**

In Tunisia, we volunteers embarked on another month of orientation, including travel in the desert, more training in French, and medical training to survive in a rudimentary medical system with uncommon, foreign diseases and ailments. By the end of the tour, most of us were quite ill from "unusual cuisine," unfriendly Tunisian intestinal critters, and the ravages of "Tunisian toilets."

There was no toilet paper. We got first "hand" experience about why you should never give a salutation by shaking with your left hand. Personal hygiene and clean water were long, lost memories. There was no bottled water, but I do remember a coke machine at one of the oases we visited in the middle of the desert! You can't beat American capitalism! "The sodas were cold!" "Where did they get the electricity?"

We were exhausted, and every orifice was filled with sand. The 100+F heat was overbearing at first. But, then the sirocco came and we found what real heat was. The cars had no air conditioning, of course, but, the interior was "cooler" with the windows closed. Opening the windows was akin to opening the door to your oven. When it passed the next day, much of the outside of the car had been sandblasted. Many were ready to go home. I may have considered it, but I could not quit now after all those French lessons. Could I?

We finally returned to Tunis, leaving two destroyed Fiats, several sandblasted cameras, much of our stomach contents, and thousands of smelly camels in the southern desert. Thank goodness for the Peugeot four hundreds. I was never impressed with French engineering of automobiles. But they got it right this time. They fared much better than the Fiats and got us "home." The trip was exciting, way beyond hot, informative, and very well planned by the Peace Corps, despite being totally out of my comfort zone. I guess that was the idea. It was to be expected on such an adventure.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

We met for administrative issues, and to be given our individual assignments around the country. The Peace Corps doctor gave us a medical kit with a bunch of prescription medications, a lecture on how to use them and how to stay healthy, and a warning never to go into a Tunisian swimming pool because of parasites and lack of chlorination. This was an activity many had already engaged in during our tour - an admonition too late. At the time, it had not looked very inviting to me, thank goodness. I still remember being particularly impressed with the one gallon jar he showed us filled with a tape worm that once had a close "friendship" with a former volunteer.

Doctors, clinics, hospitals, or any kind of medical services were non-existent in the small towns throughout Tunisia. Help was usually days away. However, each town had a pharmacy of sorts and the pharmacists were remarkably knowledgeable, friendly, and familiar with the ailments and diseases that were prevalent in this unfamiliar environment. Their wise and affable advice saved many volunteers from unneeded suffering and ill health.

This was a tense time. My assignment would determine the nature of my life for the next two years. We knew that many of the places we visited, regardless of their desirability, would be someone's "home" for the duration of his service. Some places were very lonely and forbidding places, indeed.

One assignment was to occupy an oasis, to study the water supply, another was to live in solitude in a full-sized facsimile of the Roman Coliseum at "El Djem" in the middle of the Tunisian desert and document the mostly unrecorded structure, for two years. Yet other assignments were in large cities such as Tunis, Carthage, and Sfax in various locations and disciplines.

My assignment was to be the architect/planner of EzZahra (الزهراء), a small town of six thousand inhabitants, located about six kilometers south of Tunis, the capital. The town was originally called Saint-Germain in 1909 as a French colony and renamed EzZahra after independence in March 1956. The time, curiously, was almost exactly when I first noticed Miss Crudo in school. The Mayor of the town was also the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Tunisia, a fact that was not lost in the assignment of an architect for this small town. My appointment piqued my curiosity and it seemed it would be very interesting and challenging, indeed. I was pleased.

It seemed to be a commendable compromise between isolation and proximity to the large capital city of Tunis. Being located on the Mediterranean Sea was not a feature that did not go unnoticed. There was regular train service to Tunis and a train station in town. I was pleased. I certainly still had a degree of angst, but the introduction of the unknown back into my life was strangely familiar and was reminiscent of the uncertainty I experienced in my early childhood.

After the assignments were announced each volunteer was responsible for traveling to his location, meeting his Tunisian counterparts, and finding suitable housing. At this point, we were all on our own. For something that was so different and adventuresome I seem to have no memory of the experience of how I got to my town. Sometimes we don't realize how fortunate we are today having a smart phone with almost unlimited memory to document every part of our lives at no cost beyond the price of the device. Recording sounds, photos, and especially film was a major commitment and expensive undertaking.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I arrived at my assignment, and it appeared quite accommodating compared to many of the places we visited on our tour. It had a municipal building, and I was assigned an office. I was the only formally trained professional, but my Tunisian office cohorts were well educated, knowledgeable, respectful, accommodating, and very friendly. In fact, we had an excellent professional relationship and with some, a close personal friendship ensued for my entire stay.

My service was at the behest of the Mayor and would include the design and construction of several municipal buildings, design of new subdivisions for the expanding town, design of private villas for the "connected," and conversion of abandon structures, some dating from World War II, to useful purposes. It was quite a challenging itinerary for a novice architect and planner.

My horrible performance in French classes in Estes Park left me with almost no communications skills, short of body language, smiling, and head-nodding which would be perfected in Rome with Phyliss while getting our marriage license. One more month of lessons under the, shall we say, delightful tutelage of a lovely young French lass by the pool and a short, one-month emersion on-site, remedied that nicely. "Necessity truly is the mother of invention." I finally understood what they were saying, and the Tunisians could understand me as well!

Phyliss and I would later have less success learning Arabic from a native Tunisian. He knew no English and little French and tried to teach us Arabic speaking German. "Was that fun?" "Where did he learn German?"

We thought we were learning gibberish and baby talk in Arabic from Hinda, until Phyliss noticed the engineers in her office speaking identically. That woke us up. Written Arabic was enjoyable. It is almost art work. Speaking Arabic? I still don't get it at all. Just writing from right to left is disconcerting enough. The Tunisians, however, seemed to appreciate that we were trying. We chose to stick with the French during our stay.

My work at the Municipality was productive, valuable, and rewarding. I was paid the equivalent of one hundred twenty dollars a month by the Peace Corps, a salary equivalent to a Tunisian of the same skill at the time.

I was able to find a "box" made of masonry inside and out with four rooms that the Tunisians called a "villa." This place was actually quite deluxe by Tunisian standards. It was located right across the street from a grocery store of sorts and a meat market.

Hinda and Joseph – 1968 - I think I still have that shirt

The meat market sold lamb at 7:00 a.m. until about 8:00 a.m. when the supply was exhausted. The "villa" had running water and a fifteen-amp circuit that worked most days. The water system in the entire town was made out of one hundred percent pure lead and leaked so badly it was turned off from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., as was the electricity. There will be more about the lead piping and its devastating effects later. The rent was equal to forty dollars a month. There was no heat. There were no window screens, but few flying insects.

The "villa" had a real bathroom. It had an English flushing toilet, a real bathtub, and an instantaneous, propane water heater that worked occasionally when the pressure was adequate. The kitchen contained a laundry sink and a two-burner propane camping stove. Counters and cabinets, what are they?

I had no idea where the sewage went and did not ask. I did know for sure that it left the apartment with dispatch and did not come back the entire time I was there. For that I was eternally grateful. Don't smile. This was pure luxury.

The bedroom had a rudimentary bed with a straw mattress - very uncomfortable; I thought I was back at the H bar G Ranch in Colorado. As loyal as I had been to Phyliss all those years in the States, in Tunisia I would not be sleeping alone. This would be a near impossible secret to conceal? How could I keep this terrible transgression from her? I decided that I didn't think she would complain too much, however. The bed bugs were there first, and they were evicted before she arrived.

If you are ever bored and want to have some real fun, buy a double mattress in Tunis, haul it to the train station on your back, a half-mile away, ride it home on a crowded train, amid the stares of the local people and haul it home a mile at the other end. Now I realized why Peace Corps training included climbing Longs Peak in Rocky Mountain National Park. The Tunisians watched in amazement as I went through all that trouble to buy and transport something that had no use whatsoever. Most of them slept on the ground.

There actually was a refrigerator in the "villa," in the living room. Tunisians did not use refrigerators. Most did not even have electricity. It was put in the living room to impress others when they visited and foreign renters, but it was brand-new and it did work. This was a great find! I did move it into the "kitchen"; crazy American; the landlord moved it back to the living room, when Phyliss and I left.

The landlord and her aging, wonderful father, a real Tunisian gentleman, lived in a traditional courtyard house attached to the rear of the "villa." The most glorious part of the "villa" and of our stay in Tunisia was the occupant of the courtyard, the one and a half year-old girl that the landlord and her father "bought" from a prostitute in Tunis.

This tiny urchin was to give me and Phyliss when she arrived, her unconditional love and adoration for almost two glorious years. She was a sweetheart and was to warm our hearts every day with the gift of joy. One exception was the day she deposited an adult-sized "gift" from her pants onto the kitchen floor. It was only one of six hundred days; that's not bad for a little one. She had such a surprised look on her face. "Where on earth did that come from?" Actually, we did too.

* * * * * * * * * * *
**OUR MARRIAGE IN ROME**

The intensity of Phyliss' pain over my leaving for Tunisia drove her actions over the next months. Ever resourceful, Phyliss recovered from her devastation to address this most critical moment in her life.

It was at this juncture that, for the first time in her forty-two-year life, Phyliss put her own situation and needs in front of everyone else's. She had to for her survival. She was in crisis. She had sacrificed her devotion and love for me for my well-being, and now, she realized she could not bear to be separated from me any longer. Her greatest fear was she might lose me forever - an unthinkable possibility.

I was just starting my new assignment. I was in my office in the EzZahra municipal building at my job as municipal architect and planner - big title, not so big a job. There were only two phones in the small town of six thousand people \- one at the "Poste" the post office, and one the mayor's office in the municipal building where I worked.

It so happened that the Mayor of the town was also the Secretary of Foreign Affairs for Tunisia. Why do you think I got assigned to this little town? Politics are everywhere even in Peace Corps assignments.

One day, the adorable, normally timid and reserved secretary of the Mayor came screaming down the hall: "Monsieur Badame! Monsieur L'architecte! "Monsieur Badame! Amérique vous appel! Amérique vous appel!

Mr. Badame! Mr. Architect! Mr. Badame! America is calling you! America is calling you!

I thought "what is going on, the poor girl has lost her mind" - too much couscous or something. I ran out into the hall and followed her running to the Mayor's office. Thankfully, the Mayor was in Tunis that day. Everyone stuck his head out into the hall to see what the commotion was.

The operator, in French, asked if I were Joseph Badame. She had a call from America. After a bunch of clicks and static, she said that my party was on the line. I could only think bad thoughts - "Who would be calling me?" "Who died at home?" "Was Phyliss all right?"

I answered. It was Phyliss. She seemed uncharacteristically tense, but generally in control. There was no salutation. "Joseph?" "I can't stand the thought of your being away for two years." "We are going to get married. I am going to come live with you in Tunisia."

I was at a loss for words for a moment. I realized that was not a time for silence and quickly recovered from my surprise and said "I most certainly agree with you; that's what I have been wanting and waiting for all these years. But how can this happen, you are there, and I am here?"

She agreed that our marriage was long overdue. It was time to correct that. She told me not to worry she would arrange everything. I really don't remember the rest of the call, except we told each other of our love, and she would be sending me details.

I was stunned. I had been asking Phyliss to marry me for years with no success, and now I am a million miles away and she said, "YES!" I was elated, but her anxious tone and surprise reversal concerned and confused me. I am not sure what I told my co-workers about the unusual call from America.

It was totally unlike her to do something so monumental without serious discussion with me. When we hung up, I had so many questions with seemingly impossible answers. "How did she manage to get a call through to the Mayor's phone, one of only two in the town?" I didn't even know the phone number. "How and where would we get married?" "How would it be arranged?" "Can a Peace Corps volunteer get married?" "What will happen to her mother?" "How would she announce our marriage to everyone, especially her mother?" "What would she do about her job?" "And, most puzzling of all, was why the sudden reversal to get married after years of turning me down?"

I stopped asking myself questions at about twenty and thought, "This is futile, if anyone can arrange this, Phyliss could." And, I was right. She did.

While I was dealing with all my questions and contemplating all of the potential problems, Phyliss was, of course, back home answering and solving them all. Foremost in my mind was how was she going to explain the move to Tunisia and our marriage to her mother? There was never a problem that Phyliss could not solve.

Phyliss' sister has always been very observant and astute. Unbeknownst to Phyliss and me, she determined at the end of the first year that I entered Phyliss' life that we were eventually to be married. This was quite a remarkable premonition since I was just sixteen years old and Phyliss was thirty-two and neither of us had a similar premonition.

We were in love with each other, but we never would have dreamed that we were going to get married. She shared her prediction with other members of the family and friends as time passed. They all thought she had lost her mind. There were universal disbelief and consternation. So, it appears that when Phyliss announced our marriage plans to everyone, the decision was not entirely a foreign concept, but merely a colossal awakening of disbelieving minds.

The announcement was not a complete surprise to Phyliss' mother or to my mother, or to anyone for that matter. How naive I was to think that our "secret" was really a secret. How could anyone for the previous eight years or so not know that we were madly in love? I was very dopey.

Phyliss' mother was surprisingly accepting of the marriage and the move to Tunisia. She apparently saw my enlistment as service allied to the military. She had no problem accepting this since Mr. Crudo was in the Cavalry during World War I, and her son and son-in-law served in the military during World War II. (Note: Mr. Crudo was detained during World War II for his Italian ancestry and service in World War I. It wasn't only the Japanese folks.) She thought it was natural that Phyliss should accompany me and that we should marry. Wow. I would not have called that one. I had a flashback to her dear father yelling and shaking his cane at me. My dear Phyliss was spared a repeat performance by her mother, without the cane.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I found that for couples to enter the Peace Corps, they had to enlist as a married couple. In special circumstances, permission could be granted for a volunteer to marry while in service. This was our state of affairs.

I contacted the coordinator of the program in Tunisia who was also the leader of the training program in Estes Park. She readily and graciously granted us permission. I remember she was a lovely young woman with extraordinary administrative skills and industry. Her efforts made our training and in-country experience particularly successful. America and Tunisia need to thank her. I thank her. If I knew where she was, I would give her an enormous hug.

As I had time to think more clearly of the call, I concluded that Phyliss' self-imposed deprivation of my exclusive love, and marriage had become too much for her to bear any longer. She always placed her feelings secondary to her many other responsibilities.

When I left for Tunisia, it triggered emotions that she could not nor would not continue to ignore or resist. Her love exploded with the force of Mt. Saint Helens.

Why should she continue to deny herself and risk losing the passion of her life any longer, when I felt the same way about her?

She made her decision, and nothing was going deny her my love. How fortunate I was that she finally came to this realization.

A week later, I received an air mail letter from Phyliss with her complete plan. She said she realized she could not live without me, we were both adults, and it was foolish to be apart any longer. I whole-heartily agreed, but my head was spinning. How was she planning to do this? I anxiously read the rest of her letter. I wish I knew where the letter was today. What a priceless memory in her perfect handwriting this was. It is gone.

* * * * * * * * * * *

She said she had already contacted a priest at home regarding marriage arrangements in Saint Peter's Basilica in Rome! Phyliss never did anything half way! She was gathering the necessary documentation for presentation to the officials in Rome and the Vatican.

She arranged for her niece to stay with her mother during her absence. She was going to quit her job as director of the evening school and sell her car to finance all the arrangements.

Wow! I believe there is a song by Alicia Keys entitled "Girl on fire." That title is an apt description of Phyliss in her pursuit, only she was not a girl by any stretch of one's imagination. She was my woman, and I was her man.

Subsequent letters explained the rest of the details. She arranged for an English-speaking priest stationed in Rome to marry us on Friday, December 13, 1968 at 9:00 a.m. in a small chapel somewhere within the Basilica. She booked a flight for her from New York to Rome and from Tunis to Rome for me. She arranged these flights a week in advance of our marriage to complete the final arrangements in Italy.

We would need the full week to meld the approvals of our local parishes and the complex approvals from three Italian governmental entities: The Sovereign City-State of the Vatican, The City of Rome, and the Republic of Italy - each with their own separate bureaucracies, agencies, stamps, fees and letters of approval. She knew this all in advance, and it did not deter her a bit.

She reserved a room for us at the Hotel Michelangelo for a week near the Basilica while we made our final arrangements. She booked two tickets for us from Rome to Tunis for Saturday, December 14, 1968 for the return to Tunisia. The official Vatican photographer was to take pictures and the official Vatican florist was scheduled to make a bouquet of camellias for her.

Where would he get camellias in the middle of winter? They were there when we arrived. She arranged for two representatives from the Vatican to be legal witnesses to our marriage. She had marriage announcements printed and sent them to family and friends.

She found a perfect wedding gown, shoes, stockings and a beautiful veil. She was to be a beautiful bride. She packed a trunk with her belongings and had it shipped by boat to the "villa" I had rented months before her departure to Rome.

I knew Phyliss was capable of accomplishing the impossible. She had done it many times before. But, this truly left me in awe. She thought of everything and did everything during what had to be one of the most stressful times of her life. She was flawless in her execution of every detail.

Somehow Phyliss had coordinated the arrival of our flights at the Aeroporto Internazionale Leonardo da Vinci within hours of each other. It was the most joyous of reunions.

What better place for lovers to be united for life than in the eternal City of Rome? She had such a sense for romance. The entire affair was nothing short of magical.

We took a twenty-two-mile taxi cab ride to the Hotel Michelangelo in Rome, only blocks from the greatest Basilica of the Roman Catholic Church. I remember the view as the love of my life got out of the taxi cab. It was breathtaking. The view of Saint Peter's Basilica at the end of the Via Stazione S. Pietro was quite impressive as well.

We presented our passports to the manager, he looked at us, and I am sure he looked at our ages and gave a slight smile. He called the porter. We went to our room. I don't remember the rest of the evening. I seem to recall it was enjoyable.

We slept well that night from our exhaustion. The next morning, we had a wonderful breakfast and embarked on our campaign to conquer "the eternal city." I believe that not since the Visigoths took over Rome in the early four hundreds A.D. was there such an assault on the city as Phyliss' quest to get our marriage certificate. The Italian bureaucrats were outnumbered. They didn't have a chance.

Her mastery of the bureaucracy and use of the Italian language, complete with gestures, was impressive. I was along to arrange for transportation, shake my head at the appropriate times, and to be the librarian of the documents, of which there were volumes. I felt my performance during these days was commendable as well; my head nodding was particularly worthy of mention.

The offices were scattered all over Rome. What a cab bill we had. With all of her skills, I still wondered if this were even possible; would we be done on time or meet a dead end after all of this? She was undeterred. She was unstoppable. She had no doubt of our success.

Italy had met its match. We later learned that the complexity of the process was purposeful to discourage the crowds that would want to be married in the greatest of all Roman Catholic holy places. They apparently were unaware of Phyliss' determination.

Finally, by the end of an exhausting week, success! We (she) had cleared the way for our marriage the next day without a moment to spare. We had all the documents necessary for our union to take place. It took the full week she had scheduled to accomplish the task. How did she know that?

The day arrived. We walked a short distance and there we were at the Basilica. She was a beautiful woman, but a more beautiful bride, but her beauty must have masked an exhaustion that was unimaginable.

We met the priest. He was pleasant and accommodating. The flowers were waiting for her. They were also beautiful.

We signed a number of official-looking papers and paid the modest fee to be married in the small chapel, somewhere within this marvelous edifice. We could not afford the six hundred dollars that was required to be married in the Chapel of the Choir in the main part of the structure.

The priest escorted us though an unending maze of dark tunnels and stairs beneath the Basilica. I felt so sorry for Phyliss she must have already been so exhausted.

The centuries of history we saw astonished us, but our marriage and the anticipation of our lives together astonished us even more. It seemed we walked forever.

Finally, the passageway widened slightly, and we came to what appeared to be the back of a huge door. The priest released a latch with a thud, and the entire wall, floor-to-ceiling, opened into the huge Chapel of the Choir. We passed through the opening and the wall closed behind us with the same thud that opened it. The opening disappeared leaving only a giant tapestry where the opening once was. The passage was totally hidden. It felt like we were in a movie.

The two witnesses were there, and the Chapel looked like it was prepared for a ceremony. The main doors for the public access were closed and locked. They were made of glass and people where looking in with curiosity. "We probably didn't need to hire the witnesses," I thought.

I remarked to the priest, that there was some mistake. We did not pay to be married here. We were supposed to be married in the small chapel. The priest smiled and told us that the administrators of the Basilica were so impressed with our tenacity to be married in the Basilica that they felt it would only be fitting that we should be married in the Chapel of the Choir. We learned from the priest that only a very few had made it this far.

Phyliss and Joseph, our very last moment being single \- Finally, thank, God

Can you still say that with a smile? We weren't allowed to kiss, so we just shook hands.

Just kidding.

I don't remember too much about the ceremony, but I have a broad memory of wonderment, amazement and fulfillment. Phyliss was my wife. We had finally been joined as one by God in this magnificent place. From the looks of the wonderful photographs by the Vatican photographer, we were both in shock that, with God's grace, we made it after all those years.

Our pronouncement in front of God in the Chapel of the Chapel of the Choir

St. Peter's Basilica, Rome, Italy – Friday, December 13, 1968

A note about getting married in St. Peter's today: When we got married in 1968, it was unheard of for a couple to get married in St. Peter's Basilica. It was so unheard of that no one even thought of it. You know, the phrase, "don't even think of it." But, Phyliss did think of it. Once again she was a trail blazer. She thought, "If Joseph and I are going to get married, then we will do it right." And, do it right we did.

Since getting married in St. Peter's was so rare, there were no guides or books or Internet sites to instruct prospective newlyweds. Nevertheless, Phyliss forged ahead during the most difficult and emotional period of her life to arrange every detail to perfection. What is it like to get married in St. Peter's today? The Church and Italian entrepreneurism have infiltrated the process of getting married in this hallowed place.

Visit the site: http://thisitalianlife.blogspot.com/2011/06/life-Vatican-wedding.html. It now seems that they have made it a near impossible task. Among the requirements was: Candidates must provide an audience of at least twenty attendees! One of main reasons we got married out of the country was too avoid all that complication and expense.

But, I know if we were getting married today, Phyliss would make it happen all over again. Oh, just the thought of that is so wonderful and yet so impossible.

Joseph and Phyliss, married couple, in St. Peter's square with the priest that married us. We really don't look any different. Well, maybe a little scared.

St. Peter's Square is not really square.

For a truly remarkable virtual tour of the Chapel of the Choir where we were married go to the following site:

 http://www.vatican.va/various/basiliche/san_pietro/vr_tour/Media/VR/St_Peter_Choir_Chapel/index.html

It was a wonderful view from our hotel in Rome.

Not a bad location

**TUNISIA, THE PEACE CORPS WITH PHYLISS**

The day after we were married, we packed up, went to the airport and flew to Tunis. It was a wonderful flight with Phyliss sitting by my side. It seemed that there was no one else on the plane, well except the pilot. We can't forget him. I felt like I was sitting next to Phyliss with our legs touching in her car those many years before. Neither one of us would have dreamed we would be sitting here as husband and wife looking down on Rome.

When we landed in Tunisia, we took a cab to EzZahra and got out in front of the "villa." I was so proud of my accomplishment of arranging our married life in the Peace Corps. We were in an exotic country. I was assigned to a pleasant town on the Mediterranean Coast. The people were friendly. I had rented an acceptable accommodation with running water and a real bathroom. The landlord and her father were wonderful, and Hinda was adorable. What more could two love birds want? Again, I had done very well. We were married. We were together. We were in love. We were in paradise. I was so anxious that Phyliss would be so pleased.

I opened the gate, and we walked to the front door. Phyliss started sobbing, "This is where we are going to live for the next two years?" She could hardly get the words out. There was never any anger in her voice with me, but she sounded deeply melancholy. We had been married for only one day and already I had messed up, big time. If there ever were a "men are from Mars, women are from Venus" moment, this was it! I felt like calling 911 but there was no 911. There wasn't even a phone! I put my arm around her, and we walked in.

We sat on the edge of the deluxe, new mattress, without any bedbugs, from Tunis. I consoled her as no one else could. She stopped crying, and we talked. Maybe I hadn't messed up? It seemed that the shock of where we were to live was not really the issue. She would live anywhere, as long as it was with me. The "villa" and her reaction to it were merely symptoms, not the underlying causes of her dismay.

The pouring out of her emotion was the culmination of a decade of suppressing her deep love for me. And now, our mutual love had been formally ordained by God, no more uncertainty, we belonged to each other, as one person, "for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, till death do us part." The majesty of this moment overwhelmed her, and then it overwhelmed me.

From that day forward, I made certain that she would never have to suppress her love for me nor worry that we were not to be by each other's side until our last minute. How prophetic that thought would become.

This day signaled my first realization that a transitional milestone of our love affair had been reached. The transition was to be a gradual change from her care of me, to our care of each other, and finally somewhat sadly . . . to my care of her. I had no idea how necessary this transition would be for her to bear her many trials that were to come, all too soon.

What more could a man ask for?

The realization that I would necessarily become her "rock" as she had been mine for so long made me sad, but, at the same time, it made my spirit soar.

Phyliss readily and quickly adapted to our new environment. She blossomed and savored our married life and grew to recognize that we were in paradise. Our creature comforts were being adequately met, the people were marvelous, and Hinda adored her as much as I did. The feeling of love for Phyliss was mutual for Hinda and me.

What more could a man ask for?

My favorite picture was taken at our doorstep.

The relation among Hinda, her adoptive mother, and adoptive grandfather and me was truly special from the very first day I arrived in Tunisia. But, when I returned with Phyliss as my wife, everything changed. The bond among the three of them and Phyliss was remarkable indeed. There immediately developed a sense of love and family that lasted our entire stay and beyond. It was a wonderful beginning to our marriage. One day we were joined in a holy place and the next day we already were an amorous family with an adorable child. How many can say that? What more could a man ask for? This was truly to be paradise.

I settled back into my responsibilities at the Municipality and was kindly welcomed back as a married man. There was sincere interest in meeting my new bride. This interest was to be satisfied during many social invitations from my co-workers and friends in town as word spread about my return with a new wife. It was an "event."

I have no idea what they were discussing – gestures and all

I think Hinda made her point.

Phyliss fully enjoyed and savored the remarkable change from responsibilities at home, and the frantic arrangements to leave, marry, and establish a new life. She relaxed. Leisurely life without challenges and useful accomplishment, however, was not in her nature.

Her contact with me during my working hours, by necessity, was little. Since we had mounting expenses at home, and my salary was based on Tunisian standards, she searched and found employment in Tunis as a secretary and translator for the "Direction Générale des Ponts et Chaussées." This was the department of bridges and roads, the equivalent of our Federal Department of Transportation in the United States.

Phyliss' boss and his wife enjoying Hinda's school party – she wanted to sit on Phyliss' lap

The office was about a half hour ride on the train from EzZahra. I rode Phyliss to the train station on the handlebars of our bike each morning until we got "busted" by the local police. After, Phyliss got her exercise walking the four blocks to the station. She did not mind, the weather was always beautiful, and it was safe everywhere, back then.

We were relaxing with two dear friends. There were no distractions, just simple human interaction. The positive reaction to Phyliss was immediate.

Phyliss cuts a birthday cake she made for our friends. Phyliss was always baking for everyone. Yummy.

She found her work rewarding, and she enjoyed working with the engineers. The men in the office were true professionals. They were industrious, courteous, and kind gentlemen. Phyliss and I developed a lasting friendship with the office chief and his wife.

The Tunisian government sent him to the United States for his education. When he decided to stay there, they sent two secret service agents to "persuade" him otherwise and "escort" him home. He and his future wife were so lucky they brought him back. When he returned, he met and married a truly charming and gracious woman from Norway. We became the best of friends and enjoyed many social encounters and a few trips around the country.

Madame Zakia and Hinda are in the courtyard after Hinda's "bath."

A bath for the tiny one from Madam Zakia was more like a "friendly and loving assault on dirt," if there is such a thing. Oh, my.

As we settled down in our respective jobs, we established a routine life in our new home. That routine continued a deepening, rewarding, and affectionate relation with our landlord, her father and Hinda. This bond formed the centerpiece of our stay in Tunisia and enriched our lives immensely during and after our service.

During our stay in Tunisia, Phyliss and I conducted ourselves as model representatives of our beloved country. We saw ourselves as ambassadors, representing our wonderful country and the good people of America. We encouraged friendly social contact outside our formal duties. Our relations with the people of Tunisian were extensive.

As the only Americans in our town and the only contact most Tunisians had with Americans, we welcomed an interest in us and always responded positively to the shower of social invitations we received for dinners, Ramadan celebrations, birthdays, weddings, camping trips, and just informal and impromptu, evening discussions. Our social calendar was packed with events, and we loved it.

One of my most vivid memories in Tunisia with my love was the overwhelmingly significant role that she played in executing our duties and benefitting the people with whom we came in contact - especially the young girls and women.

What do I mean? I was in-country at my job for about three months alone. The wonderful manager of our Peace Corps group granted us permission to marry after service began. Phyliss returned with me to Tunisia from Rome after our union.

I had the rare opportunity to witness the reaction of people in a foreign land to me alone and then to me with Phyliss by my side. When I arrived, I was received cordially and was readily socially accepted in friendship and kindness. Well, I was a man in a man's world who had come there to help them, that did not surprise me, but I was pleased.

It was a glorious camping trip with friends.

Enter Phyliss. Phyliss was immediately a "star." When we were in a social setting, I felt like John Kennedy accompanying Jackie Kennedy. I cannot compare my skills to Jack Kennedy, but Phyliss could give Jackie some competition. What an extraordinary ambassador she would be during our stay.

These are our five favorite brothers. Their smiles tell it all.

We were in a country where women were not formally educated even to elementary level and never left the house without being completely covered by a sefsari. Here was an attractive, master's degree educated, engaging, and accomplished career woman and wife, in western dress, able to speak English, Spanish, Italian, and French. Moreover, she was being treated as an equal by her adoring husband. The other men followed suit.

The overwhelmingly positive reaction to her was universal not only from the Tunisian women and children but also the Tunisian men. If that were not enough, she almost always arrived with a beautiful cake she had freshly baked. She could cook too! I was just there to make sure she arrived and returned home safely.

The transformation of acceptance and approval between "Joseph" and "Phyliss and Joseph" was truly remarkable and eye-opening.

These experiences in a foreign land only increased my love for her and made me realize what I already knew: that I could not live without her and I told her and showed her so. I was so fortunate and thankful I married her. But now, for the first time, as I write this chapter, I had an epiphany about Phyliss' presence in Tunisia with me. It occurred to me that her major accomplishment was not her engaging manner and her diplomacy.

Certainly, they were marvelous, and left a lasting impression and friendship with everyone with whom she came in contact. But, as always with Phyliss the educator, it was not that simple. There was more undetected teaching to come from dear Phyliss, much more.

Her real accomplishment again was not educating just by lesson, but also by example.

Every Tunisian girl and young woman, who met her, saw in her and her husband, a shining example of who they could be and how their future husband could treat them. Every Tunisian wife, who met her, saw in her, hope of who she could be and how her husband could treat her, and who her daughter could be and how her future husband could treat her. Every Tunisian husband who met her saw in her the potential of who his wife and daughters could be.

This was Phyliss' true accomplishment in Tunisia. She did it all right in front of all of us without anyone suspecting that they were being taught a most important lesson of life.

The lesson: Women and children must be given equality of opportunity and should be treated with respect as equals to men. She taught an incontrovertible truth that violated the norm of that foreign society at that time. I fear that norm has reached greater prominence today. She taught the lesson again by example and role model without causing anxiety, dismay, animosity, or conflict.

When the lesson was taught, everyone still had a smile on his or her face. She did it with such grace and so effortlessly. This was the hallmark of the master teacher that was Phyliss. The country did not matter: America or Tunisia. The language did not matter: English, Spanish, Italian, or French. The age did not matter: young or old. The gender did not matter: male or female. Her appeal, impact and influence were substantial, undeniable and universal.

How devoted and skilled was she? How fortunate they would be.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We both volunteered, one day a week, to serve at a local, government-sponsored "day-care" for emotionally challenged children. It was Phyliss and I who were to be the challenged. Our service was done generally through one-on-one contact with children for an eight-hour day.

The building serving as a "school" was located directly facing the beach. One day, the "director" suggested we take our two children out to play in the sand as a change from being inside. It seemed like and excellent suggestion. After all, what did we know, this was volunteer work, and we had little training in this discipline. We readily complied.

There was more wonderful camaraderie.

Phyliss cared for one of the hyperactive children, a very strong fourteen-year-old girl who was large for her age. I cared for a six-year-old boy, also very active and not prone to follow direction. In fact, neither was known for being able to communicate and respond effectively. We discussed our plan and decided to concentrate individually on our respective child, but maintain awareness of each other, just in case. We further agreed that we would maintain a "safe" distance from the water, since the beach was not that wide and the water presented a potential danger to the children and us.

We were out a short time, and I was distracted by the little boy for only a minute. I looked up, to see the girl dragging Phyliss to the water. Neither could swim. By the time I reached them, they were in hip-deep water. We managed all to get to the water line and back to the little boy who had remarkably continued to play with the sand. We returned to the "school" exhausted, cold, soaked, and covered with sand. We did not try that again.

Remarkably, by chance that day, we did find a sole activity on which the dear little boy could "focus." We returned him to the beach often - two-on-one, without the not-so-little girl. Somehow the sand proved to be a therapy for him, where every other activity had failed. Several small victories were achieved that day where victories were rare. We had found an activity that opened the world, just a bit, for the little boy, and we all were able to leave that day with our lives and our shaken self-confidence.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It looks like they are playing.

But, it was Phyliss' way of "integrating" our little "bought" baby into accepted society.

She was truly a master. Hinda is holding her left hand, a hand that, years later would not be capable of holding anything. It does not seem possible how cruel time can be.

Little rich girl, little poor girl, together as friends

Phyliss always pushed the social envelope

Nothing was ever done by her that did not have a beneficial purpose for others

After several weeks, the little girl stopped attending the school. We never saw her again. Our thoughts were with her often after she disappeared. Such a tortured, lonely, and sad spirit she was to apparently live without being able to give or receive love. Her heartbreaking circumstance reinforced our belief of how fortunate we both were to have each other to love.

When we got home that day, we were both spent. We discussed the happenings of the day. The experiences at the school, our other responsibilities, finances, and Phyliss' age were major determinants in our deciding not to have any children. Throughout the years, I think we both had vacillating thoughts about whether we had made the right choice. What a mother she would have been.

Hinda and Sabrina playing with balloons

It was my turn to play "social engineer."

Phyliss' natural affinity to be a mother was illustrated profoundly in her relationship with Hinda. Her motherly instincts and her passion to help the downtrodden made the two of them a perfect match. Hinda's start in life as the daughter of a prostitute in a Moslem country put her about as low as one could go on the social ladder.

Hinda's first salvation was the generosity and compassion of her adoptive mother and grandfather. No one wanted the poor little girl. God was kind to her a second time by sending Phyliss to her and her adoptive mother and grandfather in their hour of need.

Phyliss and Hinda fell in love with each other as quickly as we did with each other. Their love affair may have been even more intense than ours. I was not the least bit jealous. I think it could have been called a love triangle, in today's terminology with a much different connotation.

Phyliss immediately saw the need and just as quickly met it. She made it her passion to take this little waif, a reject of society, with no status or future and provide her with the opportunities of the most fortunate in their society. She did it as she did everything, professionally, quietly, and without ostentation.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Being the only Americans in our town, we became social magnets and uncharacteristically, we relished the position. After all we were not there to enjoy ourselves, although enjoy ourselves we did. We were there to represent our country in the best possible manner and to provide the most benefit to our host country's citizens with nothing other than the resources of our minds and our goodness.

* * * * * * * * * * *

This was the marvelous hallmark of the Peace Corps principles – identify a need, temporarily meet that need with few resources and little fanfare, teach the skills to natives to self-meet the need themselves, and then graciously go home having spread good will and camaraderie. That we did, mostly through the skill and benevolence of my dear wife.

* * * * * * * * * * *

As such, we attracted many of the Tunisians of stature in town. One such family owned a cabinet assembly shop in town and was quite well off. He and his wife had a little girl that was, shall we say not always entirely pleasant to be around but with social status. Phyliss picked up immediately the value of establishing a friendship between Hinda and Sabrina. This was a friendship that would have never taken place in a society with such a social hierarchy and innate biases.

Hinda is enjoying her birthday party with the children of the neighborhood

By associating the two girls, Phyliss pulled Hinda, Zakia, and her father out of her rejected status and into the mainstream of the society of the town. After all, they were friends with the Americans, and now with the Tunisian elite. The created friendship between the two girls grew into a real friendship and eventually thrust Hinda into a position of being sought as a friend by other parents and children.

By the time our service was completed and we had to leave, our little one was well on her way to leading a life of enhanced opportunity and happiness. Another mission accomplished by the love of Phyliss. She had done it again. She had "arranged" a friendship between two children and families at opposite ends of the social structure spanning time, cultures, classes, and status resulting in a positive example for the entire town. In the end, everyone was smiling without even knowing what she had done. But, she knew . . . and I knew . . . and now you know. Her accomplishment was never documented until this moment, 47 years later. She would have been perfectly okay with that, except she may have been happier if I had not even mentioned it at all.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Mutual adoration

The Tunisia people in EzZahra and around the country were, without exception, friendly, welcoming, respectful, and sincere. I would say that some of our best friends of our lives were Tunisians. We missed them dearly when we left. The feeling was certainly mutual, and we had many tearful goodbyes.

We had nothing but wonderful memories of our first two years of our married life. It seemed like Heaven, being with the woman I loved every day and surrounded by a beautiful country, and beautiful people. I was so pleased she had agreed to marry me and join me in Tunisia.

Apart, what a different, lonely, and much less rewarding and productive experience it would have been for me and likewise for her back home. Again Mr. Palumbo's observation was prophetic so many years prior. Once more, it was proven how much better we were together than apart. It certainly would have been a less rewarding experience for the Tunisians we touched, as well.

A friendly game of checkers on a family picnic in the countryside is a fond memory as Phyliss, Madam Paul and her niece plan a devious move against the men. The poor guys didn't have a chance. I warned the guys, but they knew better. They thought they were in control.

When we started, it seemed that the obvious goal of our service was to improve the lives of the people we served by contributing to the upgrading their institutions and their infrastructure. This was done by providing skilled individuals in disciplines that receiving countries did not have and were not able to produce. We volunteers were then tasked to simultaneously establish the framework for the Tunisians to produce their own, locally-educated professionals to take over our task, effectively putting the Peace Corps endeavor out of business, shall we say. That we certainly did with vigor and enthusiasm.

Four years later, the University of Tunis with us volunteer teachers and the curriculum we developed, produced the first graduating class of native Tunisian architects. In an additional six years, the Peace Corps program was terminated because there were sufficient locally-educated Tunisians to fill the country's needs.

The Peace Corps formal goal was a total success. We had made ourselves unnecessary, we were unemployed and the people of Tunisia were on the road to real independence. We gave them fish and began teaching them how to fish at the same time. Once we finished teaching them how to fish, we were no longer needed. It was great for them and great for us. Now, why can't our government's foreign aid program get that?

Phyliss and Joseph were "gently persuaded" into donning traditional Tunisian vestments.

It was amazing, what we were asked to do for our country. I actually look Tunisian.

John Kennedy, a democrat, yes, but a conservative as well, comprehended that principle decades ago. Did you ever notice? Democrats don't really quote him much any more, curious? He gave us our modern world with the manned space program. In my opinion, this endeavor returned more benefits to our country and the world, than all other programs combined. Our present leadership has destroyed this advancement along with our spirit, our fiber, and our country. How does the phrase go? "We are dead and don't know it." We and our children and the world's children will not see such miracles again in our lifetimes, or maybe never. How terribly we have regressed. Leaving this earth, my dear, was so timely. Your wisdom was always unequaled. I am just so sad I could not accompany you. Maybe soon, I will.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We found that Peace Corps volunteers could extend their service for an additional year if they wished. Phyliss and I were thrilled at the chance to spend another year enjoying each other and our work in Tunisia. Unfortunately, they had a very strange rule that made it impossible to stay.

The one-year extended service had to be in another country of their choice. This would require more training, another language to learn, another orientation. To go through all that preparation for just nine or ten months of service, just didn't make sense to us. Besides, I don't think I could have dealt with learning another language. We withdrew our request. We would have to go home after all.

As our service came to a close, we had the depressing task of packing. It was amazing how much we had accumulated in two years. It was as if we thought we were going to stay forever. We had wished we could have. Maybe we felt, that if we established ourselves firmly enough, we would have to stay. Our strategy did not work. We made a tour of our town and Tunis, to bid farewell to all the wonderful people and co-workers we had met in our two years. Most were mutually sad and tearful good byes. Many were dear friends that we would, most likely, never see again. It was an emotional day for us both. It was an emotional day for us all.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Phyliss captured a priceless moment.

Phyliss did not tell her to pose like that.

It was a gloomy day, when we drove away from our Villa. The last person we said good bye to was Hinda with her mother and grandfather. She was three now, but we could tell she did not fully understand that we were saying good bye for the last time. As we got into the cab, and it pulled away, we saw her crying as she began to understand this was not a normal parting.

We were sad during the trip back to the U.S., and for many years after. We talked about her and our other friends we left behind for the rest of our lives. And, even now, I am writing about their lasting and positive influence on us.

Peace Corps and Peace Corps-like service is not for everyone. However, the experience of volunteering your skills and time and of traveling to a foreign land to help strangers is a worthy endeavor to consider, especially new graduates or a newly-married couple. There are few things in life as rewarding as freely giving yourself to other human beings, with no other motive except to improve their lives, and asking not one thing of them in return.

The experience can enrich those first amorous years of marriage with a common bond and purpose. The sacrifices you make for the people you serve, will form the foundation for the sacrifices you must make for each other to achieve a lasting and loving marriage. You might want to give it a try. You just might meet some little urchin like Hinda to love and have her love you for always. It could turn out to be the most rewarding experience of your lives.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**A LESSON OF LIFE LEARNED IN "THE SOUK"**

A "souk" or "souq," is a marketplace found mostly in North African, Muslim countries such as Tunisia, Morocco, and Libya among others. It functions sometimes inside, sometimes outside, but quite often in some of each. It is a place for local artisans and vendors to display and sell goods to both natives and tourists.

This is one example of the riches of their craftsmanship.

The craftsmanship, quality, design, and beauty of the fabricated goods offered are extraordinary.

Equally, extraordinary and fascinating is the means and skill of display of even the most common and mundane wares.

The advertising agencies of the western world should take note. The display and presentation become as much a part of the visual and merchandising experience as the goods themselves.

All of this is accomplished so effortlessly by seemingly untrained individuals, even children, who would not even be considered to enter the hallowed halls of a design or marketing school in our "modern" world.

You will never find a price tag or sign indicating price in the "souk." Locals know and pay a fair price for a product, tourists are on their own.

The skill of negotiation is king, or in the case of this story, queen. Everything is for sale and everything has a price. Everything is possible. If a vendor doesn't have what you want, he will not hesitate to custom-make it, modify it, or run to a competitor to get it. It is difficult for one to leave unsatisfied. The customer is paramount in closing the deal.

The whole way of merchandising seems foreign to our way of vending goods in America where everything has a bar code and an unchangeable price tag. The entire "shopping" experience is like a drama, a game, a contest, a challenge of wits, sometimes even a skirmish. Usually, the tourist doesn't have a chance on the vendor's turf.

The riches were in abundance everywhere.

You might think, the woman I love, and married, always the lady, and one to always follow and apply the rules, a champion of organization, order and sophistication would wither in this environment. She relished it. Phyliss was born to negotiate in the souk.

As in Italy and, for that matter, everywhere she went, the Tunisian vendors were to find themselves outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outsmarted, all the time in good humor and good-natured camaraderie.

All of this took place in a man's world where women were covered with sefsaris in public and had no rights.

Why should this experience even warrant a chapter in a book of a love affair between Phyliss and me?

It is because **the simple act of Phyliss' buying a copper plate in the "souk" embodied the sum total of why she was so remarkable in the experience of life and her dealings with others.**

The particulars of the purchase displayed a side of Phyliss that no one who knew her had really ever seen. Yet, the principles she displayed in this simple exercise, illustrate her unique accomplishments in all her dealings throughout her life with other human beings.

Whether Phyliss was negotiating with a street vendor in Tunisia for some copper plates or negotiating with the presidents of RCA and Campbell Soup for hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep the Adult Evening School open twenty-four hours a day without burdening the tax payers, her performance was the same – expert, professional, courteous, effective, and perpetually successful.

"I thought this was a book about Phyliss and Joseph and that you two were an order of magnitude better together than apart? What's the deal?"

Did you ever hear of "a straight man," and no, it has nothing to do with being "gay" or not being "gay?" Almost every successful entertainment team had one - Gracie Allen and George Burns, Abbott and Costello, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. There were many. We were not they, but we did all right.

Phyliss' reconnaissance mission at another shop is being quietly watched.

The center of attention, the guy that garnered all the attention (Phyliss) and made the act (the sale in this case) work, was always accompanied by a "straight man" (Joseph). The "straight man" always played the role of the less dynamic of the two, who stabilized and moderated the "over-the-top actions" of the partner who was the main character.

Phyliss and I never did this consciously, but this is the way it usually worked out.

At the "souk," we entered a shop, truly interested in purchasing something (in this case, a large, hand-decorated, copper plate) to take back to America with us as a remembrance of our time in this remarkable country.

The vendor swooped in to engage these unsuspecting tourists. "This will be a profitable sale and one is a woman, how smart could she be?" That probably was the thinking.

Phyliss always took the lead, after all the vendor was a guy, and she was very attractive. My God, I married her. Well, I guess I married her for more than her attractiveness. She was very shapely, too. I am just kidding. I loved her. I stayed married to her, I still love her, and as far as I am concerned, I am still married to her. It's as simple as that.

Phyliss outlined generally what we were planning to purchase. The vendor presented some copper plates and Phyliss began with the questions, in French, or sometimes in Italian, of course. Command of local languages, especially by women with men vendors, always seems to impress.

" **These are all made in Tunisia, correct?"** "Certainly, they are" **"Why is this one heavier than the other two?"** "They are different thicknesses." **"These are all made of copper, right?"** "Of course, they are." **"These are solid copper; they are not plated, are they**?" "No, they are solid copper, Madame." **"Who made these and decorated them?"** "I am the owner, and master craftsman." **"Yes, but, who made them?"** "I did." **"They weren't made by someone else and you are just selling them?"** "No, of course not I am the artist."

" **You seem nervous, are you nervous?"** "No, I am not nervous; you are just asking so many questions. Tourists don't usually ask all these questions." **"We are going to give these as gifts to our friends in America and we want to give them the best quality."** **"We want to show them the best Tunisian workmanship."** "You can assure your American friends we sell only the best workmanship, Madame."

" **The price you gave us is for one. If we buy two will you give us a better price?"** "Yes, I can."

**"If you made them, then who is that little boy at the table behind you working on similar dishes?"** "Oh, that's my son; I am training him to carry on the trade." **"But, he didn't make these, right?"** "Correct."

" **Why are these so expensive, they all have scratches, and this one has a big nick?"** "Oh, we will polish them before you take them." "Whatever pleases you is our wish." "You will be happy." **"Do you have a card we can give our friends?"** **"Can you ship these to America?"** **"Can we buy more when we get home?"** "Yes." "Yes." "Yes, of course"

Well, you get the idea. Phyliss had the unique manner to ask all these questions in a very calm, unthreatening manner, displaying a sense of almost uninformed sophistication, if there is such a thing. It seemed that the more questions she asked rather than create annoyance, it increased respect. He realized early on, this was no dummy he was talking to.

Each question she asked raised the prospect of possible future business. The exchange was always cordial, friendly, even jovial, and always with a combination smile with cautious disbelief to keep him honest. I can't explain how she did it. It was very disarming. She did it so naturally and so easily. I have met few who could master this skill. Those who I met with the skill always used it for personal gain. Phyliss always used it for lofty purposes that had nothing to do with the sale.

Many times she would inquire about one thing, go on to another, and then return to the original line of questioning. It kept everyone on their toes.

The vendor always knew this was not your normal woman, or normal tourist for that matter. As the time passed, it seemed he purposely tried to give honest answers for fear of being caught in a falsehood by Phyliss' probing questions. After a while, he was volunteering information without a question to answer. He was trying to prove himself to be a master, to show his expertise, to a not-yet-convinced purchaser. In the end he was left to reevaluate is skill and honesty.

I immediately recognized the encounter as similar to being in the classroom with Phyliss and how the students wanted desperately to show her how diligently they studied and how well they knew the lesson. Each wanted to show her he was the master of the subject. Just as the vendor wanted to show her he was the best craftsman – that he was making the best copper dish and selling it for the best price. They both competed for her approval. She brought out the best in each.

It was a masterful technique and she applied it with success to every endeavor with the greatest of ease and the most effective results.

My role as the "straight man" was easy to play. I just acted natural. I was less inquisitive, more believing and appreciative of what the vendor was saying. After all, I could make many of the items in the shop myself and knew the difficulty and time involved.

The more I used my approving head nod to what he was saying, the harder he tried to please, a still doubting, Phyliss of his expertise, honesty, and sincerity.

For Phyliss, this was not just a cute exercise to make the vendor sweat, although he did. That was not her intent, nor her purpose. She would never "toy" with someone for enjoyment, as some people I have met.

The entire time, she was adding to her library of knowledge, a subject of which she had very little expertise. She was making him teach her while she was testing him. It was very much like being in the classroom with a subject that she had very little expertise.

By the time she was done, she knew the difference among the three plates, what was a poor plate, a good plate, and an excellent plate. She could tell his best workmanship from his worst. All that was left was verification by doing similar analyses with other vendors, and price comparisons.

This is how she was able to teach subjects that were foreign to her and enter a hospital and, in minutes, differentiate incompetence from excellence, and the truth from a falsehood without any knowledge of the workings of the facility.

It was brilliant and it was all Phyliss. It was incredible to behold her mastery of the situation whether it was in the souk, in the classroom, in a hospital, in a meeting, at adult school, or at home. It was her understanding and command of human behavior and interaction that was her magic. The subject and the details were unimportant and irrelevant. It was all about the process.

I would always seem willing to make the deal; she was always skeptical and unconvinced and wanted to "look around" at other shops. This did two things, it made him lower his price, upgrade to a better plate, or "throw in" a "freebie" or enticement. It was almost like "good cop / bad cop." Sometimes, it was no deal. We walked away; he followed us down the path offering more "stuff." She held her ground, and said we would return. Now, he understood the value of being honest with her. When we said we would return, we did. Whether we made a deal or not, we always returned and thanked him for his time. He respected us for that.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The experience at the second shop presented a different Phyliss. She asked many of the same questions, but now used her previously gained knowledge to question the vendors' claims, many times catching misstatements or untruths. Each new shop or experience, added to her knowledge until she was quite well informed about the fabrication, origins, workmanship, and prices of Tunisian copper plates.

All the information, unknowingly, had been offered by the vendors themselves and then it was carefully evaluated and cataloged by Phyliss.

* * * * * * * * * * *

At the end, we conferred privately; I added my input and my observations. We made our informed decision. She always spent the most time and effort at the most knowledgeable vendor and the one who seem to be the most honest. In this case, it was the first vendor.

We purchased his best plate at a fair price for us and for him. We turned down the extras he had offered, but requested that he include the nightmare of having it shipped home. Thankfully, he agreed, and genuinely appreciated our trust that he would execute the shipment. He was surprised, no shocked that we turned down the "extras" he offered to seal the deal. Occasionally, we would accept an "extra" and pay for it. As ambassadors, we went out of our way to dispel preconceived notions that Americans were only interested in wealth – that we were human and kind, but not gullible and easily deceived. We left with a favorable bond between our two cultures. And, I left to take home the biggest prize of all.

The technique of negotiating hard for a better deal, cheaper price, additional items or benefits developed the awe, esteem and admiration of Phyliss' ability. More importantly, refusing the extras after the deal was consummated to the level of a truly equitable purchase for both of us engendered a respect for her and our countrymen in the vendor.

We had equitably enriched a hard-working, local artist, had made a trusted friend, and allowed him to part with a positive understanding of Americans. After all, that was a major part of our being in Tunisia.

On several occasions, before we left Tunisia, we returned to the shop to purchase other items from the same vendor, who was now a trusted friend. He had respect for Phyliss' honesty, professionalism and accomplishment. And, she was a woman in a man's world. I think he liked me too.

I guess it was my beard and the head nodding that won him over.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The whole episode with the vendor in the "souk" was like two very talented and professional teams playing a hard won game. At the end, no matter who won, they both had respect for each other and were still friends.

When we returned to Tunisia in year two thousand, thirty years later, after we visited Hinda, our cab driver, Mustapha, took us back to the very same shop, where we bought another smaller copper plate from Ziad, who, in fact, turned out to be a long-standing friend of the cab driver.

Ziad, the very friend of ours from our Peace Corps service was still there in the same shop. He would not accept any payment for it, and instead insisted that we accept it as a gift from him, and yes, from his son, still sitting at the same table behind him, now a man, decorating another plate. Only, this time, he referred to his son as the master craftsman and the fabricator of the gift. How marvelous was that? We, no I, (I keep forgetting, I am alone) still have both copper plates prominently displayed in the china closet.

They are no longer copper plates, but rather as if in a fairy tale, they have been transformed into priceless heirlooms recalling my love, friends, times, and circumstances that are gone and never to return.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In retrospect, a sad observation:

In political foreign affairs, our current administration presents the reality of incompetence, dishonesty, deception, weakness and yes, even treason. The result is we are treated like buffoons and idiots that we have become. This has not been by accident or incompetence. This has been purposeful to conceal a diabolical anti-American agenda. Yes, it has. Please believe this. Stop scratching your head and asking why did our federal government do that? The sad answer is, because he wanted to \- That was the insidious intent.

We have lost all respect from around the world. Foreign individuals as well as countries and their leaders have disdain for weakness and lack of character of the formerly great United States of America.

All of the good will and trust Phyliss and I worked so diligently to establish between our two countries for almost two years in our service has been wasted in the blink of an eye. For that matter, much of the good that the thousands of Peace Corps volunteers, patriotic diplomats, and brave military did over the past five decades may have been lost.

Shame on us, we made these scoundrels our representatives and now we are the fools of the world. Our allies, as well as our enemies, and yes, we, are just beginning to realize what a world without America will be like. None of us will be pleased with the monster we have created. You haven't seen anything yet.

I am so sorry, my dear. And the two of us tried so hard.

Phyliss' actions and character, whether they were in or out of the classroom, in a hospital, in a CEO's office, at home, or, yes, even in a "souk" in Tunisia, engendered trust, respect, and camaraderie. It is quite hard to comprehend how she could do so much good and teach such important lessons, by just purchasing a copper plate.

Whatever place she graced, she was always the shining star and we all were the beneficiaries of the brilliance of her life-giving light.

Her light is now extinguished, but the afterglow remains for us who are fortunate enough to bask in it.

We cannot forget it. I hope that does not happen. I am doing my best that it does not.

True, sincere, and unconditional love from cultures a world apart
**WE COME BACK "HOME"**

Our arrival in New York and our trip to the home in Pennsauken was a stark reality of the different life style we were about to begin. The surroundings did not seem familiar. It did not seem like home any more. I could not help but think, "I remember the house that Phyliss built, but then what was this place?"

It amazed us that in two short years, we had forgotten so much about the world and the life we had left behind.

Our experiences abroad as husband and wife were so enjoyable, exotic, and intense; we had all but forgotten our former lives back in America. So much had changed in two years, buildings, roads, stores, shopping centers, friends, family, and, yes, even us. We were soon to find out that those were not all that had changed. I cannot imagine the shock for our military coming home from battle if our benign absence had such a profound effect.

The house Phyliss had built for her Daddy, where our life together blossomed, didn't seem as familiar. Even he was gone. The lawn where we ate the cookie, I cut the dandelions, and the picnics took place were there but everything seemed so different. The dandelions were still sprinkled in the grass; certainly, they were the same dandelions, but now my eyes saw weeds, and not beautiful flowers to be gathered for my dear's bouquet.

The luster of that marvel of a lawn mower Phyliss had bought me was now tired, worn, and rusty. Our homecoming was not entirely what we thought it would be. I thought, "How strange it is that our mind set, our frame of reference, can influence our vision of what is around us." "This is a profound thought to keep in mind, when we are displeased with our circumstances."

Phyliss' niece had dutifully taken care of her grandmother and managed the household with competence. Her efforts made it possible for us to get married and serve in Tunisia. I believe she was among the few people truly pleased that her aunt and I had found happiness in marriage. This was a joy that multiple negative circumstances had so sadly denied her niece.

Our plan was to return and live our married life in this house together and resume the care of her mother. It was fortunate that Phyliss was so far-sighted that we had a fine home to which we could return from our magical adventure.

We were gladly greeted by Phyliss' mother and niece, and my mother. I thought to myself, my mom looked so much older and tired. "Had we been gone only two years?" There seemed to be an atmosphere as we walked in, of "whew, we can relax now, they are finally back from their globetrotting adventure, now get back to work."

I looked in the bedroom that Phyliss had shown me a decade before and smiled. It had been a long voyage from that house tour to where we were now. The two of us had made quite a trip to end up in the same place. But, now we were one person, not two. Albeit, the bedroom was directly across from her mom's bedroom, you know, the same mom that caught us embracing in the basement. It was a touch awkward.

That young fellow Mrs. Crudo may have once reprimanded was now, and I may add, willingly and gladly, her care-giver for life. I was now her son-in-law. Is it not wonderfully strange how God works? Her "crazy" daughter was not so crazy after all.

Inside the house everything looked so deluxe and luxurious after the starkness and basic necessities in Tunisia. I could not believe how much "stuff" we (I) had. If we sold just the contents of this small house, we could retire on the proceeds for life in Tunisia.

We were rich, or so I thought. The realities of what transpired while we were gone would soon enter our consciousness, and quickly dispel that ludicrous notion. What a silly boy I still was.

Curiously, many of my possessions which were in my mom's house when I left had appeared in this house. Well, I guess at least one person felt we belonged here together. I think, after all this time, Phyliss' mom was secretly pleased I was her son-in-law. At the very least, there was someone in the household who could help in the garden and make the wine.

Really, I believe she loved me as a son as she loved her daughter now that God had ordained our union. This was truly amazing considering an ultra-traditional, elderly Italian woman had accepted the reality that her middle-aged daughter had married a "boy."

* * * * * * * * * * *

There were riots in every major city, even, or especially, in Camden, the city that had been so graced with Phyliss' talents and industry and that graced me with a good life and such a superior education. What an American tragedy this was. And, it was everywhere. Where did our nation go so wrong?

It seemed that all her toil and pursuit of excellence were actually going up in smoke. The only consolation was that the minds she molded were still out there to propagate and spread her good works. But, the structure she had left behind was crumbling before our eyes.

The country was on fire. Jimmy Carter was president! Hostages were being held in Iran. There were energy crises and long lines at gas stations. Inflation was fourteen percent – fourteen percent! It depressed us both. Is this why we came back from paradise, America the beautiful? "When is the next flight back to Tunisia," we thought?

What a homecoming it was. We left the country for two years. Look at what a mess they made of it. Was it any wonder, that everyone was happy to see us? Phyliss and I looked at each other and we mutually agreed that we were ready to leave.

But, as always, duty called. We had responsibilities. We were trapped here. At least we were married, and we were together, and we had each other. That made everything all right. And, as "they" say, "at least we had our health." We did not know what a hollow and sad echo that cliché would be in a few years. Isn't it a marvel that God, in His Infinite Wisdom, does not disclose the future to us mortals? How would we go on?

Within days I contacted the architectural firm I worked for while in college. They hired me immediately at twelve thousand dollars a year. Wow. We really were going to be "rich." My salary in Tunisia was nineteen hundred dollars a year. I was unaware of what fourteen percent inflation compounded for two years could do to the cost of living.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We went out to buy a car. I wanted a Ford Mustang, hatchback so much for a number of years. I loved the look of that car. This was my chance. Phyliss readily agreed. Bless her. She always wanted me to be happy. We went to the Ford dealer. Finally there it was, within my reach. All I had to do is sign on the dotted line, as they say. I always wondered about that. I don't ever remember seeing a "dotted" signature line. I guess I think too much.

I open the door with the anticipation that had built up for years. I slipped into the soft but firm stitched leather seat. It was my first awareness of my claustrophobia. It seemed like I was in a coffin. I was in a coffin. I felt as if I were a little old lady trying to see over the steering wheel. Had I aged that much in Tunisia? "Be careful of what you wish for, Joe," I thought.

Being a hopeless realist, we left without the Mustang. I looked back at the fire-engine red coffin glistening in the showroom lights waiting for another hopeless cowboy to ride it into the sunset. There was no wild horse for Joe today. Phyliss' face didn't reveal even a hint of the expression of "I told you so, Joseph." Is it any wonder? I love her.

In the spirit of equity and fairness, we left to explore Phyliss' favorite next: a Mercedes 280 SL, diesel. We compromised, as usual. The "Mercedes 280 SL" was for Phyliss. The "diesel" part was for me. It was what we both wanted but, we could not afford the "hefty" six thousand dollar price tag. After all, we had been riding around on a bicycle for two years.

We settled for an Audi. It also was a "German marvel" and cost "only" four thousand dollars. That still was a lot, and too much, but it was better. It had lots of marvelous innovative German engineering, but none of it worked.

It was Audi's first year of distribution in America. Instead of buying an "American wild horse" we bought a "German dog" that was actually a common "turkey." A difficult lesson learned on our first major purchase. As always, I should have listened to Phyliss and bought the Mercedes. She was always right about everything!

She never reminded me once of my ill-fated choice, even though I was getting everything wrong. Her wisdom resided in knowing the right choice, especially about things for which she had no training or knowledge at all. She married me, didn't she? Talk about an unlikely choice.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Soon, Phyliss insisted on helping, financially. I reluctantly agreed. She jumped right in. She got a job teaching at St. Stephen's Catholic School in Pennsauken for about five thousand dollars a year. We got by. But, we were madly in love, Phyliss' mom was happy to have us back, and we both enjoyed our jobs. And, we owned a fine German engineered and built car. No wonder they lost the war.

We were euphoric to have our married lives ahead of us. It was a wonderful feeling at last.

It really was feeling more like home again.

Phyliss' teaching was superb in every respect. She continued to receive glowing letters from her students fifty years later remarking how she changed or influenced their adult lives. She had not lost a beat while we were gone. There will be more of her wide-ranging educational achievements in another chapter.

Aside from my love for her, I admired her abilities and her industry so much. When I visited her at school, I realized how much I missed being in her classes. To me, I was seeing Miss Crudo, they were seeing Mrs. Badame. It had a nice ring to it, Mrs. Badame. (Ba-dah-may) She was the same teacher, but a different, more marvelous woman. Our marriage made her glow.

I could not help but think how fortunate her students were as I was, years before. Another generation of beneficiaries of her unique talents was being born.

Lucky them, they just didn't fully know it yet.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**THE STORK FLIES OVER WITHOUT STOPPING**

We were married, but we were prohibited from having children as Peace Corps volunteers. Additionally, medical care was at best, rudimentary in 1968. Our many responsibilities would not allow it. When Phyliss and I returned from the Peace Corps, she was forty-four years old. One of our first tasks was a discussion about bringing children into this world, something we wanted to do a great deal.

After all, we both had masters' degrees, I had strong vocational abilities, and Phyliss' many talents were, quite frankly, off the scale. We both loved children and teaching. We both had a sense of humor, and had inordinate patience, well, at least Phyliss did. We loved each other deeply. We knew what each other was thinking before we said it. We devoutly practiced the same religion and were from the same national origin and customs. We loved the same food and the same music. We had just about everything of importance in common. In fact, we had everything in common. We were truly "boring." We thought, "Why waste our time trying to fit in with the crowd?" It didn't feel like we were from this world.

Many who met us would concur with that assessment. It didn't matter, that's the way we were, and we liked it. We thought, "What better couple to create a family?" This was not a difficult decision for us to make. It seemed like a "no brainier" as the expression goes. Let's get started, dear. It is off to the bedroom. Not so fast, Joe. I hate it when that happens.

As we did with everything, we further discussed the issue and weighed the advantages and disadvantages. We decided we would like to have three children, and at least one boy and one girl. This was one overriding "pro." We would have loved so much for "us" to mean a family. What else mattered?

As we discussed further, we discovered "what else mattered." The "cons" started to pile up. We had little money. We had debt accumulated from our service in the Peace Corps, and I had a number of "National Defense Loans" from college to repay. We both worked at jobs that were fulfilling, but were not financially rewarding. Phyliss' mother needed substantial care and constant companionship. My step-dad had cancer and both of us had other substantial family obligations.

Having a child meant that Phyliss would at the soonest have our first child at age forty-five or possibly even older. My research showed a risk to the mother and child at that age, and a frightening possibility of a child with a chromosomal anomaly or trisomy. I remember 1:21 was the possibility of having a child with substantial special needs. As she aged, the risk went up, considerably. The risks went up to 1:16 at age forty-six, and 1:13 at age forty-seven. Her pregnancy would have been akin to playing Russian roulette with our family and our lives.

We both recalled from our volunteer work in Tunisia, the heartbreak, and physical and emotional demands such unfortunate children required of both parents, especially an already aging mother. After just six or eight hours, once a week with these children, we were both spent. We concluded that all these negative factors and this level of risk were too great a chance to take. We reluctantly decided not to have any children. The thought of not having our own family saddened us deeply.

There was to be no "happy pulse rate" for Phyliss.

Phyliss and I both struggled with whether we had made the "right" decision. "Had we stolen the gift of life from our children, grandchildren and future generations?" "Had we relinquished the joys of parenthood because we feared the unknown?" "Had we robbed the world of a great person or persons of accomplishment because of those fears?" It would have been so comforting to have devoted children to help Phyliss through her hardships. The torment was futile. Unfortunately, the decision was made, and there was no turning back.

Not having any children of our own and much love to give, we decided to turn our attention to the mentoring of children of family and friends and to our many God children. Phyliss immersed herself once again in teaching, continuing to devote herself tirelessly to the children in her classrooms. We both found these avenues a satisfying substitute for raising our own offspring. "After all, why bring more children into the world, when there were so many who were already born who needed nurturing?" Really, insisting on having your own offspring was somewhat egotistical, any way. It seemed like a good rationalization at the time.

Always thinking of others, Phyliss had sacrificed her desire to become a mother for the benefit of others. She almost sacrificed her desire to become a wife for the same reason.

I was determined not to let that happen. It was one of my great accomplishments in life.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**THOSE NASTY LITTLE GENES**

This chapter is a bit out of sequence in our story, but critically related to the previous chapter. This information was found after Phyliss died as part of my research for this book. It has been placed in this sequence for its relevance to our decision not to have children years earlier. After many years of wondering, it provided the definitive and inescapable answer to the question that plagued us for our married life. "Should we have had children?" My dear never lived to know the "answer."

My early knowledge of Phyliss' tumors was only that they were called "acoustic neuromas." These were benign tumors caused by the slow, uncontrolled growth of the cells forming the sheath around the acoustic nerve that connects the inner ear to the brain. Early treatment consisted only of removal by surgery. Information about this rare malady was not abundant in mid-1980.

My recent research uncovered that the tumors that plagued Phyliss all those years and caused her so much suffering were the result of Neurofibromatosis Disease, Type 2 (NF2). It is caused by a defective gene on chromosome 22 by either inheritance or by gene mutation. It still has no cure, and only the symptoms can be treated. Hers was most likely caused by a gene mutation within this chromosome.

An inherited gene defect usually surfaces at an early age. The emergence of a mutation occurs later in life. Phyliss' first tumor most likely began growing about the year we married, 1968, and was diagnosed sixteen years later at age fifty-seven when the symptoms first appeared. It meant devastating brain surgery and a near death sentence.

The entire Badame family

The infrequency of Neurofibromatosis, type II is a staggering 1:50,000. Phyliss was so unlucky. Four years ago, I discovered I also have Neurofibromatosis, type II. The odds of unrelated spouses having the disease, I was told, are tens of millions to one. It is easier to win at a multimillion dollar lottery, than to both have had the same rare disease. There will be more about our misfortune later.

It seems we were destined to share just about everything.

It is not believable that two parents could have this rare defective gene and not pass it to their offspring and they, in turn, pass it on to theirs. Our children would have inherited the defective genes from both of us and suffered from an early appearance of the disease. They would have been relegated to same fate and suffering as Phyliss and most likely me, only beginning much earlier in life.

In the future, geographical medical researchers would certainly have discovered a "hot spot" of occurrences of this very rare disease centered near Medford, New Jersey. Further study would invariably have led to Phyliss and Joseph as the "typhoid Marys" of New Jersey's neurofibromatosis outbreak. It was unthinkable.

All of the good we had attempted to leave behind on this earth would have been destroyed by a fatal decision to procreate. It is possible we would have been thought of as the most hated couple in New Jersey. It would seem that we averted an enormous tragedy, unspeakable suffering, and a dubious distinction of having our own chapter in the medical journals.

This episode of our lives reminded us of an inescapable truism: Every decision we make in life has consequences, some good, some not so good, some possibly unintentionally horrific. Tread very carefully as you travel though life. Cautiously evaluate your decisions and objectively and truthfully weigh their intended and unintended consequences especially for potential harm to you, those you care about, or even those you do not know. In our case for those who did not even exist yet.

By doing so, you could be saving a loved one or loved ones from suffering and death as well as avoiding a questionable place in history for you.

God influenced our decision and most likely saved those young souls from suffering and our having to endure their suffering with them.

It appears that the Hand of God was with us so many years ago. We thank Him, for having given us his Devine guidance to make the right decision. I am sure our children would have understood and thanked us, if they only had ever existed.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**ORIGINS OF THOSE NASTY LITTLE GENES; PAUL REVERE WITHOUT A HORSE**

Phyliss suffered from three acoustic neuromas. Her ear, nose, and throat doctor diagnosed me with the very same acoustic neuroma, over four years ago. He was baffled by the outrageous odds of two spouses having the same rare disease – probably tens of millions to one or more.

Were we that misfortunate? After all, we had never won a nickel playing the lottery. We had never won anything. But, we had won the dual acoustic neuromas prize in the neurofibromatosis lottery, in fact, we hit the jackpot.

He just shrugged, as did I. Phyliss did not know of my tumor. I made sure she was not to know. Telling Phyliss would have certainly destroyed her. And, what would it have accomplished? She was suffering enough. It would still be almost a decade before it would start to show symptoms, or killed me, or so I hoped.

When I told my always pensive business partner of my tumor, his first reaction was suspicion of what we were exposed to for us to both get this rare disease. This was a question I asked Phyliss' doctors over the years, but the answer was always the same. Acoustic neuromas were not caused by exposure to an element in the environment.

On a visit to the urologist, I recounted our fate. He seemed knowledgeable concerning these tumors and immediately indicated the possibility or even the probability of an environmental cause, especially since our problems were both caused by a gene mutation rather than an inherited gene. It appeared that my younger partner had bettered me in the wisdom department once again.

When I returned home, I realized I had not done any reading about these tumors for decades. What advancement had research made in this field since then? I began reading and discovered some articles linking lead exposure to brain tumors. Certainly, this would indicate an environmental connection.

What had Phyliss and I been exposed to before we met? I studied Phyliss' background for a link and could not find any apparent risk for exposure. It was not so, for me.

For two summers, twelve hours a day and seven days a week I worked in the quality control department of the can-making section at Campbell Soup Company. One of my duties was to measure the temperature of the lead bath of ten can-making machines. The bath was filled with 750+ degrees of molten lead. It was six feet long, six inches wide and eight inches deep and had no cover. It took five minutes at each machine to get an accurate reading. This was done repeatedly during my twelve-hour shift.

Further down, on the same machine, was a lacquer spray head used to coat the inside of the can. That filled the air with lacquer mist. Even further down was an open, spinning asbestos wheel to transfer the can to a steel cable conveyor belt. The wheel wore completed down each day. Guess where the asbestos fibers went – into the air.

This employment "opportunity" could certainly have been a source of multiple contaminations for me.

But, how would both Phyliss and I have had such an exposure? It did seem somewhat plausible, since Phyliss and I had been glued together for the past forty-five years. We went everywhere and did everything together. We were inseparable and we loved it. But, what had we been exposed to and where?

My college years at Penn State and University of Washington spanned seven years. During that time, Phyliss and I were separated much of the time. When we married in Rome, the inseparability began again. Had something happened during that time that would have caused an environment exposure to damage the gene and trigger the tumors? Most likely there was not. But, then the epiphany came to me - the Peace Corps in Tunisia.

Our first year in Tunisia, I spent designing new neighborhood layouts and several public building. One of the buildings was a public shower building, since many people lived in conditions without bathing accommodations. It was exciting work for me working with ancient construction methods, basic materials and the unschooled, but very talented local laborers and craftsmen.

When it was time for construction to begin on the shower building, I visited the site to inspect the footings. A truck drove up loaded with pipe. It looked like lead pipe. It was lead pipe, every bit of it. Could my inspection of the pipe have been the source of my exposure? But, how had Phyliss been exposed? She was not near the pipe used for the building.

When I returned to the office, I asked the office chief about the pipe. "Oh, good the pipe arrived for the water system," he told me. "We were expecting the delivery." I had to sit down. I asked, "Why would we use lead for the water piping, it is toxic."

He shrugged, and said, "We use it in all the buildings; in fact, the entire water distribution system for all of EzZahra's residents is made of lead." I discovered that there were many other similar systems in Tunisia, maybe all of them. "It is not a problem." I listened in disbelief. He was half right; it was a lead system. He was half wrong. It was a problem, a big problem.

No other material seemed to be available, and the lead was used for decades. Old traditions and conventions didn't die very easily and, quite frankly, the problem did not seem to have a solution. Searching for a solution isn't really that important, if there isn't a problem, the thinking went.

To compound the situation, the system leaked so badly, it was turned off from 6:00 p.m. until 6:00 a.m. to conserve water during this period of low consumption. The water sat in the system during the night for twelve hours, absorbing even more lead and contaminating the soil. In the morning, the first users got a huge dose for hours.

Even plants producing edible fruits and vegetables were irrigated with lead-laced water. It was everywhere. – Drinking water, bathing water, cooking water, dishwashing, laundry, cleaning, irrigation, and processing - everywhere. We and everyone else was immersed in it. No one was immune – rich/poor, young/old, male/female – everyone.

I would have liked to make the solution to this problem my crusade, my "raison d'être," and my contribution to Tunisia and the Peace Corps during our service. It would have been quite a gift. But, everywhere I turned, I was met with the same shrug.

The shrugs came from our Tunisian friends, the office chief, the engineers in Tunis, the first class of architectural students at the University of Tunis, and every official who would give me a minute.

Life in Tunisia was relaxed and easy-going. No one ever got excited or angry. There was a "laissez-faire" attitude about everything. Actually, it was sort of enjoyable, until something urgent needed to get done. Usually, nothing of urgency needed to get done, until now.

This was a problem even Phyliss and I together could not overcome. It was most disconcerting to us. As far as I could tell, lead was everywhere. Tunisians, Phyliss and I, and even our darling little Hinda, were destined to be exposed to lead contaminated water.

There were not even any labs in the country to test the lead content of the water to document that a real problem existed or to determine the severity of the problem. Furthermore, the poisoning was slow, stealthy, and not dramatic, only to reveal itself far into the future.

The problem was invisible. It was a ghost. How can you fight something that doesn't exist or cannot be seen or touched? The choice appeared to be to use lead contaminated water or use no water at all. Bottled water did not exist.

Unfortunately, the story had no lovely, "they lived happily ever after" ending - no shining knight on a white horse, bursting on the scene to save the day.

There was only a deadly and treacherous snake slithering its way through the town, infiltrating every household, and insidiously delivering its venom to every resident.

Yes, we were in paradise, much like the Garden of Eden described in the Bible . . .

But our paradise had its own deadly serpent to deliver its deadly poison.

My only hope and best expectation would be that I had made such a pest of myself during our service that maybe my consternation would echo in someone's ear after we left, if anyone were still left alive. I felt like Paul Revere trying to sound the alarm, without a horse, and riding a pig.

How sad it was. We had gone as husband and wife, to this wonderful country filled with wonderful people to do wonderful things. For certain, we did do many admirable, and, yes, some wonderful things. But, the most important one for us and them was apparently beyond our capability and reach. Many years later, the thought came to my mind: "How many other developing countries had the same awful condition and outcome?"

I may have traded two years of paradise, for Phyliss' thirty years of suffering and my suffering yet to come. Not a very equitable trade, it would seem. It appears the true cause of her past suffering and my future suffering will continue to be a mystery without a definitive answer.

I guess no one will ever know for sure. I am thankful that Phyliss did not know.

Perhaps, I wish at this point that I did not know, either.

There is nothing that can be done about it now.

* * * * * * * * * * *

As a famous former "Secretary of State" once said:

"What difference, at this point, does it make?"

**PHYLISS' CATHOLIC SCHOOL TEACHING**

Our return from Tunisia was quite an eye opener, and not quite what we had expected. Inflation was decimating the economy and the construction industry. My apparently good salary did not seem to be so good. Phyliss could not stand by and watch me attempt to support us and her mother alone. After all, she had been the breadwinner of the household for decades and the consummate career woman when we left to get married.

Phyliss is presenting her invaluable teaching at St. Stephen's Elementary School at Christmas time.

A former colleague contacted her and informed her of a teaching position at her school, Saint Stephen's Catholic School. The position was to teach English, science, and math. At first I was very reluctant for her to take on the responsibility. She had such a heavy burden forever and the torment of my being away so much of the time, made me want her to have a more relaxed life.

The desire to care for her and be the "man of the house" meant a great deal to me after all the sacrifices she made for me. After witnessing her pain when I left for Tunisia, I was determined to care for her and never to leave her in her solitude again. Where could I find such love and devotion on this earth?

Her first seventeen years of her career, prior to our marriage and the Peace Corps were filled with substantial professional and personal responsibilities and accomplishments. If she had to work, I believed she was ready for a position that was less demanding and much less stressful.

Saint Stephen's School, was a facility of considerable merit, and was literally, within walking distance of our house. The administration was reasonable and the rapport among the teachers was excellent. No miracles were necessary for her to perform there. She could concentrate on her teaching and her beloved children without secondary burdens and duties.

The class is preparing for the school play.

It appeared to be the perfect setting for Phyliss. The children were adorable and the religious program and setting suited Phyliss perfectly. It was difficult to stay opposed to the idea. The position fulfilled her. The bond with the wonderful children invigorated them both. The work was still demanding and challenging but it was equally rewarding. She was happy, and I was happy that she was happy. It was her second perfect marriage. Phyliss was right again.

While she worked, I made a few excursions into her world to produce teaching aides, take pictures, and give advice to her about science assignments. It was enjoyable to watch the association revived between Phyliss and a new generation of students. It brought back memories about the wonderful interaction I had experienced so many years ago.

It was heartwarming to observe Phyliss performing this enchanting classroom dance once again. How fortunate these children were that Phyliss was able to give an encore presentation.

* * * * * * * * * * *

She would be the first to admit that science was not her forte. It didn't matter. She used every resource available to insure that the students got a superior education in this discipline as well as all the others.

She doubled her preparation, sought out teaching aids, enlisted my help and the help of the truly superior members of the class, and she tailored homework to challenge students to pursue specialties of the subject and to present their findings to the others. She had introduced a bevy of other unlikely "teachers" into her classroom.

My visits to her classroom, allowed me to see, for the first time, as an adult, the harmony the woman I married had with her students. Surely, I had witnessed it personally for several years as a student, but I did not have a full appreciation of how effortless, effective, and natural her teaching was until I witnessed it as an outside observer and without my distractions and challenges.

Phyliss' St. Stephen's homeroom class had 44 students. Every one of them was so fortunate.

Her classes had thirty-seven to forty-four students. There was no issue of discipline. Every student had superior access to Mrs. Badame. I don't ever remember Phyliss complaining about the class size or the shortage of supplies. Neither was an issue for a superior teacher such as she. The Camden Education system today has a 10.5/1 student teacher ratio. The halls are filled with complaints about student teacher ratios. What is our problem? The goal for her and the students was teaching, learning, and understanding.

How lax we have become about the true wonders of our lives happening about us. We become so distracted by the mindless trivia of life as these wonders pass us by, only to regret the loss when it is far too late to experience them. They are such a part of our everyday lives. We think they will be there forever.

In reality, they last for a blink of and eye and then they are gone, never to return. Don't let them pass you by. Oh, how I wished I had made more visits to watch her captivating staging of nurturing and tutelage of her children.

You might think that with all this remarkable achievement pouring from this institution, that we as a society would study its excellence, and reproduce it as many times as we could. I don't think so. The school is scheduled for closure next year. It will probably decay, be used for some marginal purposes and then be demolished for a car wash. Is it any wonder that our education of our children has gone backward for the last two generations? This is more gloom and doom and more negativity, Joe. No, more reality. Ignoring it doesn't make it go away.

They are preparing gifts for the needy at Christmas time.

When we built our house in Medford and moved, the commute was not pleasant for Phyliss, so she transferred her flag of teaching to the ship of Saint Joseph's School in Medford. (Now called Saint Mary of the Lakes School)

It was no surprise that Phyliss provided the same brand of excellence to her newest group of fortunate students. For almost ten years she graced the classrooms of St. Joseph's with her unique brand of education. In 1983, she was coerced to abandon her love of formal classroom teaching. She was forced to redirect her attention to fighting for her life by the attack of her first of three brain tumors. This was a travesty for Phyliss, me, and the next generation of children who were to be deprived of her gifted teaching.

After an impressive career of thirty-seven years of service to the education of her students, I have only four pictures that record she was ever in a classroom. Three of the pictures, I took myself one day when I made a surprise visit to her world. They beautifully illustrate the point of the book and her dedication to humility.

Phyliss was not in the least bit concerned about self-aggrandizement or impressing anyone of her accomplishments. As I mentioned in her eulogy, she circulated among us quietly and with humility spreading her magic without even a thought of receiving recognition or reward. That was the woman who honored me by becoming my wife and the one I wish you to remember.

Phyliss taught for five years at the Saint Stephen's Roman Catholic Elementary School located in Pennsauken, New Jersey. A superior school with a outstanding staff and performance record – It costs taxpayers not one cent - The school is soon to be closed – It is only minutes away from dozens of the poorest performing schools in the state that are being flooded with hundreds of millions of tax dollars - And yet, we just can't figure what is wrong . . . or we don't have the motivation to make the effort - How truly sad for us, our children and our country.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**THE FLIGHT TO THE SUBURBS, OUR HOUSE IN MEDFORD**

Phyliss' homestead in Camden was a beautifully-constructed, wooden structure with oak trim, doors, windows, and marble fireplaces despite her family's spartan station in life. They were the second generation of occupants. Fourteen people lived there permanently and many others on a temporary basis. Their kitchen served the family, the Catholic Church next door, and many of the needy of the community for years.

It could have rivaled many town homes in center city Philadelphia or New York. Furthermore, it would be most difficult for me to finance the construction of it today, if I could find the craftsmen. Phyliss and I would have been most happy to live there when we returned from Tunisia, and probably would have remained there for our married lives. After all, this was luxury compared to the basics of Tunisia. It was home.

Originally, the neighborhood was safe, the church was next door, employment opportunities were abundant, shopping was within walking distance, there was public transport, excellent schools were everywhere, the Cooper Hospital and Rutgers University were within walking distance, and lifelong friends and families were nearby. There was no mortgage and taxes were low. Our needs were not great. We were a simple couple that did not place great importance on material wealth or creature comforts. What was there not to like?

Despite, or maybe because of, decades of government largess, corruption at every level, inefficiency, incompetence, cronyism, nepotism, the city declined, and continues to decline to this day. Yet, in the midst of the decline, most of the families lingered and maintained the neighborhoods and their homes. As the older residents died and their children married and moved, the streets became dangerous. As a result, an abundance of beautiful, well-maintained homes were available to families of modest means for pennies on the dollar.

The conditions in Camden caused Phyliss to flee to another house that she faithfully built for her parents, but the same routine played itself out at the new location. It was at this point, that we returned from Tunisia. The conditions described above as well as the gas shortages, civil unrest, and inflation, made me uncomfortable to remain several hundred yards from the Camden City limits. Once again, a perfectly fine home, prophetically planned and built by my love had to be abandoned for a new and safer location. Deprivation was to take place all over again.

My plan was to put as much distance between Camden and us as I could afford. Phyliss did not blink an eye, rolled up her sleeves, and said "where do we start; what can I do to help?" The goal was to build a self-sufficient homestead to serve Phyliss, her mother, her sister, and me for the rest of our lives and provide a safe haven from the eventual collapse of society and the country. We could only pray that the destruction would not spread to our new location before we all died. I am three quarters to my goal. Only I remain. But I hear the cries of the wolves in the distance.

This plan began forty years ago. We thought the collapse of our society would be sooner, but we truly did not fully understand the brilliance and wisdom of the framers of our country. We never dreamed that even this most magnificent social creation of mankind would be able to stand against so many insidious forces from within and from without for over a century when this cancer began. What a remarkable achievement it has been.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Many of my fondest memories are of traveling around Southern New Jersey looking for a home site with my love. How wonderful it was to share this experience of searching for a place for our future home. Her excellent opinion and her keen insight and wisdom always assured me that we were making the right decisions. She was the perfect partner in everything. We were healthy and happy. Life was good. No, it was excellent.

I began my planning and discussed it with Phyliss. My plan accommodated our immediate family for whom we had responsibility. They numbered a little over a dozen. Phyliss was not satisfied. Her list was longer, much longer. We discussed it further and concluded that our resources were inadequate to accommodate her list.

To help remedy this, I suggested that we build a huge "empty" structure and over the years, reason with those we loved to help them and thus help us eventually accommodate them. A reasonable assumption, we thought. She saw the wisdom of this approach. Her approval was all I needed to satisfy me, in everything.

After considerable searching, we settled on a three and a half acre parcel at the end of a cul-de-sac in Medford. I drew up some rough plans and did a cost estimate. It was four times what we had to spend. That did not stop us. We decided to build it anyway. This was not very logical thinking, I know. Phyliss did not shrink from the task.

The Bell Telephone work horse – the green thing with the door.

When Phyliss left to marry me in Rome she sold her Lincoln with all the accessories available.

When we returned and started building the house, she had no problem driving

around with me in an old beat up telephone truck with 140,000 miles.

It was I who was important to her not the mode of transportation.

I walked into the former Burlington County National Bank, talked to the president for a half hour and walked out with a one hundred thousand-dollar construction loan. Those were the days. We built the house, paid our bills in Pennsauken, and lived on that loan and Phyliss' salary for two years. It was a small miracle.

The old, beat up Bell Telephone van was three hundred dollars with one hundred forty thousand miles and the used, yellow Massy Ferguson tractor/loader cost three thousand dollars. I began working on the house in the evenings, weekends, and holidays. It was an enormous undertaking. It was far greater than I had anticipated. I was young, energetic, and stubborn. Anything could be accomplished with Phyliss as my strength. There were no limits. What was the big deal?

My young male mind was not yet fully capable of understanding the true magnitude of the consequences of my plans and actions. It soon became apparent that this was not a part-time job I could do on my own.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Exercise and "working out" are predominately "introspective endeavors." They are all about "me." I know that sentence will get me in trouble. But, think about it, and be honest, you will see the sense of my conclusion.

Phyliss was never a "physical" person. She had so many responsibilities. There was never any time for "herself" in her life. All her energy was spent on others. While she never did anything in excess, or carelessly, there was no time nor energy to ride a bicycle to nowhere, worry about her Body Mass Index, or obsessively monitor her weight and calorie intake every day.

Phyliss and Anthony dig trenches for the footings of the garage.

Despite this, she showed up one day wearing a pair of my overalls, with our next door neighbor's son and two shovels. They came down into the excavation and began digging the footings without a word. Yes, Phyliss was digging footings. It was a massive misapplication of her talents. But, how I loved her for it.

Times were terrible, and my boss at the architectural office where I was working was "floating" most of the staff until the economy improved. He was a benevolent and kind man, but I could not justify sitting around all day and collecting a salary. It was so unsavory pretending to work on nothing.

The opportunity came to work full-time on the house. Anthony and I worked twelve-hour days and along with Phyliss' help we started making substantial progress.

Finding the right mix of our labor and the labor of subcontractors for intense construction further improved our progress. Phyliss' contribution was truly astounding. But, I should not have been surprised. It was just more time together with her. She never voiced one complaint.

Phyliss worked right with us. She gave me constant guidance, encouragement, assistance, advice, and love.

Even though it was decidedly obvious that I did . . .

She never reminded me that I had "bitten off" way more than I could "chew."

She just started "chewing" along with me. That was the woman I was so fortunate to have married me.

* * * * * * * * * * *

After a year and a half, we had completed the basics to obtain an occupancy permit. We had exhausted our construction loan and our energies. We got a permanent mortgage to replace that loan.

We used the trusty, but tired, truck to move our belongings into our new home. We then sold the truck for the same three hundred dollars and the tractor for the same three thousand dollars we had paid for them. They both served us well, for almost three years for free. God was good to us once again.

Phyliss lived with her mother and father all her life in the two houses in Camden and the house she had built for them in Pennsauken. Her niece lived with her mother while we were in Tunisia and Phyliss and I lived with her mother upon our return. Shortly after our return, her sister Jeanette's husband died. She was mortified of living alone. We offered to have her live with us in Pennsauken until the new house was completed. We incorporated her needs and her mother's needs into the design of the new home.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Our finished product is shown at Christmas time.

We installed ourselves, Phyliss' mother and her sister Jeanette in our new home with plenty of room for others. We all lived together in the same house for the security of her mother and Jeanette, but were separated enough to have independent living. Phyliss and I had started to become tired of watching her mother's favorite TV show when we lived in Pennsauken. Wrestling was not our favorite pastime.

I remember all my aunts and uncle also watching wrestling as well. I guess it had something to do with the popularity of Bruno Sammartino, an Italian American, and wrestler of great fame at the time. Now we would have our own lives and everyone would be taken care of and happy. Indeed, we were. It worked out just fine. We actually, continued watching "The Lawrence Welk Show." Yes, we did. I guess many today would rather watch a rock concert or horror movie.

Reruns of "The Lawrence Welk Show," "Perry Mason," and the many "Turner Classic Movies," provided Phyliss many hours of enjoyment after her stroke until the insidious silence of deafness robbed her of even those meager pleasures, and the voice of her only love. It was difficult for me to accept, but somehow she took it in her stride. I just don't know how she did that.

Jeanette, Theresa, Joseph, and Phyliss – Installing the driveway with 90,000 bricks

Medford NJ -1982

Phyliss had her first brain surgery less than a year later to remove a tumor that had been growing for the previous 15 years.

It was heavy work for a person so desperately ill. She never complained.

You never know what is to come.

The building could not really be called a house. It was designed more like a "Factory for Living." Over the years it served friends and family well. Phyliss' mother died about seven years after we moved. That left her area free to house my dear college friend and his wife for a year until their own house was complete. Later my partner and his wife and dog occupied the area after they moved north to find a home of their own. One of the women in Phyliss' prayer group had a nasty fire in her home and stayed with us for six months.

We bought a lovely house in Leisure Town for my mother. She loved the house, but four years later she had a serious stroke. She could not live independently any more, so she lived with us for three years, mostly under Phyliss' care. The little apartment served us well again.

Mixed in with all this activity, Phyliss' sister Theresa visited for weekends and sometimes weeks at a time for the entire time we lived here. Some of the nuns would visit for a few days or a week. And there were countless weekend visits of our Godchildren. Finally, the building was designed to house many family and friends in the event of a natural emergency. The huge garage and detached building served as a storage repository for a dozen others. Now you know why I call it a "Factory for Living."

There was one final irony to the design of our home. The mother-in-law quarters that served so many over the years, became Phyliss' care facility for the eight years after her stroke. All of her medical, toiletry, and sleeping needs could be met in a manner superior to any institutional setting. There was ample room for all of Phyliss' needs and a care-giver's needs in the rest of the house since it was designed fully barrier-free. There was one additional indirect service the "Factory for Living" did for Phyliss and her care. Since we had paid off the bulk of the mortgage before Phyliss' stroke, the equity in the building provided a large portion of the financial resources for her care. Thank you, "Our Factory for living."

As with everything that Phyliss did, and I in turn from her influence, nothing was ever done for ourselves alone. We always tried to make ourselves comfortable, but in the context of helping others. Designing and constructing a residence that could serve us and those we cared about was no exception.

I cannot think of a single person that I have associated with or client who made the benefit of others a major design feature of their "dream house." It just doesn't happen.

During the design of homes, husbands and wives often "spar" with each other over a larger kitchen or a larger garage. They can't even comprehend the idea of sacrificing for the one they married let alone someone else. The children vie over who has the larger bedroom. No one mentions how the house can serve others they "care" about. Maybe they don't care about anybody but themselves. Instead of a wonderful opportunity to express selfless love, it becomes an occasion to improve his or her personal living conditions and status in the home.

We have created such an introspective and self-centered society, that these thoughts don't even enter our minds.

Phyliss was always the initiator of the generosity and kindness; I became her teammate as the implementer. Phyliss engineered these acts of benevolence and kindness with quiet humility and at great sacrifice of resources and time. Her goodness was boundless and hidden. Much of the building was not made for her comfort or her enjoyment, but for the benefit of others, largely without their knowledge or, in many cases, without their appreciation. She left this earth without a scintilla, of doubt, or regret that she had done the right thing. She always did the right thing.

Who among us would have bestowed such an acts of kindness and benevolence upon others, anonymously? The true irony is that she will never benefit from her efforts herself. But then, she has no need for the benefits where she is. Who knows, maybe she knew that all along. If she did, it would not have changed her actions nor bothered her one bit – another legacy left by her to us.

The Christmas cactus plants in full bloom just after Thanksgiving Day. She was a great cook and, now, a master horticulturist. Is it any wonder, I married her?
**WASHING THE DISHES**

Timelessly, the glory of nature was once again coming alive. It was the spring of 1976. A few years earlier we had installed ourselves in our newly built "Factory for Living."

We were both working full-time, Phyliss at St. Joseph's School close to home and I at an architectural office in Princeton.

It had been an exhausting week for both of us preparing for a party on Sunday for more than forty family members and friends while executing our job commitments. It was a work of love every year for Phyliss to do this for her mother and a work of love for me to do it for both of them.

The birthday party was one of a dozen festive occasions of the year. For the prior eighty-eight years, the glory of this season had ushered in Mrs. Crudo's birthday every March 14th. This special day was her opportunity to be surrounded by her entire family. It was her day. Actually, Phyliss made every day her mother's day. She was a most devoted daughter. She was the most devoted of daughters.

Sunday arrived and an exhausting week blended into an even more exhausting day. Mountains of homemade delights made from scratch, were everywhere. Quite possibly, making the huge Italian rum cake the day before used all of our remaining energy. Phyliss baked the cake and made the filling; we assembled it; and I decorated it. We were a team of two - she was the master chef; I was the artist – two captains on the same ship with the same destination.

As usual, the cake for 40 could have fed 100. That's the way it was with everything we prepared. God forbid, someone wanted an extra helping and there was none. Such a happening was a mortal sin that had no forgiveness. Even the priest could not pardon this transgression.

Everyone attended. The festivities filled the day. The party went well. Everyone had an extraordinary time, especially Mrs. Crudo. That's what this week had been all about for Phyliss. That's what her life had been all about.

Stomachs grumbling from the abuse, the men plopped themselves in the television room after a hard day of work at the dinner table. The women and I retired to the kitchen. They tirelessly cleared the tables, dealt with the aftermath, and parceled the massive quantities of leftovers into neat, foil-wrapped packages for the guests to take home.

I fought my way to the sink, planted my flag, and declared that I would wash the dishes as they emptied them. Phyliss reluctantly acquiesced.

It was a shame that my skill did not equal the level of my assertiveness. I hadn't a clue about what I was doing. One summer during high school washing dishes in the basement of the Horn and Hardart Cafeteria in Philadelphia had apparently taught me absolutely nothing about the craft of washing dishes of which I was about to embark.

With authority and mastery, I filled one sink bowl with water and detergent and "dumped" everything I could fit into the soapy mix - the dishes, cups, saucers, flatware, glasses and small pots, everything – completely bypassing the obviously useless and time-consuming steps of pre-rinsing and separating.

Phyliss, always alert and vigilant, noticed the impending disaster I was causing and ventured over to offer kind advice. In a moment of testosterone surge, I insisted that I knew what I was doing. "How difficult could washing dishes be?" After all, I washed dishes all my life (for two people). And, then there were my "professional" cafeteria skills I had acquired. Not wanting to harm the ego of the man she loved, she quietly retreated to her former station, leaving me alone to flail in my ineptitude.

I proudly finished my task. Yes, the sink and everything around it was a disaster; the dishes were still greasy; and the glasses were streaked, spotted and oily – the pots, don't ask. It was a monumental mess of my own creation. The look on my face must have betrayed my quandary. It pleaded, "How do I get out of here?"

Seeing my dilemma, Phyliss smiled and adroitly suggested that I help the guests to their cars with the goodies that the ladies had prepared. She ushered me out of the kitchen to the front door in the foyer. I gladly followed dragging what was left of my pride, with my tail between my legs with the look of a puppy that had just peed on the carpet.

I eagerly carried out my new assignment with the bravado of Don Quixote, packing bags, helping sort the piles of coats on the beds, looking for keys, lighting the way for the guests, sometimes moving cars that had been carelessly parked, and holding doors open for the damsels. It took almost an hour to complete the task. But, complete it I did.

I forgot to mention the most important task assigned in confidence by Mrs. Crudo, that of dispensing a gallon of homemade wine to the "privileged" few and discretely wrapping it in a plain brown bag, as if nobody knew what was in the bag. Secrecy was paramount in distributing the "treasure of the grapes."

With this conquest behind me and the dish washing disaster a forgotten memory, the full measure of my manhood had been restored.

After I escorted the last of the guests, I returned to the kitchen. Phyliss had a "devilish," yet loving look on her face. The loving look was perpetual, the devilish look, not so much. It was apparent that the dishes were all put away and the kitchen was back in order. She was holding a dish towel in her hand. She hugged me and gave me a kiss. She whispered in my ear, "I still love you." "That was odd," I thought. We completed the last of the chores and retired yielding to the call of lassitude. Mission accomplished for this year. A little puzzled, sleep still came easily.

Several weeks later, I visited my mom. While there, she told me at the party, in my absence, Phyliss had stealthily rewashed the all the dishes and glasses, correctly this time. My mom dried them, and put them back into the cabinets before I returned. She had been a willing accomplice to the clandestine deed, but proved to be a less than loyal confidant.

Phyliss and I never discussed the "disaster of the dishes" for the next thirty-seven years. She never told me, and I never asked – sort of our own version of "don't ask, don't tell."

After her mom's birthday party that year, at every other gathering and festivity, we always washed the dishes together, her way. When we were done, she always hugged me, smiled and said, "I still love you." with that same knowing and devilish look. Did she know I knew? How could I not love her?

For all those years, I am certain many wondered what the two of us were doing cavorting at the kitchen sink. Everyone knows that washing dishes is a tedious and mundane task avoided by just about every human being. I am sure it didn't exactly look like we were washing dishes. In fact, they were right. We were not.

We were having a love affair.

Don't miss the wonderful opportunities that come every day to have "secret love affairs" with your beloved - nothing complicated or earth-shattering, just sublime, touching, and unforgettable moments for just the two of you. We were blessed to have experienced hundreds and hundreds, quite possibly thousands.

When it seemed that she could give me no more love, it just doubled and tripled with no reduction of love for the multitude who were already the fortunate recipients of her gifts. For Phyliss, love and compassion were not zero sum emotions. Love for one did not diminish love for the others.

What I did learn so many times was the devotion and love my dear wife had for me was boundless.

There was no argument, no rivalry, just quiet devotion, adoration, understanding, sometimes subtle redirection of her misguided knight, and remarkable selflessness and love for her "Man of La Mancha."

I would eventually have to lament the loss of our little secret tradition of "washing the dishes" when she no longer could. Now, I must wash the dishes at that same sink every day, alone with just the memories, oh, so fond memories.

Her wisdom, love, and understanding were limitless. How fortunate I was.

I didn't have to dream the impossible dream.

Through the blessings bestowed upon me by Phyliss, I lived it every day.

**SURVIVAL, RIDICULE, INDIFFERENCE, ABANDONMENT, AND DISAPPOINTMENT**

Every part of the house was designed and built with our needs and comfort in mind, of course. But, contrary to what most people would think, our needs and comfort were not the primary design parameters. Having come home to the riots and gas shortages and outrageous inflation, self-sufficiency and survival in a crisis were the primary forces in our design.

When we realized those that we cared about would not prepare for themselves, we included the accommodation of them in our plans at great expense, energy, and sacrifice. It was a mistake that I dearly regret, but one that, being true to her character, Phyliss did not. My regret was centered on the hardship and deprivation that I foisted on Phyliss who willingly and gladly endured that deprivation for the benefit of those around her.

I tried desperately to sound the alarm of the irresponsibility of our leaders and the damage that was being done to our country. This was the irresponsibility that caused the gradual decay of our country and could only lead to ruin. I had no concept of how methodical the dumbing down of our citizens, complacency, greed, and indifference would become so wide spread, so complete, and so quickly. The nonchalance of an entire nation being destroyed was a frightening sight. History always seems to repeat itself.

I tried to appeal to the self-preservation and survival instinct in people, but I was shocked to find that even their survival instinct had been dumbed out of their psyche. I changed my approach by attempting to appeal to their aspiration for their children and grandchildren and others that they loved. It still had no effect. Phyliss and I were living in a land of mindless zombies unwilling or maybe unable to understand that they were walking on the deck of the sinking ship the "Titanic" listening to the virtuosos playing their instruments as the ship sank under them into oblivion.

It would be so amusing, if it were not so tragic. Never before in the history of mankind on Earth have so many humans had, at their fingertips, so much of man's accumulated knowledge and wisdom and at the same time been so utterly detached from their own destiny and so completely imbecilic, uninformed, ill informed and totally incapable of independent thought and self-salvation. God help us all.

Around this time, is when Joseph starting becoming "crazy Joseph," at baptisms, funerals, weddings, family gatherings, and social events. Again, for the second time in five years I became Paul Revere sounding the alarm without a horse and riding a pig. At one point I seriously considered taking off all my clothes and making two signs draped over my shoulders tied together with rope, and then visiting everyone on our list. The front sign would read "The end is near." The rear sign would read, "The end is here." Phyliss, ever modest, talked me out of this truly excellent idea. It was one of the few times she did not support one of my fine, proposed endeavors.

But, seriously, folks, half ran for the door, and the other half nodded politely and motioned for their spouse or companion to save them from me. Everyone listened politely, while thinking Joe must have been drinking lead-tainted water in Tunisia.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In Greek mythology, Cassandra was the dazzling princess of Troy who was considered both beautiful and insane. While I certainly am not beautiful, some might agree about the insane part. But, Cassandra and I have another important trait in common. She was granted the power of prophecy by the god, Apollo, but when she refused his advances, he cursed her so that when she used her power to prophesize true things in the future, she would be believed by no one. Her punishment was the curse of never being believed. I am by no means a prophet, but I am rational and recognize the truth and the obvious. When I see a freight train coming, I get off the tracks and warn others to do likewise. Is it plausible that no one else sees the train, and no one else elects to get off the tracks? Obviously it is so. It appears that like Cassandra, I have received the curse of never being believed. Is it possible that here is no train? Not a chance folks. I implore you, get off the tracks and run. But alas, at this late date, there may be nowhere to run.

* * * * * * * * * * *

As far as I know, no one has ever bought an extra can of food, a candle, a lighter, an extra roll of toilet paper, or made a single preparation as the result of my admonitions. A standard reaction was, "if some calamity does happen, we can always go live with Joe and Phyliss, ha, ha." If it were not so disturbing, it might be funny.

It didn't really matter to me what people thought of me, or what they said to each other on the drive home. But, what have infuriated me were the time, companionship, and resources I deprived dear Phyliss to help people who would not help themselves. God Bless her, it didn't bother her a bit, but it disturbed me deeply. Jesus, please forgive me for my anger and disillusionment. I wish you would grant me Phyliss' serenity toward the stupidity and indifference of humanity.

When Phyliss had her stroke, we had nearly completed our preparations, or so I thought. Then, what will go down in history as the final nail in the coffin of the greatest nation ever to exist on the face of Earth, the unthinkable happened in 2008.

It did not seem possible that we could have been as deceived and ignorant as a nation to put into office an administration that is the greatest enemy of our county, by far, since its inception and the source of its ultimate destruction. Now that the destruction is nearly complete, and so obvious, we still don't get it! How is it possible?

* * * * * * * * * * *

How could he have known so clearly, so long ago?

" **America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves."**

Abraham Lincoln, (1809-1865)

Oh, you were so right in your profound wisdom, Mr. President.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I completed the remainder of our preparations by myself as best I could without compromising Phyliss' care. Finally, they were complete about five years after her stroke. Two more years passed.

As unbelievable as the event of 2008 was, one thing was even more unbelievable. As obvious as the destruction of America was, except for an extremely small portion of the population, few would even acknowledge that the destruction had taken place and that more damage still continues each day.

Free speech today appears to be only for the anointed and the chosen.

Speak out at your own risk.

I shutter even writing that simple, six-word sentence in my beloved former country - a country created by God and the most brilliant men to have walked the face of the earth, protected and preserved by some of the bravest men and women to have ever lived, and voluntarily scorned, and abandoned by a population of spoiled, "beanie baby", and smart-phone-worshiping, pathetic, pampered ignoramuses.

I, myself, even had concern of including this chapter in the book. A partial fear was that it would detract from the goodness of Phyliss and her story. She probably would not have wanted me to write it. A greater fear was of reprisal. Without a doubt, some would agree, that there is a true danger and fear of the citizenry of speaking their minds if it opposes the powers that are - yes, here in the former United States of America. Believe it.

Phyliss had no problem with sacrificing for preparations for others, ever, either before her stroke or after.

Quite frankly, despite my exasperation, neither did I . . . until . . . About seven years after her stroke, I was truly broke and in debt from our preparations and from Phyliss' care. We had never asked anyone for financial or any other type of help in our lives, not even for the preparations we had made on their behalf. Most were not even aware of the preparations.

I felt that time was running out. The longer the destruction created by the government was ignored by a gullible, sleepwalking, populace and was allowed to insidiously pretend to "fix" the problems they created, the greater and more severe the collapse of our country, and inevitably the western world would be. Even now that the destruction is essentially complete, except for the collapse, people refuse to believe that our inevitable demise was purposeful. I hate the phrase, but it is so prophetic – "Go figure." I needed to make one last effort to "warn" those we cared about, but also, to make a plea. In keeping with our purpose of gifting our preparations, the plea was twofold \- for assistance to continue the care of Phyliss, and to preserve those preparations we had made for others, so they would not be lost and be there for others.

For, you see if the bank foreclosed on the property, there would be no preparations to "gift." As they say, "the silence was deafening." Fifty pleas were mailed representing about one hundred fifty people. There were three responses, two negative, and one positive. I was underwhelmed with the outpouring of kindness. A lifetime of concern and love was rewarded with total silence. I didn't care about the life of work building the house or the decades of preparation, but ignoring Phyliss, that was more than I could accept.

I was prepared for denials. Quite frankly, I did not expect any financial help whatsoever. I did not expect to receive even a single, worthless, one dollar denominated, United States of America Federal Reserve Note. But nothing could prepare me for a complete disregard of Phyliss' plight. It was traumatic. This was one pain I had to suffer on my own. I could not take the risk of telling her, not in her weakened emotional state. Most likely, her sorrow would have been, not for the lack of support, but for the fact that her dear husband was broke. She certainly would have erroneously born the guilt for that. When I showed any sign of distress, despite my attempt to conceal it, she would discover my deception and immediately blame herself and her condition as the source of my anguish.

I could not tell her of my letter and I certainly could not tell her of the response, or, I should say, the lack of response. The irony was she most likely would not have cared. She would not even have seen fit to forgive, since she would have thought there was nothing to forgive.

I did receive one positive response. I will just call her KR. She would be embarrassed that I mentioned her name. They were a young, hard-working family of modest means. She requested that I tell her what I needed and she would send me what she could each month to ease our difficulties and help Phyliss. Her benevolence overwhelmed me. I was sorry I had not told Phyliss. For her, I am sure this one positive response would have canceled the forty-seven who did not respond. I had to decline her offer of kindness.

* * * * * * * * * * *

From this experience, you folks might want to try a life experiment. Make a list of your fifty best "friends and family." Make up an emergency where you need assistance with a serious health and financial problem and send out letters of request for assistance. Don't wait by the mail box. During the next months you may be sadly disappointed that it is empty except for the usual bills and solicitations.

I despise having become so cynical. It is not who I am. Phyliss would have never approved. How did I get here from fifty-six years of being with Phyliss, two years of giving in the Peace Corps, and a life time of preparing for others? Forgive me Phyliss and forgive me Lord. I pray that with her guidance I can recapture who I was before I die.

I should make one thing clear following this exercise. After Phyliss' stroke, until the present, I had a flock of angels that helped Phyliss and me. They are listed in the chapter "No man is an Island." They were sent the letters with the indication that it was to alert them rather than to solicit them. I cannot place a financial value on the support and love they extended to Phyliss and continue to extend to me. The world has some good left, maybe a lot of good. Could it be there is still hope for us? It is possible I guess, but not probable. I just don't see it happening.

One year after my letter, Phyliss died. My finances were exhausted almost exactly to the month she died. God provided for her care. I have lived on borrowed money since. But, ironically, much of the preparations we made for others, have not been maintained and, when the crisis begins, few if any will be able to benefit as I had warned in my letter. I fear for them and I pray for them. I know Phyliss is praying for them, as well.

The ultimate irony is that all the sacrifice Phyliss made for those she cared about, but did not care about her, will benefit her not one minute. I thank God; that she no longer has need of any of the preparations she helped make or, for that matter, the country that no longer exists.

Oh, she must have gotten so much extra credit for her ticket to heaven. I just hope I don't miss the plane.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**PHYLISS' FIRST BRAIN TUMOR**

It was the spring of 1983. I was working full-time as an architect for a Princeton architectural office of about ten people. It was an enjoyable job and my employers were both fine people. The difficulty was it was a commute of over an hour one way. With lunch and an eight-hour work day, I was away from Phyliss for more than eleven hours a day. Neither of us was happy with that arrangement.

To partially correct that, I negotiated a four ten-hour day work week in place of the traditional five eight-hour day work week. My employers graciously granted my request. My gratitude goes to the late John and Leo. I now had a three-day weekend with Phyliss and a four-day weekend when there was a holiday. Add a few vacation days, and we had a lot more time together. I almost felt guilty about being out the office so much – well almost.

Phyliss was working full-time as a teacher at St. Joseph's School in Medford. The school would later be called St. Mary of the Lakes School. As always, Phyliss enjoyed the teaching as much as the students enjoyed being taught by her.

The house was completed, but the driveway was just sand, and delivery trucks were frequently getting stuck. We could not afford an installed drive, so . . . to solve the problem, I got the idea of installing a fourteen thousand square foot brick driveway of ninety thousand, five-pound bricks. This was just another one of my monumental ideas. Once I got an idea in my head, it was almost a forgone conclusion that I would implement it. It was frightening sometimes since some of the ideas were impossible.

Phyliss was never a physical person and never had time to indulge herself with jogging or going to the gym. Nevertheless, she worked by with me tirelessly for almost two years as we built the house. About ten years later, she gladly jumped right in while we installed the huge brick driveway. It was a monumental, backbreaking job. She never complained, and just relished the idea of working and being with me all day. I assure you. The feeling was mutual. It didn't matter what we were doing as long as we were doing it together. (It sounds "mushy", but it is true.)

The word got out, that we had installed our own brick driveway, and it wasn't long before we got a request by a priest in Linwood to install a brick walk around a full-sized marble reproduction of Michelangelo's Piéta. Of course, we agreed. It was a relatively small project. It was hard work, but the two of us did it in one long day. But, it was summer. It was a very hot day.

The seminarians occasionally poked their heads out of the air-conditioned house to observe our progress, but not one of the husky and well-fed novices offered us aid or drink. The Christian spirit was on vacation that day. It disturbed me to see her work while they watched. If Phyliss was disturbed by their actions, she certainly did not show it.

Forgiveness and charity were her hallmarks - with me, not so much.

While Phyliss and I worked, I noticed a slight difference in Phyliss. It was very subtle but uncharacteristic. I could not put my finger on what it was. It seemed she had less energy, but she said she was fine. Nonetheless, I was relieved when the end of the day arrived and we got into the air conditioned car to drive home.

At home Phyliss always answered the phone for the office. She started indicating that people were always mumbling and not talking distinctly on the phone, and she would always have to ask them to repeat things. This combined with the subtle change in energy began to worry me. Phyliss never complained about anything before.

She agreed for us to go to an ear, nose, and throat doctor. A hearing test verified that she had some hearing loss and comprehension loss in the ear she used for answering the phone. The other ear seemed fine. The doctor was not concerned and told us it was not uncommon for someone her age to begin having some hearing loss, even in just one ear. We made several other visits over the next eight months, which verified a progressive hearing loss in the ear.

One evening, Phyliss and I were having a conversation on the couch in the living room and she put her hand up to her cheek. She had an alarmed look on her face. She said she could not feel her hand on her cheek. I rubbed her cheek and pinched it lightly, and she said she could not feel that either.

This alarmed me as well, but I tried not to show it. Something told me it was related to the hearing loss, so I suggested that we go back to the doctor with this finding. I was very concerned. We got an appointment right away.

The drive to the doctor's office was uncharacteristically quiet. It was obvious that we were both on edge. We arrived at the doctor's office, and we sat in the chairs facing his desk. When we told him about the lack of feeling in Phyliss' cheek, he tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back an ominous and concerned look.

Something unpleasant entered his mind, but he did not vocalize it. Instead, he said he was giving us a prescription ordering a study to investigate further. When we had the study done, we were to call to make an appointment and hand-carry the results with us for a consultation.

Phyliss and I were both concerned but did not jump to any conclusions about the visit. We would wait for the tests. After all, it might not be anything serious. When we got home and Phyliss was in the other room, I looked at the prescription and all I remember was seeing the words, "brain scan." I was not prepared. It shook me. Fortunately, Phyliss didn't ask to see the prescription.

That night, I slipped out of bed and consulted an anatomy book I had which showed the acoustic nerve. My heart dropped when I saw that the next nerve down was the nerve that controlled the cheek muscle and the tongue.

It listed an abnormality where the cells of the covering of the acoustic nerve grow uncontrollably and form a tumor that can encroach on surrounding nerves. It was called a swanoma or an acoustic neuroma. These were terms with which I would become all too familiar in the years to come.

The remedy was the tumor had to be surgically removed . . . brain surgery. I was mortified. We had waited so patiently to marry. We were only married fifteen wonderful years. Now I might lose her. I tried convincing myself that I knew nothing of this subject. I was jumping to conclusions, but, there was no sleep that night for me.

We arrived at the doctor's office. He placed the studies on the lighted wall viewer and looked for a moment and then read the written report. Sweet Jesus, everything I read in the anatomy book was true.

Phyliss started to quietly sob. I tried to comfort her, but my heart was breaking. I felt so helpless. He gave us the name of, my God, a brain surgeon. It sounded like a death sentence. I thought, "She tirelessly worked with me laying all those bricks with a brain tumor." Guilt enveloped me and depressed me even more.

I called the brain surgeon the doctor recommended and spoke with him at length. I asked him how common this operation was, and how often he had performed the operation. He said it was not common, but he had performed "many" operations.

The two answers seem conflicting and incongruous to me. The little voice in my head went on alert. I asked about scheduling and he said he would get back to me when he was able to arrange for an operating room, team, and equipment.

I felt more uncomfortable. I hung up and told Phyliss he would get back to us. She was obviously still in shock, but tried not to show it. I had never seen her so shaken. And, why wouldn't she be shaken. She was staring death in the face \- brain surgery thirty years ago. I was so thankful I was there to comfort her.

The next day, I called our family doctor for his advice. He said my concern was well founded, this was a dangerous surgery, and we needed to go to a specialist of national acclaim, Dr. Frederick Simeone at the Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia.

I called his office and spoke to his secretary, Gina. She said Dr. Simeone could see Phyliss in two months, oh my. I could not let Phyliss remain in this state for that long, and what about the further growth of the tumor? Gina said she would call back. She did. Dear Gina asked if we could we come in the next day? Of course we could.

Gina became a selfless friend and told us that she sensed our love in our conversation and could not let Phyliss go without the doctor's expert care. She managed to arrange for us to see the doctor. There is no question her instinct was directly responsible for giving Phyliss and me thirty more wonderful years together. Thank you, dear Gina. Oh, I forgot, Dr. Simeone helped a little, too.

Dr. Simeone consulted with us and reviewed the studies and report. He concurred with the diagnosis and the necessity for surgery. He was pleasant, professional and was pleased he could give us a second opinion. My heart dropped. I told him we weren't there for a second opinion, but to schedule surgery.

He hesitated for a moment, kindly apologized, smiled and said he would take our case. He was a professional and a gentleman worthy of his reputation. We were soon to find that the same was true of his reputation as a master surgeon. His manor and professionalism were instrumental in giving us hope that everything would be all right.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Phyliss had been uncharacteristically quiet and obviously still in shock. I was so thankful that I could apply the years of mentoring she gave me to perform the critical role of navigating through the health care system for her. At the same time, I was fearful that I would not be up to the task. This was the first time I could remember Phyliss not fully able to deal with the problem facing her. She was confronting the end of her life.

Unfortunately, I was to find that the next thirty years would be replete with opportunities to test her teaching, my learning, and our love. I can only hope, my dear, that I learned well and that you are proud of my efforts. I gave you my best, as you gave to me.

The day of the surgery arrived. The day was frightening for me. Remarkably, Phyliss was stoic, calm, and at peace. It could be she was ready to meet Jesus. But, I was not ready for her to meet Him. I was going to do any thing I could to delay the union with Him. I was being selfish, I know.

She went through the usual surgery preps, and I kissed her goodbye, not knowing if I would ever see her again. They wheeled her to the operating room. That moment was overwhelming.

The operation was so much longer than I anticipated. The waiting was agony. There are only so many vending machine snacks one can eat before going comatose. (I didn't know I was diabetic then) Dr. Simeone finally came out in his operating room garb, with a smile on his face. Every muscle in my body relaxed.

The operation was a complete success. Phyliss was doing well. There were no complications. The entire tumor was removed. This type of tumor was not malignant. The acoustic nerve had been damaged but it was still intact. It was such a relief to have her back. God bless his skill and determination. Thanks, Doc.

In recovery, Phyliss looked well, but concerned. Then I realized that the left side of her face had no muscle tone and was not moving in conjunction with the right side. Her left eye was not blinking. I concealed my anguish. She was still Phyliss and she was alive. After much hand holding, caressing, kissing, and tender talk, Phyliss relaxed and was relieved that she was still alive.

I explained the operation in detail, and the next day I explained the Bell's palsy (the disfigurement) she listened intently, without comment and asked for a mirror. She looked at her face in the mirror and paused. She asked, "Does having to look at me like this bother you."

Her comment just broke my heart. Her face had been terribly disfigured, and all she could think about was me. I assured her as sincerely as I could that it did not bother me in the least. I told her I loved her as much after the operation as I did before the operation, possibly more. I told her I married her, her essence, not the superficial beauty that would one day certainly be lost.

She looked in the mirror again, then looked at me with such peace and calm and said, "Then it doesn't bother me either, Joseph." That was Phyliss. As long as she was assured she had my love, all else was unimportant. We never talked about it again.

I never left her side. She was walking the next day. But, to my surprise, I only had to sleep in the lounge chair for about a week. On the seventh day, they sent us home. I needed a shower.

When we got home, Phyliss had an emotional delayed reaction and began sobbing softly. We sat on the couch for a long time comforting each other. She regained her composure and peace and relief returned.

The next day brought some serious setbacks. The first setback was the realization that she lost her hearing in that ear. It appeared that Phyliss had lost all, or almost all, of her hearing in the left ear due to the damaged acoustic nerve. This was hearing that could not be restored with a hearing aid. It did not affect Phyliss at all.

She was happy to be alive even with impaired hearing. Again, thinking of me instead of herself, she asked me if the extra effort to communicate with her would bother me. I again replied, "Not in the least. She once again replied "then it doesn't bother me either, Joseph." I just wish I had her courage.

The second setback seemed more serious. I wanted to walk Phyliss around the house to prevent blood clots, pneumonia, and to help regain her strength and independence. She walked a few steps and then completely lost her balance and got severe vertigo. We made it back to the couch with some difficulty.

This could be a life-altering disability if she could not maintain her balance. It would mean living the rest of her life in a wheel chair or using a walker to navigate. How many more disabilities could she bear? The day was a difficult one. Is it possible she had survived the worst, only to be left with a series of disabling handicaps? We both went to bed that night with heavy hearts.

We awoke the next morning with the prospect that we would have to deal with this trial for the rest of her life.

I got out of bed and went downstairs to get the wheel chair we used for her mother only a short while ago.

When I returned with the chair, Phyliss was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. My first instinct was to reprimand her for taking such a chance to walk to the bathroom herself without help. It was so unlike her to take an unnecessary risk like that.

She told me that after I left, she sat on the edge of the bed and felt stable and slowly stood up without any symptoms of poor balance or vertigo. She said she felt confident walking along the edge of the bed. During the night something must have changed.

Evidently, her brain needed time to adjust itself to the missing signal from the left inner ear. My layman's mind could not fully understand what happened during the night, but her brain must have adjusted to maintaining her balance with only the signals from one ear.

Phyliss was plagued with some balance problems after that, but the complete loss of balance and vertigo had gone. Besides, this balance problem gave me an excellent opportunity to hug and hold my love's hand whenever we were together. (As if we needed a reason for that) Whatever the cause of the original episode, we were both so relieved that this occurrence never returned.

This disability consigned her to a life of degraded hearing especially in listening to her beloved operas. When listening to sound with only one ear the stereophonic effect of the sounds is gone. This is more than just a minor degradation of the enjoyment of music since stereophonic sound is necessary to tell from where sounds originate. Sounds on the side of the non-functioning ear cannot be heard at all.

These deficiencies could be quite annoying, but more significantly became dangerous in navigating outside. However, as with all her other trials she absorbed this one without a complaint or regret. She thanked God for all the good things she still could experience. Little did either one of us know, that there was still more hardship lurking in the future.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**PHYLISS' SECOND BRAIN TUMOR**

Months passed by, and Phyliss regained her strength from the trauma of her first brain tumor. She managed to increase her activity to the level before the tumor. My love was confronted with a horrible affliction and with the grace of God, her faith, the compassion of Gina, and the skill of Dr. Simeone she was miraculously returned to me.

As time passed, her condition improved even more. As the trauma to the nerves healed, the muscle tone in her cheeks began returning to a point where the deformity was almost unnoticeable. It was a joyous time. Only microscopic vestiges of the tumor remained and this was an extremely slow growing tumor. Our lives had been restored.

A year of happiness ensued. The near-death experience deepened our love and appreciation for each other. But, the happiness was short-lived. Soon, Phyliss began to get episodes of vertigo, lost balance, and headaches. These episodes became more severe and more frequent over the next several months. Multiple visits to multiple doctors eliminated the possibility that the tumor had grown back or another tumor had grown.

We sought out various specialists. One was an allergist. He recommended cleaning the house thoroughly and installing "Hepa" filters on the air handlers. Phyliss stayed with my mother for a week while I tore the house apart. I dusted and cleaned every square inch of the house, basement, and garage.

I was too exhausted to go back and forth to my mom's apartment and Phyliss and I missed each other terribly. With all of this, I was not optimistic, since Phyliss' symptoms did not lessen from her stay at my mom's apartment. My fears were realized. There was no change in Phyliss' torment after she came back home.

We returned to the surgeon, and he ordered another scan to see if the tumor was causing the symptoms. It was. In a little over a year, the tumor had grown from microscopic traces to the size of a walnut. This was an unheard of occurrence. Phyliss had to have another surgery. Her ordeal would have to be repeated.

Dr. Simeone's schedule was packed and he recommended Dr. Buchheit at Temple Hospital to perform the operation. Dr. Buchheit was equally skilled and qualified. But, you wouldn't want to ask them that. There seemed to be a friendly competition between the two skilled surgeons. We sensed that we were still in good hands. But, this did little to ease the specter of another dangerous operation.

Phyliss had to endure weeks of agony of headaches, vertigo for this fast-growing tumor in her brain to be removed. It took all those weeks for her operation and placement in the neurosurgery wing to be scheduled. The day of the operation finally arrived. Phyliss completed the pre-operation testing and the operation proceeded. When the operation was over, we discovered that the tumor could only be partially removed.

The tumor had enveloped the nerve that controls the heart and the surgery was beginning to cause irregular heartbeats. The operation had to be terminated. Dr. Buchheit was once quoted as saying "the difference between a good surgeon and a great surgeon was having the knowledge to know when to stop pulling on something and getting away with it." We were so thankful that "Bucky" knew when to stop pulling.

The operation was done at Temple before the current, "new" facility was built. The neurosurgery recovery area was then a dark, somber and depressing room. It reminded me of the laboratory set from the MGM, black and white movie, "Madame Curie." It was a little frightening.

What was more frightening to me was seeing Phyliss still unconscious from the effects of the anesthesia. Unlike the first operation, there were what seemed to be a half-dozen tubes in her mouth taped to her cheeks and chin and monitors, tubes, wires, and devices everywhere. It was a horrible sight. "What had gone wrong?" The nurse assured me that everything was OK. I had a hard time believing that. "What wasn't she telling me?"

Phyliss slowly regained consciousness. When her awareness returned, and she saw what I saw, the tubes, her helplessness, and not being able to communicate overwhelmed her. We were both unprepared for the change from the first operation. She was in fear like I had never seen her. It was unbearable. She was in full panic as any of us would have been.

She frantically motioned for something with which to write. I had never seen anyone write so fast. Communication between us went on for what seemed to be a half hour. Each exchange calmed her more as, she became aware of the circumstances, and that the operation was a success. She saw she was OK. I didn't tell her that part of the tumor could not be removed. This was not the time.

I used the occasion of her return to calmness to approach the nurses in private and pleaded with them to remove the hoses, if possible. They left, and I returned to Phyliss. My presence was absolutely essential for her emotional stability. How happy I was to be able to carry out that role. I thought, "what if we had never married, who would be here to comfort her?" . . . no one. I tried to remove that awful thought from my mind. I was stressed enough and had to save my strength for both of us.

Soon, the kind nurses returned and agreed that they could remove the tubes. What a relief that news was. Once they were removed, Phyliss' composure returned. She still could not talk with ease because of the irritation from the tubes. But, even being able to speak a few words were reassuring to her, and to me.

Phyliss rapidly improved and was moved to a room in the neurosurgery wing. Our total stay in the hospital was not long, again less than a week. During that week, I tried learning as much as I could about the hospital and Phyliss' condition.

I have been forever curious. When Phyliss napped, I explored the neurosurgery wing. I noticed that the occupants of every room had an unusual sameness about them. They appeared to be old men, quite infirmed, and they never seemed to have any visitors.

As I roamed the halls, I initiated conversations with staff and others. One such conversation was with a Catholic priest who was in the hospital regularly during our stay. I remarked how long Phyliss had to wait for her operation and my observations of the old men.

He said that she had to wait because the neurosurgery wing was always filled. These were not old men. They were relatively young men who were all habitual alcoholics and repeat residents of the neurosurgery wing for extended stays of months.

Being longtime alcoholics, their brains shrank. He said when they fell and sustained a head injury, the brain had room to expand, pressure didn't build up, and they didn't die of pressure on the brain as a non-alcoholic would. He further said that the hospital was replete with similar cases; gun shot wounds, stabbings, and drug-addicted prostitutes with blood poisoning.

One prostitute was in the hospital for months for her second $250,000. (1980's dollars) visit for blood poisoning. My Lord, another was admitted to the hospital to have a growing potato removed. She was using it for birth control. The entire state of affairs was depressing.

So Phyliss, a responsible, productive, insured, tax paying, model citizen and role model had to suffer and had her life risked for a bunch of irresponsible, uninsured, derelicts. Sure, I agree, every life is important, valuable, precious, and equal. But, please, in a world of limited resources, where some live and some die because of those resources are so precious and limited, some lives are more valuable than others. That's my belief. There should be severe consequences for irresponsible behavior.

If Phyliss had died because of the delay, no one would have mourned her death but me. Yet, if one of the occupants of the ward died, the whole society would mourn and a new law would be passed funding more insanity. Sorry, but someone has to tell the truth about these outrages and ridiculous behaviors that we are asked to accept.

We can't all be saved; if we continue to reward bad behavior, then we are destined to get more of it. And, we have gotten more, much more. This insane thinking permeates every corner of our society and government and at every level. The degenerate persons in power, the public, and the press all go around moaning about problems and the lack of solutions when the solutions are starring us in the face and they know it.

The problems were created by them and are the source of their power. They don't want the problems solved - If there are no problems, there are no power, no wealth, and no control. I would scream, "Wake up, America!" but it is too late.

I apologize for my anger, but our civilization is being destroyed, our families, religions, and institutions decimated, we husbands are being mugged and robbed, and our wives and children are being raped and murdered. And, all we do is play with ourselves and our not so smart phones.

Dear God, save us from ourselves and our inhumanity to each other.

If individuals practice irresponsible behavior and they cause our health system to collapse for everyone, then let them pay the consequences of their bad behavior.

If companies behave irresponsibly and falter, let them fail.

If banks are too big to fail then limit their size. If they still fail because of bad practices, let them fail.

If they indulge in risky practices and lose, prohibit those practices and let them fail and make room for some competent establishment to take their place. Wake up America.

We need to return personal responsibility to society and impose consequences for not accepting that responsibility. Phyliss' operation occurred thirty years ago. I do not want to think about what the conditions and numbers are now.

The, so-called, "affordable care act" is the final nail in our national coffin. Our former beloved country of individual freedom, achievement, equality of opportunity, and, for that matter, all of the western societies are doomed. It is too late to save them. And, we have done it to ourselves. Good bye, America.

* * * * * * * * * * *

By the end of the week, Phyliss and I were home again. There were no more setbacks after we got home this time. But, the realities were bad enough. The acoustic and facial nerves had now been cut, gone forever. Phyliss hearing in her left ear was gone, never to return, and her Bell's palsy deformity to her face was permanent and never to leave. It could not be corrected.

The remnants of the tumor were still in her brain. Her left eye did not blink and needed constant lubrication. It eventually had to be sewn shut. And, of course her eyesight in the right eye was not that great either with an ever progressing cataract.

In the past, radiation for this type of tumor had not been particularly successful in limiting future growth. However, radiology technology had just begun to use multiple beams to attack tumors rather than a single beam. This held promise to control this tumor. Two beams were as effective as one, but with half the strength, thus limiting the damage to healthy tissue on its way to the tumor.

The method was primitive compared to the many beams used today with computer control. These beams had to be manually calculated and controlled by the staff. Tattoo dots were placed on Phyliss to direct the beams for each treatment. My dear, demure, and conservative wife was a pioneer among females getting tattoos!

The staff was marvelously skilled and compassionate. They calculated the beams to avoid damaging important structures, especially Phyliss' eyes. The process involved, I remember something like thirty daily treatments in Philadelphia. Phyliss was a trooper as always. The radiation proved to be a success.

The tumor eventually disappeared and never grew back. Thank you, ladies of the 1986 Temple radiology department. Phyliss is looking down on you with a most grateful smile with a good word to Him on your behalf. I am sure.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Over the next years, Phyliss had more than twenty-five MRI's to monitor this tumor and the next. Each trip gave her great anxiety for a week for fear another operation would be necessary. She endured, like I could never have.

Sounds could not be heard at all on her left side, very dangerous in traffic and on foot. Stereo sound is necessary to determine from where a sound comes. This ability was gone, and was very confusing to her. Depth perception was impossible with one eye. Her balance and sense of direction were compromised with only one inter ear. The sight and hearing also contributed to her balance problems.

The next fourteen years blessed Phyliss with relatively good health and happiness as long as we followed some basic rules. Our primary solution was that Phyliss was extra cautious inside the house and held onto railings, doors, furniture, and counters to maintain balance. If something bulky or awkward needed to be moved, that was my job. She always listened.

One day she bent over in the laundry room, lost her balance, and fell backwards knocking a door off its hinges and cracking three ribs. It was a painful two months during her recuperation. We learned the hard way, that danger was everywhere for her with her compromised senses.

Phyliss rarely went out without me. If you knew us, when was the last time you saw her without me? I had become her chauffeur, her stabilizer, her navigator, her depth preceptor, her sound analyzer, her radar, and her comforter. All those years together we had literally been one person. Why not actually become one person? I loved it.

Everyone thought I was always with her because I loved her. Actually, I have to admit I was very fond of her. There was just something about her. I could never put my finger on it. You know I am kidding. An important reason I was always with her outside the house was to protect her from a world that was dangerous to her alone. I loved it.

At her request, we tried to conceal these many disabilities. Most who knew her had no concept of the level of disabilities she dealt with every day. Even those who knew of the deficiencies were unable or, in many cases, unwilling to make the effort to accommodate them. It made me melancholy that she needed so much assistance. I was joyful I was there to provide it, and thankful she so graciously accepted it. That was my dear.

* * * * * * * * * * *

THE "MARLBORO MAN"

Times were very difficult for the architectural profession and the construction industry when we returned from Tunisia in 1970. I worked at a firm in Camden for a few years, and then started building our house when the work disappeared.

I'm the handsome one. Although, people always have trouble telling us apart

Phyliss was quite a good photographer, actually.

When conditions improved, I was fortunate to find a position, at first with a large firm, and then with a small, but well-managed firm in Princeton.

The firm had two partners who were kind gentlemen and professionals. The wife of one of the partners was the highly accomplished office manager and secretary who was remarkably Phyliss' intellectual equal. They were so compatible, yet were able to associate regretfully so seldom. Now, they are both gone. What a lost friendship it was.

It is frightening, but their favorite excursion was to spend the day in New York City and have lunch at the ill-fated, "Windows on the World Restaurant" at the top of the north tower of the World Trade Center. It was a different time.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The work was rewarding, steady and demanding at the office. I am not sure how long I was working there, when one day I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned, and much to my surprise it was the "Marlboro Man." Well, it wasn't exactly the "Marlboro Man" but a young man who had the same handsome, rugged, and all-American, get the job done look of the "Marlboro Man," only without the cigarette, the cowboy hat, and the horse.

I immediately exclaimed that he looked like he had just come out of one of the television commercials. He seemed to be a little embarrassed and somewhat humbled. I was to discover he was a man of few words, much like his lookalike. His moniker of "Marlboro Man" eventually turned to "Magnum" since when he grew his moustache he looked more like Tom Sellick than the "Marlboro Man." Also, as time went by, I was to determine he definitely had more of a proclivity toward the horsepower of "Ferraris" rather than the equine varieties.

I remember he had a "five-year" plan to "entice" the lass with whom he was "smitten," to marry him. "Smitten can mean "enamored, or "crazy about someone" or also "seriously affected by an illness." Now that I think of it, maybe there isn't much difference between the two afflictions. But as I thought back to my courtship days with Phyliss, I believe that Lee and I were both of the "enamored" or "crazy about someone" variety. Well, maybe we were affected a little by an illness also. We fortunately, never recovered from our respective maladies.

I am so very pleased to say. We both achieved success with our pursuits.

He was a new employee who slipped in behind me while I was buried in some solar calculations. (Yes, we had solar back then folks; it's not new. The only difference then, it was real solar design) His name was Lee, and he had just graduated majoring in architecture from Princeton, and he wanted to ask me some basic questions regarding his new assignment. By the end of the month, my back and neck were sore, turning around and answering all his questions. He had so many. I thought to myself, what on Earth did they teach him at school?

It was not annoying. Actually, I was quite flattered that he valued my opinion. In addition to his handsome looks, he had a brain like a sponge. Nothing ever needed repeating. Soon the questions became less and he functioned very well, independently. It appeared that he wasted no time filling in the voids left by Princeton. We quickly developed a mutual respect and friendship. It was the start of a long and deep one.

Not too long after, Lee left the firm to get his masters at the University of Maryland to further fill in more of those voids. I also had to leave the firm with some disinclination, to care for Phyliss after her first brain tumor. We reluctantly parted, but neither of us was aware our paths were to cross again.

Phyliss needed considerable care and my constant presence. Through the benevolence of my Princeton employers, minor work was referred to me at home by them. The kindly and compassionate gesture allowed me to be with Phyliss and work at home.

Thank you, John, Barbara, and Leo. God bless their souls. They are all gone, now. John often questioned me of our Peace Corps experience, and after his wife Barbara died he joined the Corps in Eastern Europe where he remarried and served with distinction. He sadly died in-country during his service from a lack of hospital care from an embolism. Life is so short. The firm is gone, and even their building is long gone.

* * * * * * * * * * *

More and more work materialized, Phyliss recuperated, and I was soon working full-time from my home office. Eventually, even my full-time attention to my practice was not enough to keep up. Oh, to only be able to return to those days of abundance. Our dear Ronald Regan was president then. How did we get to where we are today?

His need for speed - Biking is his passion.

Lee received his master's degree in architecture and needed work, and I needed help: Habitech Architects, P.C., had been born from the tragedy of Phyliss' brain tumors. Over the years, I was to observe many other good things come from our misfortunes. The phrase "God closes a door, only to open a window" always came to mind.

My "Magnum P.I." lookalike began as an accomplished and diligent employee. He ably performed most of the production of contract drawings and I did some of the same and most of the client contact and job development.

I was proud I had been a good teacher and the University of Maryland had successfully added polish to the now registered and quite skilled architect. It was a good marriage. How fortunate I was. I had the perfect wife and companion, and now I had a great employee who would become the perfect partner.

I was soon to find that just as calling Phyliss a good wife was a woefully inadequate understatement, calling Lee a good employee was an equally inadequate statement as well.

Phyliss and he developed a lasting and strong bond as well as a wonderful working relationship. His respect for Phyliss and his thoughtful manor with her truly warmed my heart and allowed both to substantially contribute to the success of the practice, my peace of mind and a sense of accomplishment. I had created something good, actually, much more than good.

Well, OK, he has another passion.

Computer-aided Design (CAD) arrived. The aid was invented for Lee's brain. It, effortlessly and totally, became an extension of his body and mind. There was nothing he could not do with it and the computer.

My brain, on the other hand, had been created and wired in another generation. Even his able teaching could not penetrate my antique mind, cluttered with the cobwebs of drafting boards, pencils, erasers, paper, and slide rules.

Everything had changed. I was there to keep the work coming, keep the office running, and open his scull and pour in tons of information, parameters, and client requirements, only to have to quickly run to the plotter, load the paper and ink, and watch what he created from almost nothing roll out like a magic carpet.

And, magic it was. From confused clients, with nonexistent documentation, and sketchy programs and goals, was produced a professionally prepared set of contract documents that met every one of the client's needs and the volumes of Federal, State, and local regulations. Many of the clients never knew they had needs until they saw the solutions materialize under Lee's capable management during the construction phase of the project.

The schedules were sometimes impossible. One of our latest projects began with a start-up meeting with the client a week after we were selected for the project. It was the first week in December. The project was heavy in engineering, complex, and multifaceted. It involved about three months of solid work for two men to produce the bidding documents.

The catch, there's always a catch: we were generously given thirty calendar days to complete the documents or the construction money provided by the Department of Housing and Urban Development would be lost.

What was the big deal? There was no pressure here.

Existing documentation was no where to be found, and the thirty days encompassed the Christmas and New Year's holidays which occurred in the middle of the week. We (he) had exactly sixteen working days to produce the finished product, copy twenty sets, and have them delivered to the client in northern New Jersey.

I was ill and could only contribute marginally. Lee finished two days early amid his own bout with the flu. The "Marlboro Man" had become "Superman" and even the "kryptonite of impossible deadlines" could not weaken his abilities.

This was only one of the superhuman feats he performed on a regular basis. He performed all of this with a level head and a clear mind. I am thinking he was born without a temper and an extra temporal lobe to produce optimism all day to counteract my growing pessimism and gloom.

His strength seemed to come from the many traits and trials he shared with Phyliss. I was married to "Wonder Woman" and in business with "Superman." But, who was I? Our firm was becoming a comic book of characters. But, there was nothing comical about the superior product produced by the three of us. But, that was not the end of super human feats.

Phyliss had her massive stroke in 2005. After Phyliss was initially stabilized, my first call was to Lee. The same calm and reassuring voice was on the other end of the call as always. We hung up the phone and immediately he ripped off his shirt and walked around with that big red "S" on his chest for the next ten years.

No request was too difficult, no task too hard, no burden too heavy. It didn't matter what it was. Most times, it was bearing the full weight of the office work to allow me to care for Phyliss.

Sometimes it was setting up a computer for Phyliss to view the Internet and the word processor. Other times it was to install and integrate "Dragon" voice recognition so my spoken words could appear to Phyliss on the computer display after she lost her hearing. Sometimes it was to smooth the many glitches of cable TV and the insanity of the almost impossible task of keeping the captioning working properly.

His gifts were not limited to inside the home or the office. Yard work, snow removal, absorbing missed paychecks, carrying heavy stuff, moving hospital beds, installing programming and keeping it running, and fixing my lapses in memory and just getting me out of trouble, were all weekly tasks and occurrences that he effortlessly just blew past. I cannot ever remember seeing him express anger or impatience, despite the copious opportunities he had to do so. Well, maybe he did a few times with his two children plus his third.

All of this occurred amid an uninterrupted and constant flow of unequaled, professional service to our clients.

Concurrent with all of this generosity and compassion there were the personal crosses for him to bear as well. Lee came from a comfortable background, but filled with turmoil and a tragedy that nearly took his life. As he grew into adulthood, his life became more settled. One could assume, of course, he could afford to be so compassionate and generous to me since his own life had no serious challenges. But, that was not so. These were a few of the challenges.

After the birth of their second child, his love, he pursued all those years, was afflicted with massive renal failure. Only a transplant could save her. Her beneficent sister, Julie, without hesitation, had herself tested. She was a match, the gift was given, and Lee's love was saved. He did not miss a beat, administering to her, caring for the children, managing his office duties, and attending Phyliss' and my many needs. I sometimes helped a little.

It goes on. A number of years later, his dear son began having renal problems as well. The problem was not serious, he was told, and it could be controlled with medications. Serious consequences would be years away. They had dodged the bullet this time. But, despite the assurances, his deterioration alarmingly accelerated. It was serious. It became life threatening. Again, only a transplant could save him as it did his mother a few years before.

As did his sister-in-law before, without hesitation, Lee had himself tested. He was a match. The gift was given. This time, Lee's dear son was saved. Again, he did not miss a beat. Within days, he was back managing his office duties, being a thoughtful husband, and attending Phyliss' and my needs as he always did. I sometimes helped a little.

Lee's story is truly remarkable, but most importantly for Phyliss and me, there was the constant, twenty-four hour presence that was always there for quiet counsel, comfort, and encouragement. It was a calm and stabilizing presence that allowed me to care for my beloved with a free mind.

My thanks go to Ginny for having raised such a wonderful son and human being.

And, of course, thank you, Lee from me and for Phyliss, for a debt I cannot begin to repay. The word "repay" is not even in your vocabulary.

From where do friends like this come? I can only surmise, from God.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**THE GODCHILDREN, THE CHILDREN, ALWAYS THE CHILDREN**

Phyliss came very close to denying herself our marriage. I am so fortunate that she finally had to give in to my natural charms and charisma. I am just kidding, of course, again. I do a lot of that. Regardless of her reasons, I consider myself to be the luckiest man on Earth that she made the decision that she did. Our marriage was the one thing in life that she did not deny herself. It was not negotiable. That thinking did not dominate when it came time to bring children into the world.

Jamie, one Godchild and another generation

The next generation and Aunt Jackie

Phyliss and I did not attempt to have children, as I explain in "The stork flies over without stopping". Her natural born talents, her demeanor, her family experiences, and her years of teaching children of all ages made her so well suited for the noble title of "mother." Yet, she readily accepted the reasoning for not having a family. There really wasn't very much discussion about it. She instinctively knew that motherhood was one of the many things she had denied herself to dispense her other responsibilities of helping others. When the possibility finally came, our opportunity had passed. It was just too risky for her and the child.

Theresa, Joy Barbara, Marylee, Mathew, and Marina in the motor home at Ocean City

As with most other desires, she placed the good of others above her own wishes. In this case, it was the good of the unborn children that might have terrible disabilities. She internalized the strong desire so well, that I was not fully aware of what a sacrifice she was making. It was not until she had the stroke, that I realized how deeply she lamented not having children. How wonderful it would have been for them to be able to lessen her loneliness and despair.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Kimmy, an adopted Goddaugher

More adopted Godchildren and their mother Kathleen, the initiator of this book and a wonderful former student of Phyliss' and dear friend. She is very lovely too, inside and out.

These five Godchildren and adopted Godchildren from many years ago now have three spouses and nine children of their own. My, how time flies.

They are Lana, Lisa, Laurie, Daniel, and Jamie.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Jamie is our second Godchild with her first and second children of five. That's a handful.

As time passed, it became apparent that our decision not to have children did not diminish her desire to be a mother and to nurture them. It was obvious from her early adulthood at home and in school, that she had a natural affinity for children. It was mutual. The magnetism started with nieces and nephews and really manifested itself in the classroom. The natural chemistry could not be ignored. It was a bond that was truly unique.

Lana, our first and her first

The culmination of Phyliss' ability to be a mother became undeniable when she arrived in Tunisia and I introduced her to my little adopted family of three months. There was an explosion of love that detonated the moment they met. It was a remarkable relationship to watch. I have never seen her happier. It dismays me greatly to think they may have never met. How wonderful chance circumstances can be in enriching our lives.

Our departure was painful for both of us, but particularly painful for Phyliss. Hinda was gone, but she still had me, the love of her life. But, there was a void in her heart. I could not fill that void, but children could. Her desire to return to teaching when we arrived back home apparently was financial. I now believe it was primarily an attempt for her to fill that void. She missed the children dearly.

Phyliss was always giving Marina and Matty and everyone some of her wisdom

As we circulated and made new friends upon returning, there became awareness that Phyliss was an ideal choice to be a Godmother. She was selected many times. I came along as an extra value – sort of buy one Godparent and get one free. So it came to be that we started our stable of Godchildren. It did not stop there, however. Godchildren had brothers and sisters. She felt it was unfair to be Godparents to only one child, so we "adopted" all the siblings as well. The parents who "selected" Phyliss really had no idea what they were "buying." Today, it appears that the common thinking is to select someone as a Godparent; they show up the day of the baptism, and maybe on birthdays to say "hi," with a few phone calls in between. A Christmas or birthday present is usually thrown in for good measure, for the first couple of years. Some children don't even remember who their God parents are or even know what a Godparent is.

Lovely Lana at Skytop, now a mommy x 2

Enter, Phyliss the Godmother. Phyliss was a practicing and devout Catholic. She took her Godmother responsibilities very seriously. We made pests of ourselves. What had the parents gotten into? Well, they found out. The Church teaches and Phyliss and I believed that as Godparents, we were responsible for the religious, moral and ethical well-being of our dear children. We were to guarantee that the children were raised in accordance with the teachings of the Church and assure that they were confirmed.

If the parents became disabled or died, we were responsible for their well-being. It was not a commitment to take lightly. When the children were baptized, we made a sacred contract with God to discharge these duties. Unfortunately, despite Phyliss' persistent efforts, not all have honored our requests or commitment. They are out there, and if they read this, I implore them to honor Phyliss' pledge. She died not having completed it, and that made her very sorrowful. Nevertheless, the joy given to us both by the generous parents of all our "children" over the years cannot be overestimated. Our constant association with them at birthday, holidays and on trips and visit warmed our hearts.

I am so delighted that the void in Phyliss' life was able to be filled by these little darlings. I am also certain and pleased that she enriched their lives and their children's lives as no one else could. What is also so remarkable is the way she adopted all of her students and many of their children and welcomed them into her tent of love. They all got to experience a miniature version of the love she showered on me all of my fortunate life. They were very lucky, indeed.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Matty's eighth birthday party. He almost didn't have any more.

But, thanks to his Dad's kidney, he did.

Dominos, Scrabble, and Boggle were life savers the last few years. I could never win a single game at any of them. After the stroke, she could read the Scrabble board better upside down, than I could right side up. With the complex horizontal, vertical and diagonal letters on the Boggle board, she always formed double the words I did. While I was fighting to make 3 and 4 letter words, she would form 4, 5, and 6 letter words with ease. She had remarkable mind. She had a remarkable mind and the stroke did nothing to diminish that. Thank you, Lord.

Lisa and Phyliss in front of the house

Darling Marina, now 21 years old a magna cum laude graduate, an athlete, a lovely lady, world traveler, and chemical engineer.
" **DO I KNOW YOU?"**

Next to the house in Camden where Phyliss lived with her mother and father was an awning factory that went out of business. The building remained vacant until 1953 when Father Roque Longo arrived from Argentina.

Father Longo secured the building and he began work to convert it to a church with his own labor, the help Father Leonard Carrieri and neighborhood volunteers. The Diocese of Camden offered him a pastor-ship of the newly-founded church. The always humble priest reluctantly accepted the role of the founding pastor of Our Lady of Fatima Church.

The church had little money, so the Crudo family paid the back taxes on the property to prevent the city from taking the building. Phyliss helped the priests daily, teaching them English and getting them legal help and funds. Phyliss taught them to drive and helped get them their licenses and a car.

Phyliss bought a winter coat for them, which they shared since they were rarely out of the church together. She could not afford two coats.

This church was heavily attended by workers and their families from Puerto Rico and Masses were given regularly in Spanish. Fathers Longo and Leonard's, Italian heritage and their previous assignments in Argentina and Uruguay made them fluent in Spanish and Italian.

Phyliss' devotion to the church and the priests was instrumental in the addition of the English language to their linguistic prowess and to the learning of English by the congregation.

This Hispanic heritage of the church and contact with Fathers Longo and Leonard influenced Phyliss and developed her skills to become a Spanish teacher. While she taught them to speak and write English she learned to speak and write Spanish. Phyliss never wasted a minute. The

The culmination of Phyliss' fifty years of nurturing the Hospitalier Sisters of Mercy is shown in one photo. From four they multiplied to twenty. Mother Aurelia, the head of the order of 600 nuns visiting from Rome and sister Auletta were among the first four that Phyliss aided. Her oversight and assistance was essential in allowing them to serve hundreds who are cared for in three south Jersey nursing facilities.

constant teaching of English to the priests and parishioners influenced her to specialize in the teaching of English as a career.

Over the decades Phyliss became the tireless patron of the church and the two priests. She was the undisputed "go-to" person for any problem that they had. The only exchange of money was from Phyliss to the church, not the contrary. Her service to the two priests continued for several decades, but we unfortunately lost touch with them after we moved to Medford. Her dedication of helping the religious and the needy during this period cast the mold for her future vocations and life of giving.

Over the years, Father Longo remained in Camden to serve the poor. He became known as "the walking saint."

He was a patron among the Puerto Rica community. I have never met a more humble man. His goal was to serve the downtrodden all his life, while living in poverty himself, in Christ's name. He was truly a holy man to be emulated.

This dear, kind, and humble man of God left this world in 1998 at the age of eighty-eight owning nothing more than he did when he entered it. Father Leonard continued his service in Linwood and then in Pleasantville. He spent his later years as a profoundly accomplished religious sculptor of considerable fame. He went blind his last years while continuing his beloved sculpture vocation, and died in 2009 at the age of ninety-five after having left his considerable vocational legacy.

It is people of this character, whom Phyliss always attracted, circulated among, and assisted all her life. It was never entirely clear to me, who had the greater influence on whom. I believe that God caused them to be attracted to each other to mutually give each of them strength to execute His good works here on Earth.

Phyliss with Sister Lucy, Bishop McCarthy residence

I was a bit confused as to why God paired a soul of my limited human skills with a giant such as Phyliss. I can only conclude that he realized I needed so much work that only a lifetime with a master would do.

Sometime in the 1990's, Phyliss and I attended a religious function in Pleasantville at the invitation of the Hospitalier Sisters of Mercy. These sisters managed two nursing homes and a life-care facility near the New Jersey shore and were also the recipients of Phyliss' generosity for more than fifty years. They continue to manage these facilities today but are scheduled to be closed in the future.

After the function, we noticed Father Leonard seated alone, deep in thought, in the front of the room. Phyliss and I approached him to rekindle a warm association and friendship. We mutually thought it would be enjoyable to reminisce about the many years of friendship and update each other on our lives since we lost touch. I thought, "What a fortuitous and pleasant encounter this will be."

Phyliss put her hand on his shoulder from behind. He turned and Phyliss gave him a reverent greeting, "Father Leonard, how wonderful it is to see you." He looked up at Phyliss, confused, and said, "Do I know you?"

After all those years of tireless toil and support at Our Lady of Fatima Church, he didn't even remember who she was. I was half way between destroyed and annoyed. Phyliss continued with a few more sentences to help recall their association. When he still showed no recognition, Phyliss avoided adding to his confusion and embarrassment, and deftly diverted the subject to how impressed we were with his sculptures.

A few more minutes of sculpture talk and we left. On the way out in disappointment and confusion, I asked the nuns if Father Leonard was suffering from memory or health problems. They all responded that he was in good health, and he was doing well.

We said our goodbyes to the nuns went to the car and began the one-hour drive home. As we traveled, I expressed my displeasure about the encounter.

Phyliss gave me a polite reprimand and calmly said, "I didn't help the priests and the church to receive recognition. I gave my help and my energy because they were in need, and it was the right thing to do. If Father doesn't remember me or what I did, it is of no importance; I remember, and Jesus remembers, that's all that is important."

When he passed in 2009, in the middle of her torment and suffering from her stroke, she sincerely mourned his death and regularly had Masses said for him. Such was the character of Phyliss.

I'm so sorry. I didn't even come close to your character and forgiveness, my dear. I guess I still needed some more work done, maybe a lot more work done.

Phyliss with Mother Aurelia and Sister Auletta

CRUISING, THE SAILING KIND

After Phyliss' second brain surgery she was left with a permanent disfiguration of her face (bells palsy), one eye with no tearing or blinking, total deafness in one ear, and a modest but disconcerting and sometimes dangerous balance problem. Her eye had to be lubricated every several hours to prevent the cornea from drying out and eroding.

The eye was very susceptible to infection, especially after confined, crowded conditions, bus trips, or plane rides. She always got a serious eye infection after we took a plane flight. It's a little frightening to think about the air quality inside a plane cabin.

Most people could not, or would not, adapt to the fact that if they stood to her left, she could not see them nor hear them at all. This was most difficult for her and exasperating for me. I became a constant director for her to communicate with people. I was her only reliable contact with the visual and audible world around her. It saddened me that I needed to play this role, but pleased me to be her necessary and constant companion. It pleased and comforted her, as well.

Phyliss' favorite, dining at sea.

When we went out, I was always next to her, before and after the surgeries. I guess most thought we were just two strange love birds. Well, I guess we were strange love birds who never fit the mold. But now, being by her side was a necessity to field questions, avoid obstacles, and prevent her from tripping or falling. None of these overwhelming disabilities seemed to ever affect her enthusiasm for life.

After Phyliss recovered, she seemed to adapt to the trials of life with her disabilities very well. But, I could tell that it would be difficult for her to produce the energy to continue her beloved teaching. After some convincing, she reluctantly agreed not to go back to the classroom. I apologize to all the children who would have benefitted from her marvelous talents, but it was time for her to rest.

The advent of Phyliss' health problems raised a deep guilt in me about the time I spent finishing the interior of our new home. (See the chapter: "You can't have too many hugs and kisses, my dear") I remembered Phyliss had previously expressed interest in taking a cruise. I was apprehensive to agree because of my strong susceptibility to motion sickness. Phyliss understood, as always and never pressed the issue.

One day, we received an advertisement from Rutgers University for a cruise to New England and Canada in the fall. It was on the "Royal Viking Sun." It was described as extremely stable, and one of the finest cruise liners of the time.

I noticed that the itinerary showed the ship was never out of port more than a day, hugged the coastline, and spent four days cruising up and down the Saint Lawrence River to Québec. It seemed ideal for someone with chronic motion sickness and well worth a try.

The cruise turned out to be a complete success. We both enjoyed it immensely, and I didn't get sick at all. It seemed that cruising was the ideal activity for us.

The elegance and sophistication of our surroundings and the worry-free environment appealed to Phyliss. The engineering marvel that the ship was captured my fascination and imagination.

We were away from the stresses of home life and my practice, relished all the activities, the entire cruise was well suited to Phyliss' disabilities, and we were alone together and never apart. Again, Phyliss was completely right, as always.

I was guilt ridden for quite a while after we got home for not trying this venture sooner. It is sad sometimes how much our perceived fears limit our experiences in life. It is good to be cautions and prudent but not so good to be overcautious and fearful to the point were it hampers our enjoyment of life.

A few years later, another unusual cruising opportunity presented itself. It included a cruise to England on the greatest ship of the time, the Queen Elizabeth II, a stay in London, a trip through the English channel tunnel to France on a bullet train, a stay in Paris, the opera, and a flight back to New York on the Concorde flying on the edge of space at twice the speed of sound. It was truly a memorable, once-in-a-lifetime trip. We did have one day of rough seas, but thanks to our cabin steward the effects were minimized. He recommended going to the center of the ship on the lowest deck where the motion is greatly reduced. It worked like a charm.

These first two attempts at cruising were so successful and rewarding. They became the first of a dozen others to Alaska, the Panama Canal, the Mediterranean, Canada a number of times, and Bermuda. These trips combined with many trips to Skytop in the Poconos, Mohonk in the Catskills, the opera, the ballet, NY City performances, and extended trips cross country in our mini motor home. I was so delighted to finally see her be able to enjoy the things she loved most with the person she loved most.

Of all the excursions we took together, the most enjoyable and carefree were the cruises. As always it was the attraction to each other, not so much the destinations or the ships that was wonderful. The most enjoyable parts of the cruise were the lovely people we met on the ship and on the shore.

It seemed that Phyliss and I could not get the Peace Corps experience out of our system. It appeared that it was inborn to both of us. Everywhere we went, we became United States ambassadors first, and tourists and vacationers second. We found that the cruise lines "ran a tight ship" as the phrase goes.

They picked individuals with friendly and sparkling personalities. They were not always met with the same courtesy by all passengers, but when they were, they responded with warmth and kindness that was endearing and rare. Within a few days, Phyliss and I met individuals that we would have gladly taken home and adopted as part of our family. Many times we arrived home regretting we had not.

One such dear was Isabela Banach from Poland. She just radiated good will and kindness. We gave her a stuffed duck as a present and she, in turn, bought one for us and inscribed it so we would not forget her. We didn't.

All during the cruise, we found the two little brothers everywhere, reading a magazine, watching TV, and filling out their customs papers. Our little guy had filled in American citizen on his and filled in Polish citizen on hers. It was silly and childish, but it was the highlight of our cruise. It is the one thing we remembered the most. We wrote to her when we got home, but somehow our communications never worked. What a pity.

It was a rare friendship lost.

We started to realize that when with your dear, you can enjoy yourself doing anything. It is an important life lesson, especially for young ones in love.

The lesson to be learned about our excursions and cruises is to treat your marriage and your wife as you did during those early days of courtship and like the day you married her. Cherish her every day as if it is the last day you have left with her. It just may be. Never delay in making her happy. The opportunity may slip away, never to return.

It dismays me to think that I may not have realized that if she had not had those brain tumors.

Thank you, God, for opening my eyes in time.

* * * * * * * * * * *

MORE CRUISING AND FLYING: OUR RETURN TO "PARADISE"

We had no idea.

When I was a teenager, I went on my first plane ride. It was in a jet plane - one of the first commercial jet liners. I think it was a Boeing 707 that flew from New York to Florida. I was with my mom and Phyliss and some of her family members on our way to visit Phyliss' sister in Hialeah. Phyliss had made this trip possible and opened new horizons to me from the moment I met her. This was no exception. I always marveled at the genius of mankind to control his environment. But, this experience just was so much beyond the vision my juvenile mind could even imagine.

Only fifty-six years prior, the Wright Brothers mastered the first powered flight of man of one hundred twenty feet in a primitive death trap, ten feet off the ground at less than seven miles per hour. And, now, here I was, a seventeen-year-old boy of no particular stature or importance, routinely flying seven miles above Earth in perfect comfort next to a woman I admired so much in a machine weighing a quarter of a million pounds at near the speed of sound.

I was in such awe as the plane pushed us back in our seats and seemed to rise almost vertically. I looked out the window in disbelief and then over to Phyliss, (I was sitting next to her of course) as everything below us seemed to rapidly miniaturize as if it were a scene under a Christmas tree.

I looked at the other uninterested passengers, and I said to Phyliss, "Am I the only one who is amazed at what we are experiencing." She said, "No, there are two of us that are amazed." There were always the two of us who thought alike about everything and differently from most others around us.

No one else seemed to realize the enormity of the moment. But, we certainly did. We were suspended in the air, with no apparent support, going faster, higher, and farther than almost any common human being had ever gone in history. How wonderful it was that we were experiencing this marvel together. But, no one else seemed to care. It was the first of many events we experienced together with mutual wonderment and marvel, while others not only seemed to take the events for granted, but saw no wonder in what they were experiencing at all.

Over the years, there were many other flights with Phyliss and, sadly, some without her. They were no less of a marvel. But today, how terrible that what man had tried to accomplish since the beginning of his time on Earth, and now had mastered so completely, was in jeopardy of being destroyed by a minority of ignorant bureaucrats and a bunch of degenerate, subhuman, religious fanatics living in caves. And yet, we let them reverse our progress and drive us back into the caves and revert to the savages from whom we came. No wonder God decided to recall Phyliss to join Him. It seemed to be just too sad for her to watch this reversal of man's once meteoric progress.

Forty-one years after that first wonderful flight with my darling, we were flying home on our last flight in each other's company, and, I regret, her last flight ever. We were returning from one of our most wonderful experiences of our lives together. The flight was our return to New York from a Mediterranean cruise that started and ended in Barcelona.

We had wanted to return to Tunisia for the longest time, but we never could seem to make it happen. One day we became aware of a cruise that sailed out of Barcelona, Spain and stopped a day in the port of La Goulette, Tunisia and also boasted a day in the port of Civitavecchia (Rome).

This excursion was too tempting to ignore. We could make a pilgrimage to the chapel where we married in St. Peter's Basilica and visit Hinda in Tunisia both on the same glorious trip. A pure bonus would be visiting Palermo where my grandparents were born, Monte Carlo, Monaco during the Grande Prix race, and Marseille, France. That would be so wonderful. The opportunity and the rare confluence of having the time, the resources, the health, and the means to accomplish this marvelous excursion were not wasted on us.

This was a chance of a lifetime to accomplish more than we imagined we could. Indeed, five years later, circumstances would make such an ambitious trip impossible regardless of opportunity. Beyond our imagination, Phyliss would have a massive stroke, making such a physically demanding venture impossible.

The moral: never ever let an opportunity pass you by to gift your spouse with a treasured experience. You may never get a second chance. Somehow, I realized that this was such a moment in time, once lost, would not be able to be retrieved. How fortunate that we did not let it pass without harvesting it.

We seized the opportunity almost as if we knew what the future would hold. None of us knows how much time the Lord will give us. We should use it, and use it wisely.

We flew to Barcelona, where we boarded the Holland America ship, the "Maasdam" and set sail for La Goulette, Tunisia. It was May 2000: the weather was beautiful, the Mediterranean was beautiful, my wife was beautiful, my life was beautiful, and our destinations were beautiful.

And now, we were to return to the two places of the birth of our married life together thirty-two years before, Tunisia and then Rome. It was exciting. I was a fortunate man, a most fortunate man. We were to relive some of the most precious moments of our lives, like a couple of school kids.

When we returned from the Peace Corps to America in 1970, we continued communicating with Hinda's adoptive grandfather for about eight years; then we seemed to lose contact. So, we did not know what to expect or if we could find her, if she would remember us, or even if she were still alive. We dreaded that thought. After all, she was only about three and a half years old when we left. Thirty years had passed. I was not very hopeful, but, Phyliss always so much more optimistic than I, had no doubt we would find her.

After a most enjoyable day at sea, we arrived at the port of La Goulette, our first stop, with great anticipation. The moment the ship cleared customs, Phyliss and I "leaped" off (well, we didn't actually leap. We were too old for that, but you know) the ship with the prospect of returning to our "hometown" of EzZahra and seeing Hinda. A seeming infinite line of tiny taxi cabs lined the dock. They were like ants eagerly waiting to absorb the flood of tourists flowing off the ship.

We picked one, with a rather huge Tunisian man, with an equally huge mustache, leaning on the car with his arms folded, and asked if he could take us to EzZahra. His name was Mustapha. He looked like he could carry us to EzZahra, without the cab!

He seemed somewhat bewildered that I could speak French and he seemed to be thinking, "Why would a couple of tourists from a cruise ship, here for only a day, speaking French with a decidedly American accent, want to go to EzZahra?" Tunis and the Roman history of Carthage were the attractions in this country. No tourists went to EzZahra.

When I told him the address, Four Rue Djilani Marchant, he exclaimed, "this is Mohammad's address, I served in the military with him. Certainly, I can take you there." We had an instant bond. I smiled, but, who on Earth was Mohammad?

I feared Hinda did not live there anymore. Had we come all this way for nothing? My heart sank, and then rejoiced. The driver said his friend Mohammad had married a woman named "Hinda." Mohammad was Hinda's husband. We were feeling wonderful already.

But, how would this monster of a man get into that little taxi and still have room for Phyliss and me? We all made it into the cab, just barely. I think it was a Fiat six hundred, the same little "frog-like," deathtrap of a car that took us all through Italy, Switzerland, and Austria. Everything about this trip was becoming a flashback in our history.

It was about a twenty-five minute drive to EzZahra. The capital city of Tunis had become so much more crowded since we left, but still very recognizable. One thing was not so recognizable: the disappearance of the amiable atmosphere. It was more hurried and not as "friendly" as I had remembered it.

Police were everywhere with side arms and automatic weapons, and the relation between citizens and the police was not cordial. When we were living there, people had a fearful respect for the police and they did not, nor had to, carry weapons. That was not so now.

Our driver had some choice words for a traffic cop at an intersection, words which the cop returned. I was pleased that the light quickly turned green. The exchange between them looked like it could have continued and not ended well for us. Phyliss and I were both reasonably healthy then, but it was still a long walk to EzZahra and neither of us had a desire to be on the evening news.

During the drive, Phyliss and I were able to get some information from the cab driver. Hinda still lived in the same house across from the market and was married to Mohammad, a light truck driver.

The little Fiat Frog: "ribbit"

That's actually the front facing us.

Sometimes the Italians get things backward.

They had three boys. Her adoptive grandfather had died quite a while ago. I guess that's why we lost touch. Hinda quit school as a young teen to take care of Madame Zakia, who died of cancer shortly afterward. She had been a good daughter and put the care of her mother above her own ambitions, just like Phyliss had done.

EzZahra was so much more built up than I remembered it, but it was still the same town: there were the streets where I rode Phyliss on the handlebars of our bike before we got "busted" by the police.

There was the train station, municipal building, and the public shower building project I managed. Now, the subdivisions I had designed, that were just streets in the sand, were completely filled with houses and families. The insidious lead pipes were still there buried beneath us, beneath Hinda's house, beneath all the houses. The wonderful, the good, and the bad had not changed, as if frozen in time.

We arrived. It looked, oh, so familiar, as if we had never left. In many ways, I think, we both desperately wished we never had. The driver left us so he could visit others in town and said he would return in a couple of hours to say hello to his friends and take us back to Tunis. It had been thirty years, and now all we had was a few hours. It was so little time. It just didn't seem fair. We had so many questions.

Hinda had built another addition onto the "villa," evidently to collect more rent. She was so smart as a child, and now evidently, as an adult. Our little girl had apparently become a real estate mogul.

By now, the expectation was becoming overwhelming for us both.

Phyliss and I were apprehensive as we opened the same gate and we walked up the very same walk as we did when we first arrived as newlyweds from Rome thirty-two years prior. Here were two events of anticipation for the same two people in the same place, only thirty-two years later.

This time, there was not only the excitement of reuniting with Hinda, but also of the memories of the little girl in paradise we so reluctantly left behind, we, most assuredly thought, never to see again.

I thought, "Would she remember us or even recognize us?" She was only three when we left. Phyliss' face was deformed now from her years of health trials. "If she did recognize us, would she care?" "Would she have animosity toward us for leaving her?" There was that terrible lost look on her face as we drove away that is still burned into my memory. "Would that terrible sight also be her memory of us?" "Would she even be home?" Is it possible we would soon have all of our questions answered?

I wanted this so much to be a pleasant and life changing reunion for Phyliss. She loved that little girl, as did I. I was certain this trip would be great for Phyliss, but now that we were here, I was getting cold feet and having misgivings. Why had I not planned better? I felt like an astronaut, ready to launch for the Moon and wanting to stop the countdown. But, like the Moon launch countdown, it was too late to worry about that now.

We knocked. There was no sound or movement inside, not even the bark of a dog. We looked at each other with trepidation. No one was home. We had come all this way only to visit an empty house, or had we? We knocked again and there was some sign of life within. The door quickly swung open.

A Tunisian woman answered the door with the biggest and most astonished, radiant smile. Without the least hesitation, she gave Phyliss such a hug; she lost her balance and almost fell. She yelled out, "Madame, Phyliss" (Felisse) and started to cry. We all cried. Then came, "Monsieur, Joseph" (Jos eff). It became my turn to get knocked over. It was such joy to almost fall off the steps. It was Hinda, she was home and she remembered us. Did she ever remember us? We had fretted for nothing. "But how did she remember us?"

Hinda pulled us both into the foyer and closed the door like we were bags of diamonds or precious metals for fear that someone would notice and steal us before she could get us inside.

I guess we were precious, as was she. Oh, so precious.

There was a long bureau in the dimly-lit foyer.

Only a feeble glow was escaping from the transom above the door.

The bureau was covered with a beautifully hand-embroidered cloth, typical in Tunisia for something of substantial importance. But, what were all those objects on the bureau?

And, then we both came to a heartwarming realization . . .

There were rows of carefully framed and arranged photographs, maybe ten or more, most of them with the two of us with Hinda, her mom, and her grandfather. There were even framed, preserved letters from us. We were speechless and overwhelmed.

And, we had been apprehensive that she would recognize us or remember us?

How silly we were. But, still we had the question, "how was this possible?"

It seemed that we had no impact on her life whatsoever.

We had been her life.

Hinda and husband Mohammad – May 2000

We had made this trip of four thousand three hundred thirty miles as a surprise for Hinda with no prior arrangements, notifications or assurances of success. We arrived on her doorstep, unannounced, and it was as if that little girl had been standing in that foyer waiting for us for all those years. This had to be the most emotional five minutes of our lives. Had Phyliss and I had that enormous an impact on her life?

One of our purposes in serving in the Peace Corps was to be an ambassador for our beloved America. I believe we did an admirable job of that. But, this was too much to believe. We had not improved her life. We had become her life and that of her mother and grandfather. And, in our conversations, we found we had become the life of a number of other families. It seems we had become legendary and Hinda was the center of the legend. We really had no idea.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Phyliss and Hinda pose in the window. The Tunisians placed children on the sill between the shutters and the bars so they could clean the house unhampered.

We could never get ourselves to do that.

This event came to mind six years later, after her stroke when her former students began sending her letters of what an impact she had made on their lives. Phyliss' response always was, "I had no idea." Her humility had not allowed her to comprehend how much of a positive impact she had on their young minds.

The genesis of the trip strangely did not originate with the desire to take Phyliss back to Tunisia and Rome. I was just looking for a new cruising adventure. The Mediterranean trip, the stops in Tunisia and Rome, and the visit to EzZahra and St. Peter's seemed to be organized by God.

I wanted this trip to be so special for Phyliss. But, I never in my wildest imagination could have expected this.

It was a gift from God for the three of us. For once, Phyliss was receiving a reward equal to what she had given, quite possibly, in excess of what she had given.

Our visit was remarkable. Every minute was filled with joy, surprise, and, yes, some sadness. We lived more intensely those few hours than we had at any time in our lives.

This was yet another example of seizing a priceless opportunity of the moment before it slipped away, never to return again. Be alert and capture these moments instead of living with regrets the rest of your life. When we are young, we are not aware that a trip such as this one requires that you both be in top physical condition with substantial stamina. Both can slip away in an instant.

Hinda began by telling us of her first priority in life. It was regarding the devastation and sadness of losing her beloved grandfather and mother. All this love, emanated for her adoptive guardians from this "bought" little girl, who had been born of a prostitute, and summarily rejected by society.

It is frightening sometimes what our so-called civilized cultures decide to discard as useless. But, it is heartwarming how our Lord motivates individuals among us to save the rejected and reverse the harm and hurt.

In this case Hinda was sent Maman Zakia, el Papa Habib, and Madame "Feyles" all to come to her rescue and level the field of life for her after such an ignominious and inauspicious beginning.

* * * * * * * * * * *

During our visit, it was apparent her mastery of French was somewhat lacking, as if this is a subject of which I have particular expertise. But, this was obviously a manifestation of terminating her education prematurely to care for her mother and grandfather.

Apparently the education system was not yet equal for girls. When we left, this tiny gem was substantively fluent in Arabic, French, and English. Her intelligence was such that she could have been anything in life she wanted to be, but her choices had been limited by her culture, and voluntarily by her.

Hinda chose to care for her parents, love her husband, and shower her three boys with love and devotion. Her needs were placed secondarily to these prime concerns. She had become Phyliss during her short exposure to her. Phyliss' goodness had become infectious and there was no cure for her once exposed. Oh, did she give me an overdose.

This is Hinda's youngest son offering us his kitten as a gift as we left. I don't think the captain of the "Maasdam" would have appreciated the gift on board.

We reluctantly turned him down.

If there is such a thing of an overdose of goodness, Hinda and I got it. The long-term consequence of this malady was we had become hopelessly good people.

Our visit continued with our introduction to her "boys" They were gentlemen, all, except the "little" one, about five years old. He was just really adorable and cute. I am not sure I remember how we got to leave without a kitten to take home. It wasn't easy, but Phyliss did it with skill and kindness. The two older boys were kind, accomplished, and respectful of their mother and to us. Her husband came home a little while later and was as kind as they. What was amazing is they knew all about us, everything. It seemed our presence was there even if we were not.

The mystery of how Hinda knew of and recognized us immediately was revealed. She told us how her mother and grandfather talked of us all the time in such an adoring manner. The discussion and the photographs made us a constant and real part of Hinda's family as if we had never left. Hinda's love and respect for us was then passed on to her husband and boys. We had become deeply loved members of a family we never knew we had. It is hard to imagine how many more family members will know us over the years. We thank you Madame Zakia and el Papa Habib. What a shame we could not have thanked them in person. They will be dearly missed.

It was a sad moment indeed when the cab driver returned and met with his friends, our friends, for a few minutes.

The time with Hinda and her family, our family, had come to an end.

When we left EzZahra at the end of our Peace Corps service, Phyliss and I lamented not being able to take Hinda back to America with us. We briefly thought of the opportunities and happiness we could have given Hinda back home that she could have never gotten as a young girl in Tunisian society. Oh, how foolish and arrogant we would have been to believe we could have matched the love and joy she received by being the mother and wife of this lovely family. In reality, our lamentation had been for naught.

I could not help but wonder where Hinda would put all the new photos that were generated during our visit and how her sons would tell their children about the two friends who had come from America, seven thousand three hundred ninety-eight kilometers by plane, ship and taxi just to say how much they loved them and then disappeared as quickly and unexpectedly as they arrived only to become legends for the next generation as they had for Hinda and her mother and grandfather.

Except for our love for each other, we had never received such intense and unconditional love like that before, or for that matter, since. As I ponder that day now, fifteen years later, a more accurate description of what we received was adoration. We certainly never were, nor deserved to be legends. Well, I believe that title could easily be bestowed upon Phyliss, unquestionably, not just for the service she gave in Tunisia, but for that which she gave throughout her life. I know at least two people adored her.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We exchanged our final thoughts and, surprisingly, our departure was devoid of tears and sorrow. We all seemed to realize that something wonderful had happened that day and it was not an event of sadness, but of indescribable happiness.

And, it was with only with joyfulness in our hearts that we parted.

Mustapha drove us back to La Goulette, with ample time to board the ship. As we drove through Tunis, he suggested a quick visit to the souk before we departed since we had time. We were delighted. Our experience in the souk is described in the chapter entitled, "A lesson of life, learned in the "Souk."

We thanked Mustapha for making our excursion to see Hinda and her family a success and returning us to visit Ziad and his son in the Souk. We could have not dreamed of a more wonderful day in one of our most favorite places with our most favorite people. It became a once-in-a-lifetime experience that we would never again be able to repeat and one that we would never be able to forget.

We boarded the ship and had a lovely dinner in a specialty restaurant as we watched Tunisia fade into the evening.

As we slept that night, our able crew sailed us to Palermo, Sicily, the birth place of my ancestors. We arrived in port the next morning. I have not a single memory of the stop. How ironic it was, a visit we would never forget, followed by a visit we would never remember.

* * * * * * * * * * *
PHYLISS WAS, OH, SO MUCH SWEETER THAN SUGAR

As a child, young person, and young adult, I was exposed to the usual flood of sweets and reacted like most would and continue to do so by carrying out my obligation as a responsible member of society to consume as much of the sea of sugar around me as I could.

If you are a senior today, you remember well the feeding frenzy of sweets at Halloween that lasted for months. It continues today, actually. The idea was to run around the neighborhood and collect as much stuff as you could and then "gobble down" (no pun intended) as much as possible before you got home and until Thanksgiving. This was all added to the left over candy your mom had not given out on Halloween night. It was everywhere. It was obscene abundance and plenty. It was almost a genuine fire hazard. Caution, do not eat near an open flame!

* * * * * * * * * * *

The endless feasts filled with home-made ravioli and pasta, cannoli, desserts, pies, cakes, and ice cream were started with the Halloween holiday. There seemed to be no end, no limits, and certainly no controls. Nobody rationed or kept track of your intake. Hell, it was good for you. It was healthy. It gave you energy. You were begged to eat more or it would "go bad." "God, Bless the child, he has such a wonderful appetite, and he is growing so fast." "Here take some home." It was grand, it was bountiful, it was everywhere, and it was limitless.

The sugar invasion even extended to the "toys." I remember those ribbons of white adding machine paper with colored dots of pure sugar stuck to them. Get one for a nickel; roll it up and put it in your pocket filled with lint and dirt, and, when the sugar level in your body went down below your eyeballs, peal a half dozen of these little babies off the paper and pop 'em. The fibrous remains of the paper always stuck to the back of the sugar. Yuk. Instant energy, as if we needed it. No one seemed to mind. We were kids. I forgot to mention those wonderful balls of colored fiberglass called "cotton candy. Yummy!

  Photo: Viralheat.com

I don't remember ice cream being sold in a carton at that time. There was a "mom and pop" grocery store next to the school about three blocks from my house. It was run by "cockroach Charlie" and his wife. He always looked so unkempt that the kids called him, well, "cockroach Charlie." The standing "joke" was for their 50th wedding anniversary Charlie bought his wife a new gold-colored plastic apron. I remember it didn't seem that funny, even then. They were good, hard-working people. Oh, the kids could be so brutal and unkind. That does not seem to have changed over the years.

Charlie's claim to fame was he sold more "Breyers" ice cream than any small store in the state. He was famous. He did it by selling bulk ice cream by the scoop – a big scoop. After dinner, every evening, people would line up out the door with a large bowl brought from home and tell him how many scoops they wanted and what flavors. I was among them. Of course, every scoop had Charlie's thumb print on it. Really it did. I don't ever remember seeing his face. I only remember his butt up in the air leaning in the freezer, scooping ice cream for hours and hours. I don't know how he didn't get frostbite. Low-fat, sugar-free, ice-milk, frozen yogurt – forget it. There was Vanilla, Chocolate, and Strawberry. Forget those silly flavors of today. This was the real stuff, folks – made with real, fat-laden cream and refined sugar. Why do you think they called it "ice cream?"

So, when I captured my prize, I raced home with the ice cream with a towel over it to keep it from melting. I may have sampled a little on the way to assure good quality. When I got home, I got two spoons out of the drawer and sat down with my mom to see who could eat his way to the center of the bowl first. I usually got there first - so much for chivalry. Sorry mom, mother / son love has its limits. This was a serious carbohydrate consumption competition. Yes, even in the winter. They don't cancel the Olympics when it gets cold, do they? And, this was the Olympics.

If ice cream were not enough to satisfy my discerning palate, there was always soda, the beverage of connoisseurs everywhere. This was high-test, not the sissy stuff they sell today. The sugared soft drinks were wonderful, but I had two unique situations that made them even more wonderful for me. These were circumstances that were reserved only for those who were rising stars in the world of carbohydrates. I worked in my uncle's store, where there was soda everywhere, so why not drink it? This was a classic case of having means, motive, and opportunity. It was a bountiful supply. I was paid in calories, and I was paid well.

Additionally, I worked at a Horn and Hardart self-service restaurant in Philadelphia which had a soda dispenser behind the counter. One of my jobs was to refill the syrup and replace the carbon dioxide cylinders. When I was done, I had to "test" all the drinks from the machine, didn't I. When I got to my favorite - "Coke," I added some more "syrup" from the gallon jug marked, "Caution, for serious drinkers only" – there was no measuring here. If you had to measure you were a wimp.

If I were going to drink all that soda, of course, I needed an endless supply of apple pie, strawberry short cake, and cookies to wash down with it. Somehow, I was never overweight. Where did it all go? Oh, my poor pancreas.

When I graduated from amateur status, I qualified to enter the ranks of professionals. Certainly ice cream was good. Soda was good. But, the "ultimate enjoyment" was reserved for those at the top of the "food chain," yes, of course: "THE ICE CREAM SODA." Now, I had arrived. By reaching this pinnacle, it qualified me for access to infinite other goodies that included the ice cream sundae, the ice cream cone, ice cream sandwich (hold the mustard), super and super premium varieties (thank you, Ben and Jerry), and even curb service by "the ice cream man" and his lovely music accompaniment (both motorized and tricycle versions).

Mr. Softee Armored Frozen Custard Assault Truck (msafCAT)

Photo: poortastemag.com

Even the guy on the beach with the cooler on his back, invaded every corner. These free mobile services were used to infiltrate and indoctrinate those misguided members of the proletariat that attempted to shelter their families in their homes. These sophisticated vehicles also prevented those already addicted from wandering and adopting sane dietary habits. I suspect the truck crews were trained to take notes and reports to keep tabs on subversive activity. Who knows who or what was in those frozen custard trucks. Most were destroyed when taken out of service. Why would they do that? What were they hiding? Maybe the NSA was around a lot longer than we had been led to believe.

From this inauspicious background, and ravenous exercise of dietary exuberance and out-of-control excess, I entered adulthood ready to take on the challenge of nutritional correctitude and excellence. I had been well-schooled and indoctrinated and was prepared to go out into the world of adult responsibility to establish superior and healthy adult eating habits.

I am sorry to say, the process of establishing my own healthy eating routine did take a detour during my seven years of college. During that hiatus, my diet was controlled by the staff of the teaching institutions, and my personal gratification and satisfaction had to take a back seat to reasonably good nutrition. It was quite a major blow to my personal happiness and a set back to the accomplishments and progress I had made up to that point. My pancreas gave an exuberant sigh of relief during this period of relative inactivity and dormancy.

Two more years of superior dietary excellence ensued under my darling's care our first two year's of marriage in Tunisia. Always fresh, organic food, marvelously prepared every day. Bless her heart.

For the next fifteen years, my sweetheart treated my pancreas like royalty with nutritionally balanced and deliciously cooked meals. She did all of this out of love and without the knowledge that my pancreas was in trouble. I did manage to upset the marvelous balance and care she took of me by succumbing to my addiction to ice cream and soda, habits that would not die until I did. Besides, I reasoned, "How could the human body survive without these two important food groups replenished on a regular basis?" The shock alone would have killed me.

For many years, Phyliss wanted to vacation on a cruise ship. I mildly resisted because of my propensity for motion sickness. I would never loose my dinner of ice cream and soda, but I stayed ill for days. Being the dear that she was, she never complained or insisted. I had my illness as a reason for not going, and she had her love for me as a reason for not pushing.

That's the way we did everything – quiet, reasonable discussion followed by a mutually agreed compromise or decision in my favor. Just kidding, it was forty-five years of heaven with the most understanding and compassionate woman on Earth.

After her brain tumors, I gave serious thought to our abstinence from cruising. It just didn't seem fair to her. Maybe I was denying Phyliss the pleasure of sailing for my fear of something that may not have been real or might not manifest itself. She was so touched and appreciative that I would consider "giving it a try." Her appreciation made me feel so good, at least for that moment it did. I still feared the unknown. We couldn't just stop the ship and get off.

I found the ideal experiment when a brochure arrived in the mail one day. Rutgers (her alma mater) was sponsoring a cruise to Canada and New England. The cruise was never out in the deep ocean, was not out to sea more than two days at a time, and it spent almost half the time on the tranquil Saint Lawrence River to and from Québec. All of this was done on a truly fine and noteworthy ship with state-of-the-art submerged stabilizers. This itinerary certainly was tailored for someone like me subject to the vagaries of the sea. If this attempt didn't work, nothing would. I was happy; Phyliss was overjoyed. Buy one, get one free. I love it when that happens. I got so many "points" for this one, with my dear.

Well, the cruise was a complete success. I was not sick one day. It became the first of many such cruises of glorious time together. Now, especially that she is gone, I realize that they represented times of inexplicable and priceless memories of peace and calm yet full of intense love and affection. I am so glad, I ventured out of my comfort zone to make it possible. Out of all of our days of sailing, I don't remember more than three or four days of being seriously ill – a very small price to pay for her 120 days of happiness. What a treasure it was and a life lesson learned. Don't avoid or postpone life's enjoyments because of their perceived or real fears. You may not get a second chance to experience these rare, even priceless, adventures.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Phyliss and I were on one of our later favorite Québec cruises. It was as enjoyable as ever. Despite that enjoyment, the one thing that never had an appeal to us and was becoming less of an attraction was the twenty-four-hour eating orgy. Surely, we enjoyed dinning like we all do, and the abundance, the quality, and presentation were truly remarkable, but the extravaganza and excess of it all was beginning to wear.

It all started with early morning beverages and pastries, followed by a full breakfast, morning tea and cookies, brunch, lunch, bar-b-q on deck, snacks by the pool, afternoon coffee and treats, monster dinner, an after dinner snack, and midnight chocolate madness. In addition, there were packed lunches for excursions, twenty-four hour beverages and frozen custard, twenty-four hour room-service, and multiple specialty restaurants, the "captain's dinner," "baked Alaska" dinner and other special dinners in full, formal dress. If that were not enough, there were local, off-ship dining, tasting, and wine tours at some ports. Cranes and hoists were always available, dockside, for those who really over ate. I'm just kidding, again.

Phyliss and I were never big fans of anything in excess, so we dealt with it by eating a normal diet on a normal schedule. We never gained more than a few pounds during a two-week cruise.

Two things disturbed us. The first was related to our service in Tunisia. I estimated once (I always think too much) that the one-day dinning extravaganza on the ship would feed the people of EzZahra (our town of service in the Peace Corps) for well over a week. A two-week cruise might feed a small country for a day.

More dismaying was that most of the one thousand six hundred kind crew members were from environments where the scarcity of food was a daily occurrence. It was a heavy dichotomy with which they had to deal every day. I know it was, because we had many sad conversations with them about it and the living conditions in their countries. Most of them earned less than twelve thousand dollars a year with little shore leave, one trip home, and sixteen to eighteen hour days, and seven-day weeks. The diesel-soaked, mostly Orientals from the engine rooms were truly remarkable. Most of the crew's pay was sent home to support their families.

While Phyliss and I attempted to maintain a reasonable demeanor amid the frenzy, there were individuals who addressed the largesse with a singular obsession. It seemed that they had paid for all of this food and they were going to eat every last morsel, even if it killed them. It probably did kill some of them. This was a foreign concept for us.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Years later, while raising our chickens, I believe I discovered the behavior to be traced to an animal instinct. If I fed the chickens once or ten times a day, there was always the same feeding frenzy. After feeding them thoroughly, if one chicken picked up a piece of shinny plastic plate, it would be tracked down by the hordes and fought over until it did not exist anymore. At times it resembled the behavior on the ship. If someone had something the others did not have, everyone else wanted it. That was quite a literary excursion – cruises to chickens. Be patient with me.

We were never great fans of "The Rolling Stones." I am so sorry if I offended. But, with regard to this behavior, their lyrics are somewhat prophetic: "You can't always get what you want, but if you try, sometimes you just might find you get what you need." The passengers always **wanted** everything, but they certainly did not **need** it. The underlying messages of these lyrics are probably the cause of the early onset in diabetes for millions. For me, my downfall was, **I always** wanted **ice cream** , but **I really never** needed **ice cream.**

Being good, moral people has never directed anyone to a road of bliss. We had a tendency to observe excess and poor behavior and step back into the shadows and learn rather than participate. Once in the shadows we applied the principles of the "Serenity Prayer" to direct our counteraction to what we had observed. This was one such case of "accepting the things we cannot change." "Accepting the things that we cannot change" allowed us to enjoy all the remaining activities of our wonderful cruises.

* * * * * * * * * * *

During this cruise, I developed an uncharacteristic and insatiable thirst. Nothing seemed to quench it. Even downing, in one gulp, one frosty, sparkling "Coke" after another, didn't satisfy my insatiable thirst. I was starting to feel like the chickens, fighting for something to drink. The "Cokes" and my favorite "food group," ice cream, became staples for the rest of the cruise. Frequent and burning urination plagued me even after we arrived home.

I certainly had contracted a urinary infection and promptly visited a urologist. He took a sample, and returned very quickly and announced that my fears were unfounded and I should not worry; I didn't have a urinary tract infection.

The doctor said, "Your sugar is three hundred eighty and you have type II diabetes." That was a complete surprise. It is a good thing I decided not to enter the medical profession. When I told him I had not eaten for at least three hours and about the "Cokes" and ice cream on board, he said I was most likely near going into a coma on the ship. That would have certainly cut our cruise short, and put a damper on our enjoyment. A coma is never fun under any circumstance. Knowing what I know now, he may have been surprised to notice I was not blind and that I still had both my feet.

I really did not know much about diabetes, and as such, his pronouncement did not overwhelm or worry me. Except for the thirst, I felt just fine. I was to learn that is the insidious problem with this disease. Like millions of others, I had no idea how long I had the disease. Considering my past dietary foolishness, it was probably a while.

Why am I telling this long story about me? I am sure you want to know more about Phyliss, not about me. After all, the title of the book is about my "dear," not me.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**The truth is my diabetes is about Phyliss. It is completely about Phyliss.** I got home, and told Phyliss the results of my doctor's visit. She was visibly shaken. It took her exactly fifteen minutes to recover and drag me into the garage on our way to several book stores. Three or four hundred dollars poorer, we owned every medical journal and cookbook on diabetes available. A week later the entire contents of the books were in her brain, the same brain that had just been so terribly attacked by two tumors.

She got me a doctor's appointment the next day, and I was on medication and insulin within hours.

Our home became the site of a diabetic cooking factory, filled with natural foods low in carbohydrates, specialty recipes, and guidelines on everything related to the care of her beloved. She was as motivated, driven, and undeterred as she was in engineering our marriage in Rome. This time, her mission was to bring her cherished husband back to good health.

She declared, "I will manage your diabetes, you won't even have to think about it." She continued in an ardent, but warm voice, as always, "this is the deal bucko, there's only one rule to remember, **if I don't give it to you, you don't eat it, simple."** "For you, there will be no thinking, no temptation, no measuring, no decision making, no worrying." She was, oh so firm, but somehow still radiated kindness and love to me. She was so good at that, in and out of the classroom, everywhere. I obediently said, "Yes, my dear," and followed her directive. I could do nothing but obey. I dared not. Whenever she called me "bucko," I obeyed like a puppy dog.

No one was ever her match when she was determined, and she was almost always determined.

And, so it came to pass. (a little Bible lingo for those of us so inclined; no offense meant)

One month later, I was able to discontinue the use of insulin and medications and my sugar readings were consistency below one hundred. (Pretty much normal) Such were the love and power of Phyliss. Oh, God, how I miss her passionate love and concern for me.

I believe that what Phyliss did for me was force me into what is called a "Diabetic honeymoon." The way I understand it, in the early or less critical stages of type II diabetes, a strict return to a healthy diet can reduce the load on a weakened pancreas to the point where it may be able to go back to keeping your blood sugar within a reasonable range without insulin or drugs for quite some time.

The strange way I think about it is the overall objective is to delay and minimize the damaging, long-term side effects of the disease to fool your pancreas into believing you are its best friend. That is, until something else kills you. By then, you won't really care, and your pancreas won't know what hit it. It seems like such a cruel deed to play on an organ that had served you so well.

In my case, this bought me several extra years of life without insulin and drugs and after that, much reduced reliance on them for many years. This was another priceless gift from my dear wife. Twenty-five years later, I am still relatively free from life-altering disabilities caused by the disease, thanks to her devotion. I can only wish that my care of her could have had such a dramatic effect. Now, all that is left for me to do is to write books about her to introduce her to others and honor her memory and wait for something else to kill me so I can join her.

Diabetes was no match for the sweetness of her love for me.

" **My dear was, oh, so much sweeter than sugar." I always wondered why it was so effortless to call her "Honey." And, now I know.**

* * * * * * * * * * *

**Joe's Diabetes Theory** **– It's not my fault!**

(I think I just had a brain storm)

Now follow me on this. It will take a great deal of thinking. My understanding is that the brain feeds on sugar. Sugar is its most favorite food. It loves sugar more than it loves us. We must be cautious, brains are really smart. They are way smarter than we are. (Does that even make sense?) Well, still try to follow me. It gets better. You'll see where I am headed. They run our whole body. You don't believe me? Are you able to run your entire body all at the same time? Of course you cannot. I can't even control my pancreas with any degree of competency.

My conclusion is it's my brain's fault, not mine, that I eat too much sugar. It fools me into thinking I want sweets just to satisfy its egotistical, narrow-minded, ravenous self. It doesn't think about what I need. It doesn't give a thought to my aspirations. Then, when I try to figure out what it is doing and take action it shuts down my thinking process so I can't. It is a heartless and diabolical organ that thinks only of its own self-gratification and pleasure. It is a thoughtless monster that thinks only of its own gluttonous appetite. In fact, it is fighting me right at this moment as I try to expose its insidious behavior. But, I refuse to be intimidated; after all, I am much bigger than it is and it needs me to get around.

Again, it's not my fault. It's my brain's fault. I think I have to tell this to my endocrinologist. (I think that's how endocrinologist is spelled. I seem to be having trouble thinking this evening) I was thinking that's an awfully long title for a doc who only has one organ to worry about. But, then again, a proctologist has a long name and look at how little he has to worry about. Even so, I don't think I want his job no matter how much free time he has. They probably both think this is entirely my fault. I seem to be getting it from both ends.

The Doc's always checking my A1c level every chance he gets. Then, he shakes his head like I had something to do with it. It's just not fair. It seems to be an obsession. It's only three or four points too high. Well, certainly, less than five points at the most. I am not sure what the big deal is. He just doesn't seem to understand me. I have really been misunderstood most of my life. Nobody understands me. Could it be that his brain and my brain are conspiring against me? – You know, mental telepathy, or something like that.

When my brain has a headache, I give it medicine. I give it time off every single night. If it can't sleep, I give it more medicine. I entertain it with brain teasers, puzzles, and challenging games like chess. I connect it to the outside world through my eyes and ears. I take my brain wherever it wants to go, but there is no appreciation for any of this. I would divorce it if I could. I really don't need it. I am an independent thinker. I can think on my own. I think somebody told me that once.

Therefore, folks, here is my theory. You have heard of a "brain freeze," haven't you? One day when I think (this might be hard, since I think I still might need my brain a little, I might have to think about this some more) Well, anyway, some day when I think my brain is not paying attention, I am going to eat an obscene amount of ice cream and drink and equally obscene number frosty sodas in a very short time. My brain will freeze and get the message of just who is boss. If it tries to get me to eat ice cream and drink soda against my will again, I will give it another "brain freeze." It won't like that and this will certainly teach it a lesson for good. I am determined to assert myself and get control of my diabetes no matter how many "brain freezes" it takes or how much ice cream I have to eat or soda I have to drink. I am a man on a mission. The Doc is going to be proud of me. I just know it. He will see how smart I am.

I am going to get my brain to listen and get it under control once and for all. If it thinks, hm, it is going to make my diabetes worse, it has another thought coming. But, I think applying this theory may be more difficult than I thought. I am going to have to think about this some more. I hope all of you keep in touch to get my latest thinking on the subject. The most important thing to think about is it's not my fault. It is my brain's fault. Just keep saying that. We diabetics are being tricked. You have heard of mind control, haven't you? That's exactly what we have here. It is not just a theory. This is for real. I hit the nail on the head haven't I? I am not stupid!

So, my fellow diabetics do not be intimidated. Together we can defeat this scoundrel. It is not as smart as people say it is. How smart can an organ be that is filled with dopamine?

If my dear Phyliss is listening, she must be thinking I have lost my mind.

Photo credit: Wikipedia.org

I did manage to get this picture of the culprit.

You might think it could have told my lips to smile.

Actually, it looks more like a smirk.

It is so arrogant that it would not even look at the camera.

It doesn't respect me at all.

Now do you know my problem?

It's not my fault!

* * * * * * * * * * *
TINY RAIN DROPS

I awoke to a beautiful April day, full of hope, expectation, and sunshine.

Phyliss love was beside me.

It was still quite early. I quietly slipped out of bed, completed my morning routine and managed to make my exit from the bedroom without waking Phyliss. That was good. Phyliss had worked so intensely and diligently and endured so many trials all her life. It was gratifying to finally see her so relaxed that she could sleep so soundly in tranquility. It gave me peace.

In reality my stealthy exit was not entirely a major accomplishment. Time had been unkind to Phyliss with two life-threatening brain surgeries that left her deaf in one ear and blind in one eye. She slept on her functioning ear, making her effectively and completely deaf while sleeping. She could not hear any sounds which aided me in executing my clandestine departure.

I thanked God every day for placing us together so that I could augment these senses that were slowly failing her. She cloaked and concealed these disabilities so well that most were unaware of their severity. The weight of the multiple handicaps of severely restricted eyesight, loss of balance, and enduring a world of silence would have crushed me.

I went downstairs and began cooking a pound of bacon. The wonderful smell emanated from the kitchen, infiltrated the bedroom, and must have awakened her since I heard her stirring in the bathroom. She was never one to dally or fuss in the bathroom, so I knew she would be down soon, searching for her guy and mildly reprimanding him for sneaking away without a proper greeting.

The poached eggs were approaching perfection. My goal was to time breakfast to coincide precisely with her arrival. Performing a small gesture such as this was so rewarding since I was always showered with waves of surprise and appreciation for my efforts. Appreciating your partner and being appreciated by her are such staples for having matrimonial happiness, for that matter for the success of any relationship.

No matter what these little expressions were or how often they happened, she managed to show the same genuine appreciation and surprise. I think the surprise was the best part for me. The appreciation wasn't so bad either. This time, despite a minor miscalculation in timing the eggs, I was gifted a reprieve of several minutes as I heard her begin loading the washing machine before she came down. She always marveled at how I could time my ventures so flawlessly. She never knew how many times my skill was augmented by a substantial measure of good luck.

At this point we had known each other for thirty-one years, and we had been married for twenty of those years. Yet, she presented me every day with the same loving and smiling welcome. The constancy of her devotedness instilled in me a wave, no a tsunami, of warmth that is difficult to describe. Every day, it was love in its purest sense as intense and as constant as the sun. This morning was no exception.

Her sunshine illuminated the breakfast table as we dined. That morning, after we sat down to breakfast, I put on my sunglasses. She, of course, asked me if I were feeling okay. I told her that the glasses were to protect my eyes from the sunshine. My response only instigated further confusion. When I said "The sunshine, you know, you." Well, my perfectly-timed poached eggs got cold that morning. Neither of us minded.

I always knew everything has a beginning and an end. Surely her love for me had a beginning, a marvelous beginning, but it was not even a thought that it could have an ending. Most tragically, it would one day. I tried so desperately to not think about that.

In retrospect, it seemed so unfair that I should receive such enormous gifts of love for such small gestures. All along I thought I was always the generous donor, and in reality I was the fortunate recipient.

We lingered a bit at the table, drinking our hot tea. She loved tea. We were not in a hurry. She and I were all we needed. Actually, Phyliss was a woman of very simple and uncomplicated needs.

Her needs numbered only four.

For her entire life Phyliss was always comforted by those four staples of life:

Jesus

your humble author

a cup of lemon tea

and a packet of "Kleenex" tissues

in that order.

Well, in reality I was not on her priority list all of her life. I came along a little later when she was thirty-years-old and managed to nudge my way between Jesus and the cup of lemon tea. I didn't mind at all playing second fiddle. After all, I did come late to the party, and the competition was totally out of my league.

As we finished our tea, we glanced at each other, and we gave each other a knowing look. It said, "What shall we do today?" It was not a very common interrogatory for us, since most days succeeded in deciding that response without our intervention.

We didn't seem to have a choice of what to do very often. This day was different.

We had nothing planned for the world,

and quite remarkably the world had nothing planned for us.

We were, at least for a rare moment, free spirits.

We stepped out of the front door and immediately we were greeted by one of those "great to be alive" days. You know, plenty of sunshine, perfect temperature, low humidity, a slight breeze. And, most invigoratingly, the flora and fauna were all busily conveying their ovations to us and another spring.

The day anxiously beckoned, "Do something outdoors, Joe" A trip to Ocean City immediately came to mind. But, I knew it was usually cooler and breezier by the ocean. A beautiful day here might not be so enjoyable to our aging bodies there. The second choice was our wonderful playground, Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania.

This was one of the literally hundreds of enjoyments of life that Phyliss had introduced to me and to all of her students and associates so many years prior. She had the marvelous ability to seek out excellence in every field of human endeavor, find it, and introduce it to all of those around her. Because of her generous sharing, many adopted these enjoyments for their entire lives, the lives of their children and their grandchildren. Oh, how she enriched so many of the lives she touched so effortlessly and with such a generous heart.

I was no exception, and I was by far the most fortunate recipient of her magnanimity. I promptly agreed to share this exquisite day with my love at this remarkable place.

The main Conservatory

A brief history and some links to the gardens can be found in the Appendix. But, suffice it to say here that it consists of 1000 acres of truly remarkable world-class indoor and outdoor gardens. It was founded and built in the early 1900's by Pierre du Pont. He created the wonderland for his wife, Alice and funded a foundation to perpetuate the care of the gardens for the enjoyment of the public after they were gone.

The public and the press seem to receive enjoyment by vilifying people of means and conveniently overlook their substantial contribution to us common folk. This magnificent place is a self-sustaining communal treasure for the centuries. After all, what will we have contributed to our fellow man when we leave this earth? What, indeed. I humbly say, thank you, Pierre and Alice du Pont for your generosity and your vision.

It didn't take much convincing to mate one of the best of venues, the very best of days, and my very best friend. Once the decision was made, our departure was organized with military dispatch. A little food, water, and strokes for Rusty, a few packets of "Real Lemon" for the tea, a packet of tissues and we were on our way.

The drive is a little over an hour from our house. It is not a particularly enjoyable drive, but for us the drive was of little importance. All that mattered was that the two of us were in our climate-controlled, comfortable and private capsule, sealed off from the rest of the world with no distractions and lovely music. This was most likely an unusual description for a common voyage, but that is what it was to us. As an added bonus, this day the destination was to be a familiar and enjoyable place. This time, I took my sunglasses along to shield my eyes from the bright sunshine outside the car.

While driving, I soon needed to remove the glasses as the sun began disappearing behind the increasing clouds. They turned from billows of brilliant white to light grey and then quickly to dark grey. Yes, they had transformed into storm clouds. As the sky started to spit, the intermittent wipers and the headlights became necessary. I thought, "What had happened to our beautiful day?" It seemed that cuddling in front of the TV watching a movie and the weather report would have been a more prudent choice for the day.

It was too late to return home. We were almost there. Longwood has four and a half acres of flowering plants displayed in beautiful elegant old-world indoor greenhouses. There would be plenty to see indoors protected from the rain. Even though we had been there many times, the exhibits were forever changing, distinctive, and impressive. There was never any danger of tiring of the ingenuity, allure, and imagination of the displays.

The indoor beauty always mirrored the magnificence of the seasonal presentation outdoors. One of the great joys of being with Phyliss was her ability to adapt to surprises in our lives. Adapting to this gloomy, rain filled day was no exception.

We would spend the day in the greenhouses, the gift shop, and the pleasant restaurant on the grounds. The gigantic umbrella and ponchos we bought at the "Skytop" Lodge in the Pocono Mountains would provide perfect protection for us to navigate among the venues. Fortunately for us this did not become a deluge event but rather a fine misty and somewhat foggy day. It reminded us a little of a Sherlock Holmes movie only in muted color. Our modified plan "B" for the day would work just fine.

We parked in the quite empty lot, and we made our way from the car to the entrance. The unique underground structure housed the entrance, the gift shop, and a small audio-visual educational theater to educate visitors about the facilities. The short trip from the car to the building was actually quite pleasant and relaxed; the ponchos and umbrella served us well.

We were still digesting our delicious breakfast so we decided to save the visit to the restaurant for later. The main greenhouse conservatory would be our first priority. It wasn't until we purchased our tickets and exited the building to walk to the conservatory that we realized we were absolutely alone.

Inside and outside this wonderland was deserted. We could not remember a single time among our many visits that this occurred. The weather had apparently taken its toll on the enthusiasm of the patrons. This was a perfect illustration of the term, "fair weather friend." As it turned out, the loss was theirs and not ours.

The scene was a bit hypnagogic and surreal at first. It was like a flash from the 50's movie "Forbidden Planet" where a civilization of the "Krell" disappeared and left an unoccupied megalopolis behind. Now, in front of us this enormous manicured facility was devoid of any human beings. It was to be all ours.

Someone had reserved the entire 1000 acres of Longwood Gardens for the day just for us for the pittance of twenty-five dollars. The surrealism quickly disappeared upon our realization of our good fortune. Phyliss and I were never fond of large assemblies and crowds of people, but this was too good to be true. It was like a child and her best friend roaming a deserted but fully functioning Disney World after hours.

The rain had settled into a soft drizzle. We discovered that life under the umbrella was quite convivial and delightful. It became our best friend for the day. Traveling within the tiny protective bubble presented an excuse to huddle together and share our body warmth as if we needed a justification to embrace. It didn't seem like an umbrella. I have no recollection of holding it or carrying it. It just seemed to hover over us following our every move, safeguarding us like a devoted companion.

The somberness of the day that had descended upon us approximated the atmosphere of a damp evening rather than mid-afternoon. It had become dark enough for the automatic sensors to fire the abundant outdoor lighting displays. Not only had the gardens been reserved for us, but they further honored us by lighting the way. Apparently it was another fine gift from Heaven and Mr. du Pont.

The colored lights reflecting in the glazed paving beckoned us. We decided to take the long way to the conservatory. As we slowly walked along the familiar paths strangely nothing seemed familiar. The displays of the lights among the flowers and their reflections were an experience we had never seen before. It was a different and magical place bathed in the shimmering and reflected colored lights.

The Fish Pond illuminated by Bruce Munroe, lighting artist

Soon we forgot about the conservatory and the indoor displays. They could not equal what was in front of us. As we passed the pond, the reflections of the lights twinkled and became amplified by the ripples in the shimmering water caused by an occasional fish surfacing to grab a tasty meal. But, nothing could equal the effect of the mist over the lake formed by the cool air ushered in by the drizzle kissing the warm water. It was an ethereal experience for us to witness this enchanting event.

There were no sounds. There were no manmade sounds, no natural sounds, no wind whistling, no leaves rustling, no katydids or crickets or birds. Like us, the little creatures were cuddling wherever little critters go to cuddle. We stopped and hugged for a bit and the solitary sound stopped as well – the swishing of our ponchos rubbing against each other as we strolled.

For the first time, in that moment, I shared what was becoming the peace of Phyliss' world of silence. It gave me a sense of tranquility and calm. But then, I realized that this was quickly becoming her entire world and would be her world for the rest of her life. I was powerless to do anything about it. The sadness of that sudden realization broke the magical spell I was in.

The Italian Water Garden from the bridge

The gardens and the day would not allow my sadness to continue as we crossed the little bridge overlooking the Italian gardens. The fountains and the lights were on and the spray combined to multiply the effect of the natural mist.

We spent the rest of the day slowly walking and occasionally sitting and hugging and enjoying each other and the grandeur before us. We verbalized very little that day. A form of communication that was so integrated in our marriage for all those years was suddenly superficial, inadequate, and unnecessary. We realized that day, that speech was sometimes a totally inadequate tool to convey love.

In the rain and under our friendly umbrella, we toured all of the outdoor gardens more thoroughly than we ever had before. Hours after we started we approached what had been our original destination and walked right by the main conservatory. It just couldn't complete with the splendor that was outside.

Finally, I witnessed the real barometer that measured Phyliss' enjoyment that day. As we passed the lovely, but almost empty garden restaurant near the conservatory, she decided that we didn't need to interrupt our walk to stop for a warm cup of lemon tea. I don't ever remember that happening before or after that day. She did still cling to the pack of tissues in her pocket.

I never felt closer to Phyliss than that day strolling though the gardens. The day, that by any account would be described by most as gloomy, depressing, and unpleasant transfigured into one of the most romantic, satisfying, and sublime experiences I had with Phyliss; and I had many. I know it was a mutual experience. The day could be described as a once in a lifetime experience. And, sorrowfully, I am heartbroken to say, it was. We would never have the opportunity to repeat this marvel of a day. In a few years we would not be capable of strolling together anywhere.

Sometimes, maybe many times, in life we fret and lament that life is not treating us fairly. Self-pity rules us, and it becomes our master. Don't let it.

Not too far into the future, everything that made that day possible for us disappeared. Her hearing would eventually be lost entirely and permanently. Her eyesight would deteriorate, especially in low light. She would become paralyzed on her left side and be unable to walk that beautiful walk through the gardens with her arms around me. She would be susceptible to even mild temperature fluctuations and too frail to be out in inclement weather.

Her attention deficit would make it difficult for her to enjoy a previously memorable event for any length of time before wanting to move on to another activity or to return to the safety and comfort of home. The "are we there yet" syndrome kidnapped her usual placid and peaceful demeanor and held it hostage for the remainder of her life.

All those joys would be denied to her, to us for the last eight years of our lives together.

So my friends relish every moment you have with your love. Make every second count. Turn every happening, every event, every occasion into an enjoyable adventure. Look beyond the stereotypes and make your own private heaven from what you have to work with, the hand you have been dealt. In life as in poker every hand can be a winning hand. It all depends on what you do with it. An enjoyable life filled with love depends only on the two of you.

It is essential to remember. It is not important what you do. It is not important where you do it. It is not important when you do it or how often you do it. It is not even important the manner in which you do it.

**For a rewarding life, it is only important** with whom **you experience it.**

For you see, the what, the where, the when, the how will always be there and can be done and redone and replicated. But, when she is gone she will never be back.

Treat her right, with respect, adore her, honor her, and love her.

Make beautiful music together.

The song doesn't last forever.

And the music will inevitably stop.

So enjoy those tiny rain drops as we did,

before they become tiny teardrops.

**PHYLISS' THIRD BRAIN TUMOR**

The next decade, was filled with enjoyment. I had started my own architectural practice renovating public housing apartments (not glamorous work but steady and paid the bills). Phyliss was the office manager, accountant, and my source of inspiration and wisdom. She once again was "healthy" and resumed her role as my "rock."

Around this time, office work was becoming more than I could handle alone, so I hired a former colleague to help who just graduated with his Master's degree. I was to experience that his most capable collaboration with me in architecture and engineering, as remarkably accomplished as it was, was not to be his most valuable contribution to Phyliss and me and our lives. More about that in another chapter entitled, "The Marlboro Man."

Living and working together in the home we built as a team, became the centerpiece of our happiness. It didn't take much to make us content. We settled into an enjoyable routine that included work and enjoyable diversions and adventures together.

They included family gatherings, visiting friends, cruises, traveling to parts of America and Canada in our mini motor home, opera tours, New York and local theater, the Pennsylvania ballet, Skytop, and Stone Harbor. Phyliss was always the perfect companion and "buddy", whether we stayed at the Hyatt Regency or at a campground. Many trips were made to attend seminars related to office work.

* * * * * * * * * * *

For her entire life, Phyliss was an avid patron of the theater, opera, and ballet. I was not so much. "Then, why go, Joe?" (Hey, that rhymes; sorry, I get excited easily) One conspicuous reason, of course, was she needed a constant companion to safely navigate these sometimes challenging excursions.

Theaters are a nightmare for individuals with sensory deficiencies. They are crowded, dark, have many tripping hazards, and the performance overloads visual and auditory senses causing balance and orientation difficulties - things of which most of us don't even give a thought. Parking is a challenge; city streets are filled with obstacles, and confusion. Let her take public transportation? I didn't even give it a thought.

Night performances carry a real risk of crime. This was not an endeavor that I would even consider to be undertaken by Phyliss, alone. These were reasons enough to accompany her.

But, the overwhelming reason I went was that she was the attraction, not the performances. Although I enjoyed them, the performances were irrelevant to me. After marrying her following all those years of courtship, and helping snatch her from death's hold twice, why would I ever want to be without her, especially in each other's exclusive company at these events? It was joyful to watch her joy and savor my company as well. (Wise up, guys)

These events reminded me of our encounter at the drive-in theater when I kissed her on the neck. The attraction was not the movie, but the attraction was being with her. These were some of our most precious moments and memories. I am so overjoyed that we experienced them together. What a loss it would have been to miss these sublime times, now gone forever and never to be experienced again.

The phrase, "all good things come to an end" is meaningless, since "all things come to an end." This was painfully illustrated in the year "1996." We returned from Phyliss' routine MRI to check the status of the tumor that had been irradiated ten years prior. The news seemed good. I could see that the residual tumor had not grown and had gotten smaller. I waited for the interpretive report to arrive to verify what my untrained eyes had seen. It arrived.

The news was good . . . about that tumor. But, what was this mention about a small "schwannoma" on the right side? "Could this be a mistake?" I looked at the film, and there it was. Phyliss' years of suffering with the first two tumors flashed through my mind. How could she do this all over again? How is this possible, dear Lord?

The next week, the neurosurgeon confirmed the presence of the new tumor. Phyliss, of course, was visibly shaken, as was I. We knew what to expect this time. He tried to comfort us, repeating how slow-growing these tumors were and not to worry. Who could know what technology would develop in the next fifteen years? Phyliss would be eighty-four years old in fifteen years. That did not comfort me. Her mom died at age ninety-seven.

We decided to put this knowledge out of our minds; at least we tried. One good thing developed. The specter of this new tumor made us more aware of how precious and limited our time together was.

Time is such a strange commodity. It has no mass, it cannot be seen, it cannot be touched, and it is hard to describe, only in the abstract. Sometimes it can be a friend to help forget an unpleasant occurrence or put the past in our rear-view mirror. But equally it can be an enemy when it cuts a wonderful thing short. In the early years of our lives, time seemed infinite. This instance was a harsh reminder of how fragile and finite our time together was. This development made us realize how our time was that much more valuable and irreplaceable. (Absorb this concept in your own relationships. Your time with your love is finite.)

By the beginning of the new millennium, the tumor had slowly grown, and I was determined to not let it take its course as the others did. I was going to do something more aggressive about it and take the offensive. I discovered that some pioneering work in the treatment of brain tumors was being done at the Baptist Hospital in Nashville.

We flew to Nashville, and after Phyliss endured a grueling day of full-body MRI's and other studies, we met with the doctor. I thought, "Why had the doctor ordered a full-body scan for a tumor that was in her head?" That question haunted me for most of the day.

While we waited for the results, I saw the doctor far down the hall. Phyliss did not. I told Phyliss I had to visit the men's room. I didn't. I approached the doctor and asked for a briefing of the results before he talked to Phyliss and me together.

The news was not good, in fact it was devastating. The scans had shown the tumor had grown slowly, but they discovered dozens of other tumors growing on her spinal chord. He said they were the same type tumors. They were slow-growing and benign. But . . . over time, they would cause extreme nerve pain to many areas of her body. There was no way to treat them, and pain control would be difficult and challenging. There was nothing that could be done to sidestep this eventuality.

He was sending my love home with me to eventually die a slow and painful death. This was too much for her to bear, especially in addition to her already numerous other health problems. It was too much for me to bear. I asked that since nothing could be done, could he "tone down" and "soften" the diagnosis when presenting it to us together. He did so. He thought that was a good idea. I waited until the doctor approached Phyliss and initiated my return from the "men's room." My secret mission had gone undetected and had been successfully executed.

The doctor's presentation was stellar. He outlined the facts without distortion, but skillfully downplayed the gravity of his findings. I was so grateful for his compassionate and discrete delivery. I hoped it would save Phyliss years of worry about this unspeakable but apparently inevitable fate. It did save her fourteen years of anguish of not fully grasping the horrors of this condition. Unfortunately, there would be ample opportunities for other crises to fulfill that role.

The plane ride home was quiet, uneventful, and pensive. Phyliss maintained her composure as always. I was steeped in my own hell from what I knew and she did not. I silently asked for God's forgiveness and hers for withholding the full truth from her. Harboring this secret until she died was a heavy burden indeed – but, in my opinion, a necessary one. Many responsibilities of the caregiver are weighty, but none more than purposeful deception. I will carry that burden until I die. Forgive me Phyliss.

It was the only secret I can remember keeping from her, unless I count not telling her I had been stricken with the same tumor that eventually killed her. That knowledge would have dismayed her more than her own afflictions.

I pray that the Lord, and now, she, both have forgiven me for my misdeed, I am sure.

The excursion to Nashville did not bear any fruit. It did help calm my conscience, that I had done all I could do to ease Phyliss' pain and helped me understand this awful plague that had beseeched her. While I was relieved that I had done all I could, I wished I did not know her horrible future. I unsuccessfully tried my best to stop thinking about it.

At least we got to taste our first "Crispy Cream" doughnuts in Nashville. They were awful like the rest of our trip.

I was not supposed to eat them anyhow . . . too many carbohydrates for my poor, tired pancreas.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When we got home, we discovered that Dr. Buchheit had retired from practice, and we sought out Dr. Sun Lee at the Robert Wood Hospital in New Brunswick. He took over the monitoring of the right-side tumor. He suggested that if the brain tumor became a serious problem, it could be treated with the "Gamma knife."

I believe it is a sophisticated, multi beam radiation device that relies on radiological studies to precisely direct it. He did not recommend having to put Phyliss though frequent full-body scans for the tumors on her spine since there was nothing that could be done to treat them. This was further reinforcement of the fateful diagnosis from Nashville. There was no doubt now.

When Dr. Sun Lee, saw that Phyliss had a massive stroke in 2005, he recommended stopping the yearly monitoring of the tumor. (He confided in me that he did not believe she would live long enough for the tumor to be a problem) Wow, what wonderful news that was. What else would she need to endure?

We both had put the knowledge of this new tumor deep into our subconscious and kept it there these seven years. The likelihood of it causing problems seemed so far into the future. It was not.

Ironically, the consequences of the tumor and not the aftermath of the first stroke caused the fatal hemorrhagic stroke (bleeding in the brain) that took her life. It took her life quickly and painlessly and with mercy, at least for her. That is all that I considered important.

* * * * * * * * * * *
**PHYLISS' FIRST STROKE**

It was the fall of the year of "2005." It was the perfect time to take our favorite cruise to Canada to celebrate Phyliss' birthday and the fall colors of New England and our northern neighbor. This was a special cruise on one of the first voyages of the Norwegian Jewel, the largest ship of that time. The cruise exceeded our expectations. The ship was marvelous and the service extraordinary. It was a most welcomed distraction from what lay ahead.

It was a particularly relaxing cruise for me since we were part of a tour group of friends and acquaintances from Medford. Unlike when we were young and healthy, having others we knew nearby gave both of us an extra measure of security and comfort. The group was very accommodating and friendly and we found it rewarding to share our experiences from previous cruises with some of our novice sailing companions. We were with them and they were with us without intruding on each others privacy and solace. It was a perfect balance.

This was our fourth time on a similar cruise to Québec. Phyliss and I gave up the lure of new adventures for repeating a pleasurable previous adventure. Certainly, this was a strange concept in most peoples' minds. "Why not go somewhere new each time?"

We had visited most of the ports on the itinerary, so there was no desire to rush off the ship and cram as much shopping and touring into a short time. The voyage allowed us to visit a remarkable and familiar place that had a collection of pleasant memories from previous visits to enjoy. For us, it was like wearing comfortable old slippers rather than putting on uncomfortable new shoes. We had no desire to leave our comfort zone.

We loved visiting the Hotel Frontenac, majestically rising high above the Saint Lawrence River and its promenade, the Église Notre-Dame-des-Victories built in 1687, and taking a ride to The Basilica of St. Anne de Beaupré outside the city, particularly known for healing miracles. Phyliss loved so much to visit the local churches wherever we traveled. And, I enjoyed going wherever she went. We never asked for a miracle, but had been and would be, granted two - our unlikely union, and her recovery from her future coma.

We even had a favorite, native Tunisian cab driver we always managed to meet at the dock to take us to the Basilica. Each time we met him, we brushed up on our French, and he kept us updated, to and from the Basilica, about two of our favorite places - Québec and Tunisia.

While in Tunisia, we ordered a special, decorative, olive wood bird cage that was exclusively made by a particularly gifted craftsman from the Tunisia city of Sfax in the south and had it shipped home. There was a waiting list to purchase one. The craftsman turned out to be the cab driver. What are the chances of that? He was so proud. He had reason to be proud, but was, at the same time, so humble. He even had pictures of his handiwork he kept in the cab. On the way back, he stopped to have copies made and signed them with a dear message for us to take home and remember him. We always did.

The olive wood and wire bird cage made by our cab driver - Many artisans in Tunisia made similar, lesser quality cages painted white. They were called cages from "Sidi bou Said" To my knowledge our cab driver was the only one who made these with natural olive wood and bare wire.

Again, the enjoyment was not so much the trip and exotic adventures, but each other's exclusive companionship in an environment without trivial distractions. Exotic adventures were always there to pursue, my love was not. After all, the main reason we got married was to enjoy life together.

There were no surprises, adventures, or disappointments. We both strongly felt that adventure was an overrated lure created by the travel industry. For us, we were content with only the wonderful sameness of paradise. I guess we were considered "boring." If we were, we liked boring.

After a truly enjoyable cruise, we returned home to reality and acted out the customary "catch up" routine - unpacking, laundry, returned phone calls, the mail, bookkeeping, and food shopping for all the stuff that spoiled in the refrigerator. I say "we," but Phyliss always took the lead in packing and unpacking to allow me to prep office work before leaving and catching up on office work when we got back. What a dear she was to relieve me of those burdens.

If these thankless tasks were left to me, the entire cruise would have been a litany of mismatched socks, paying a fortune to replace forgotten items, wearing sneakers to the formal dinners, and mismatched colors and patterns. She kept us smartly clothed, coordinated, harmonizing, and matching all of our lives.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Phyliss seemed more tired than usual when we got home. Because of her energy and enthusiasm and our age difference, I was forgetting, or wanting to forget, that she wasn't young anymore. She had just turned seventy-eight.

That Sunday, she sat in the bedroom chair and took a rare nap. Several months later she told me she felt a "flutter" in her chest, but it went away. That Wednesday, she had a massive stroke caused by that treacherous "flutter," atrial fibrillation.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005, I slipped out of bed at 5:00 a.m. to work in the office. While I was in the shower, Phyliss woke up, and not to disturb me, went to another bathroom. When I got out of the shower in the darkened room, I thought my quiet exit was successful and she was still asleep. I dressed and started down the stairs to work and saw the light on in the other bathroom. I thought someone had left it on, and went to turn it off.

When I entered, I saw Phyliss seated, slumped and leaning on the wall flailing and unable to talk or move the left side of her body. It was a terrifying sight that I would hope that no one would ever have to experience. I can never get that memory out of my mind, every day, and especially every night, like a horrible nightmare. But, this was for real. I knew immediately she was having a stroke, a massive stroke.

I tried to console her but she could not respond. I was not sure she knew I was there. I ran for a phone and a bottle of aspirin. The emergency operator answered immediately. I gave him the information, and told Phyliss I was going to put an aspirin under her tongue. I remembered reading that an aspirin given quickly during a stroke or heart attack could help reduce the severity. The 911 operator heard me and cautioned me not to give her anything. I obeyed. I already had my doubts about giving it to her for fear she might choke on it.

I ran downstairs, unlocked and opened the front door and turned on the lights. A policeman arrived quickly and together we placed Phyliss on the bed and put a blanket over her. The ambulance arrived and whisked her away in the darkness with me in pursuit.

In the emergency room, they verified that she had a large ischemic stroke (one caused by a blood clot). They indicated that she was within the time window to be given "tissue plasminogen activator" (tPA) (an enzyme that can dissolve blood clots but, unfortunately, can also cause a hemorrhage). They asked me to give permission for them to administer an experimental drug as part of a trial, as well. I agreed. They took her away for treatment.

The synapses in my brain were firing so rapidly that I just slumped in a chair in the hall. I was spent. I thought, "Dear God, what other tragedy would Phyliss have to endure?"

My mind quickly wandered to the prospect of Phyliss having had the stroke a week before on the cruise, in the middle of the ocean, a day from a hospital. I remembered the empathy Phyliss and I had for a heart attack victim who was taken off the ship in Québec and rushed to a hospital. We expressed our dismay and sympathy for him and the loved ones who had their voyage turned into a nightmare. Neither of us imagined that Phyliss would similarly be fighting for her life a week later.

Those thoughts quickly vaporized, and I returned to reality when the doctor approached me. She was not smiling. She prepared me for the worst. She indicated that they had administered the treatments, but the next hours and days would be critical.

There was a strong possibility of another clot, stroke, hemorrhage, or even death. The scan indicated a large area of the brain was affected, almost the size of her fist. She said, "Frankly, patients with a stroke of this magnitude have a one in a hundred chance of living for more than a year."

After the numbness subsided, I went to her side. As tragic as it was to see her fear, it strangely reassured me that she was aware, recognized me, and understood the gravity of her situation. Phyliss was still in there.

I was on her left side and wanted to comfort her by holding her hand. It was limp and unresponsive. It was chilling. I tickled the bottom of her foot and it did not move. It appeared that her entire left side was paralyzed, but she was unaware of that. For months afterwards she did not even recognize the left side of her body as her own.

The confusion in her brain was hard to imagine or comprehend - looking at her arm and not knowing it was hers. It was so heartbreaking. After all her suffering, now it was even greater in severity. I moved to the right side of her bed and got reassuring responses from her right hand, leg and foot. That was good news in a day filled with terrible events.

The doctor said the stroke affected the right side of her brain and paralyzed her left side. Phyliss wasn't the only one confused. The only things I could do, were to stay with her, reassure her, and double check the staff's actions. Unfortunately, this is a necessary part of a hospital stay. I did what she would have done for me and observed her do for so many others. I still felt so helpless.

She was actually reassuring me even more knowing that she understood me and was able to coherently respond. Before we arrived at the hospital she could not speak. Now she could. She was still my Phyliss. She was still with me. I had something that could sustain me and for which I could be most thankful and hopeful.

Over the next week, Phyliss passed from the emergency room, to intensive care, to the stoke ward, and finally to the general wing of the hospital. These were all necessary, but the moves to different environments generated more confusion in her already traumatized mind.

My constant companionship was essential for her physical and mental well being as well as to be her advocate. It was essential for my mental health. I was unfortunately becoming an expert at this. No one else could fulfill this role for Phyliss but me. Throughout all her trials, I thanked God I was able to be there.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In the intensive care unit, I obtained authorization from the head nurse to remain with Phyliss around the clock. She completed her shift and went "off duty." After reassuring Phyliss, I went down to the cafeteria to bring back something to eat for me and something more appetizing than the hospital "meal" they left for Phyliss.

I noticed several nurses for the night shift had arrived in my absence. I walked past them, smiled, and went to Phyliss' bed. We ate what I brought from the cafeteria and just stayed together quietly for some time. A voice came over the public address system announcing the end of visiting hours. I ignored it since it did not apply to me. I had authorization to stay the night while my wife was in the intensive care unit.

About fifteen minutes went by and one of the night shift nurses came over and in a gruff tone informed me that visiting hours were over, and I would have to leave. Phyliss' face went white with the thought that I would leave her. I politely told the nurse that the daytime head nurse, and I gave her name, authorized me to stay the night.

She angrily repeated that I had to leave and became belligerent. I won't reveal what was really in my mind, but it begins with a "B." Use your imagination. This was too much. My wife is struggling to make sense of what had happened to her and could die and this "b" is acting this way to an immediate family member in front of a gravely ill patient in her charge.

I maneuvered her out of Phyliss' sight and let go. I was not polite this time. After several heated exchanges, her buddy, good nurse, separated us, indicated to the bad nurse to back off and apologized to me. Bad nurse wanted to continue her contentious confrontation. Good nurse told me I could stay.

I was visibly angry, but retreated to be with Phyliss. She appeared not to know exactly what happened but was in dire need to know I was not leaving. The encounter further added to Phyliss' confusion. When calm and reassurance were needed, the nurse had caused conflict and dissension- unforgiveable.

This incident upset me all night. I did not calm down until I knew bad nurse had left at the end of her shift. I informed the head nurse of bad nurse's arrogant, inappropriate behavior and she apologized and assured me it would not happen again. I dropped the matter and never saw bad nurse again.

The stroke was a frightening and life-threatening event for Phyliss and the most trying time of my life. This could have been the last hours we would spend together. It was a time for abundant kindness, comfort, and compassion. It is baffling to me how a person can qualify to become an intensive care nurse and be so out of touch with the misery of those in her care.

This incident reinforces one of the most important lessons I learned from Phyliss. If someone you love is in the health system, you must be a constant and diligent advocate for them. Stay by their side and comfort them especially if they are not fully aware. You must double check everything and everyone. It frightens me to think what could have happened if I left my love in the hands of such a neglectful and detached person.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Phyliss was stabilized and was transferred from intensive care to a section designated specifically for stroke patients. We were so fortunate to be under the care of two extraordinary, competent, and compassionate nurses. We both needed that after our previous experience.

During this four or five day stay, her fear subsided, but her confusion was still quite apparent. I think this intermediate care was precautionary in case another stroke ensued. It did not.

The next move was to the general hospital wing. This week or so was a blur of meals, monitors, tests, and confidence building. For me, it seemed like being in a directionless time warp with no dimensions, no up, no down, no forward, no backward, only waiting, fear of the unknown, and fighting physical exhaustion and mental fatigue.

I can only imagine what concern and confusion was traversing Phyliss' damaged brain. I use the word concern rather than fear, because thankfully her reduced awareness seemed to mask the gravity of her injury.

To the contrary, my awareness was heightened, not reduced. Her dire condition and disabilities ate at my insides. My biggest comfort was being with Phyliss and the realization that the two of us were able to communicate freely. She seemed different, but it was hard to define. Certainly, being paralyzed on her left side and the feeding tube were most alarming. She did not seem to notice, yet.

I would not call what was happening progress. It just seemed like the passage of time. It was as if we were waiting to see if she would die. There was no rest for either of us - hope for the best, prepare for the worst was my condition. Phyliss had survived the most dangerous period immediately after the stroke. She was released to begin the rehabilitation phase of her recovery.

From the day of that stroke, a terrible irony has anguished me. If I were asked, what the most unique, strongest, and most valuable characteristic to those around her was, it would be unquestionably the wisdom of Phyliss' remarkable mind.

What a tragedy it was, that her every misfortune attacked the source of her most precious offering to us. Yet, for thirty years through three brain tumors, two surgeries, intensive radiation, and a massive stroke, she remained the courageous, accomplished, kind, generous, and beneficent Phyliss she always was. In the midst of all this tragedy, I was most thankful.

The final irony is that another fateful attack on her mind was to be what finally took her from me, from us.

* * * * * * * * * * *

For many years Phyliss and I took many trips around America and Canada in our tiny Winnebago "Le Sharo." The close quarters were great fun and we were together every minute. Some of you middle aged married couples out there, stop cringing. We liked it. Winnebago did what it always does. It buys a tiny chasis and puts a big vehicle on top. Everything is overloaded and that is why when you try to go over the Rocky Mountains in the summer, the all aluminum head cracks and strands you for a week and a half.

Only a few months before her stroke, Phyliss and I decided to make the plunge and get a slightly larger motor home – another Winnebago – I know we never learn do we? Actually, this one was great. It had a Mercedes Benz chassis, but there was a two-month wait.

Phyliss' stroke came while we waited for the motor home. I debated about canceling the order and loosing our deposit, but gambled that it could be used to transport her. It arrived a week after that awful day. I scrambled to find someone who could install a hydraulic lift. It turned out that it was one of the few vehicles that could accommodate an under-vehicle lift. A dear contractor was available to construct a garage for it. Before Phyliss came home, the garage, motor home, the lift, and the handicapped bathroom were completed. I was exhausted. All that was left was caring for Phyliss and figuring out how to pay for it all.

While Phyliss was never able to enjoy the vehicle while she was in good health, it did become her home-away-from-home for the next eight years. Without it she would not have been able to enjoy all the travel that we did.

Sometimes when a crisis hits, things seem to work out okay. I guess God does listen to prayers. I think Phyliss had a special priority with Him.
" **I DON'T LIKE WHAT I AM SEEING"**

It was five weeks after Phyliss had her stroke. She had left the hospital and was transferred to the Rehabilitation Center. Hher treatment at the Center was killing her, and I had to arrange to bring her home prematurely on Thanksgiving Day a week later. More about that in the next chapter.

While we built the house, thirty years prior, without any steps on the ground floor, at the front entrance, rear entrance, and garage entrance, the only full bathroom on the ground floor was not entirely designed to today's handicapped standards and was not ideal for Phyliss' care. During Phyliss' hospital and rehabilitation stays, I frantically worked at having the ground floor bathroom reconfigured to accommodate Phyliss' being in a wheelchair. I also completed a structure to house the motor home that was essential to transport her during her disabled state. It was important to me to be able to get Phyliss in and out of the vehicle without exposing her to the wind, cold, snow, and rain. Furthermore, the motor home could not be left outside and keep the interior plumbing and the wheel chair lift functioning properly.

These two projects along with stocking equipment and supplies before she returned home, proved to be monumental to me in my now greatly diminished emotional and physical state. The help of a dear friend made it all possible in time. Thank you, and God Bless you, George Tsoubanos. I was so thankful and proud that I was able to have everything ready to care for my dear Phyliss when she arrived back home. Her condition was heartbreaking. But, I could not concentrate on that. There was so very much to do. Having successfully completed the necessary preparations strangely comforted me in knowing I had accomplished the impossible in such a short time, while simultaneously protecting her and being her most needed advocate in the hospital and rehabilitation settings.

The time to take Phyliss home was only a few days away. I was home checking the mail, the phone calls, and making last minute preparation for her homecoming, when the door bell rang. I opened the door, and it was a dear neighbor of thirty-seven years, stopping to give me her condolences and some words of support. We sat and talked for twenty minutes while I explained what had transpired as she listened intently. She was obviously dismayed at our misfortune. I thought it would be more informative to show her what was going to be necessary to care for Phyliss, so I gave her a tour of what had been done to prepare for her arrival.

I was quite pleased that everything would be completed before Phyliss arrived and was anxious to show a good friend how I planned to care for Phyliss. I guess I was somewhat proud that the work was successful. During the tour, our neighbor kept repeating with great dismay, "I don't like what I am seeing; I just don't like what I am seeing. I don't like what I am seeing, at all." Thinking I had done so well and accomplished miracles, the comments truly deflated me. The more she commented, the more depressed I became. Until now, I had been most satisfied with my efforts.

I tried not express my dismay. But, I finally had to say, somewhat impatiently, "you may not like what you are seeing, but this is the hand we have been dealt." "I can only do my best to cope with what God has given us." We finished the tour, and the neighbor left while expressing her sorrow and extending her condolences once again.

At the time, the comment, "I don't like what I am seeing," dismayed me greatly. Now, almost nine years later, and seven months after Phyliss' death, I am trying to return the house and my life back to "normal." It is a most difficult task, sometimes an impossible task. Each thing that had anything to do with Phyliss and her care gives me pain and anxiety to give away, move, store, or discard.

It has taken me all this time, while trying to complete this task to realize what my dear neighbor was trying to tell me all along. Each accomplishment I showed her and was so proud of at the time, illustrated to her another level of pain and loss for Phyliss. Each addition I made was a physical manifestation of a disability Phyliss would have to endure and overcome. It was devastating for her to see how her life would have to change.

Now that she is gone, these proud accomplishments only reminded me of the pain and loss as well. Rather than proud achievements, each item now represented the years of deprivation and suffering that Phyliss had to endure. I am so sorry, Esther, my eyes were just not seeing what your eyes were seeing. Sorrowfully, my eyes see it all too well now. I am afraid; it is a vision that will never go away.

Thank you for having the vision to see what I refused to see.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**PHYLISS' ROCKY ROAD OF "REHABILITATION"**

(If you are an impatient and nervous type, you may want to skip this tediously outrageous and depressing chapter and go on the next tediously outrageous and depressing chapter. I am so sorry, but this was the reality of the rest of Phyliss' life after her stroke.)

The silent scream

There is a public service announcement on television which shows a series of scenes with two people in various circumstances. One is obviously a care-giver, the other an afflicted, needy person receiving the care. The scene is in black and white, in slow motion, and without sound. The care-giver transfigures from having a seemingly normal demeanor to a horrifying, mouth-wide-open, painful, heart-wrenching silent scream. It accurately depicts the feeling inside me that started the day of her stroke through to the day of her death eight years later. Phyliss' stay and "care" in the rehabilitation facility initiated that silent scream and it has never left me.

Phyliss survived the most dangerous several weeks in the hospital and her condition stabilized. Yet, the grave danger of having another stroke from a blood clot or a hemorrhage had not disappeared, entirely. It was still a tense, critical, and most trying time for us both.

As I thought of her journey through the health care system, I needed to intervene in one area of clinical treatment brought to my attention by an uninvolved but benevolent "stranger." God Bless him, whoever he was. I will address that issue later, in the sub-chapter, "Talking to the chickens and my first angel."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Her disabilities

Phyliss entered rehabilitation with many disabilities from before and after the stroke. Her brain tumors caused her to be deaf in her left ear, diminished her hearing in her right ear, loss of muscle control of her left cheek and tongue, and blindness in her left eye. The stroke added complete paralysis of her left side including arm, leg, back muscles, abdominal muscles, and bowel, and a swallowing deficiency which necessitated a feeding tube.

She obviously could not walk nor stand. She developed some short-term memory problems, difficulty with time awareness, and a form of "tunnel vision" in her remaining eye which had started to develop a cataract. She easily cried, even when she was not upset. She could not eliminate waste without assistance. She had trouble focusing intensely on a task, and was robbed of intimacy. It was heartbreaking to accept. Most people who knew her, or visited had no concept of the magnitude of her disabilities, how she attempted to conceal them, and how bravely she endured them. She would be quite disturbed if she knew I wrote this book. Well, I guess she knows now. Forgive me, my dear Phyliss, I can't help myself. The devil made me do it, really.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Her abilities

Phyliss retained all of her extraordinary intelligence and wisdom. She preserved all of her medium and long-term memories vividly, comprehensively, and accurately. She could speak and converse normally. She could write beautifully as always, and had full use of her right arm and leg. She was aware and could socially interact as before. She was intensely interested in everything around her, including politics and current events. She developed an extraordinary kindness, generosity, and forgiveness far exceeding her previously high level of those virtues, if that seems possible.

She was still my Phyliss, in every way that mattered to us and she loved me more deeply than ever before. I could not help but return that love observing a courage and bravery that I had never experienced. I cannot thank God enough for granting us the next eight years of being one, as always, with our love and devotion remaining intact.

I have no idea how she retained her aggressively positive attitude every minute of the rest of her life. Her attitude was so positive, that I felt extreme guilt whenever I exhibited a negative attitude, which was very often. She literally kept me alive, focused, and well enough to take care of her. I had none of her disabilities, yet I could not equal her upbeat outlook, and I still cannot. I knew an extraordinary woman had married me, but I was about to find out how much more extraordinary than even I could imagine that she was.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The transfer

Phyliss' treatment now turned from hospital care to transitional rehabilitation. There were two choices of facility to be made. One center focused on more relaxed and less stringent routines but with correspondingly less potential to return to normal functions. The other center was more concentrated on aggressive and demanding rehabilitation hoping for maximum return to life before the stroke. On the advice of the therapist, I opted for the more aggressive program to give my love the greatest opportunity for recovery. I wanted my wife back.

I am not sure if I made the right decision, since I had nothing with which to compare her rehabilitation regiment. As it evolved, the rehabilitation experience was far from stellar.

It was back to the bell curve. The staff consisted of a small group of absolutely professional individuals at the beginning of the scale. They were followed in the middle by a large group of adequate staff who did their job reasonably well. Finally, at the far end of the scale, there was the small group of the staff that should be nowhere near a health facility, or patient. And, yes, there were several, off the scale, who should not have been allowed to be near another human being.

The five phantom killers, "AFLAC", no, not the duck

I must address five issues that I observed to be critical to Phyliss' health, recovery, and even survival that apparently are not recognized by the health care system as essential needs and therefore are given little attention or, most commonly, not addressed at all.

I have chosen to give these gross, life-threatening omissions the acronym, "AFLAC," you know, like the insurance company, sorry, Mr. AFLAC duck. Coincidentally, and ironically the company is well known for providing health insurance so you should be able to remember this valuable information, if you should ever have the misfortune to have a loved one experience a hospital encounter.

It is my humble, layman's opinion derived from my observations of Phyliss' care or lack thereof, that these largely unaddressed killers are common among many, if not all stroke patients. They are as follows:

Apprehension, Fear, Loneliness, Anxiety, and Confusion, "AFLAC"

My assumed interpretations of these afflictions are:

**Apprehension:** uncertainty of the future.

**Fear:** terror, fright, dread, and distress.

**Loneliness:** sadness, desolation, isolation, and forlorn.

**Anxiety:** worry, agitation, angst, unease, and panic.

**Confusion:** bewildered, disoriented, perplexed, chaotic, confounded, and lost.

Every day, all day and every night, all night, Phyliss' experienced these terrible emotions. My constant presence, twenty-four hours a day eased these experiences, but did not eliminate them. I cannot imagine her desolation having to experience them alone as did most of the other patients I observed. These debilitating emotions were highly visible by anyone, obvious, and continuous yet none was explained, nor discussed with Phyliss or me. Not only were they not addressed and ignored but rather they were continuously exacerbated by the normal functioning of the facility.

It would seem that anyone involved in attending stroke patients must know that in many cases, or even most cases, these conditions are prevalent. These are not "normal" emotions as a healthy person would think of them. They are not emotions that engender questions of whom to vote for, what car to buy, what college to attend, or even what outfit will I wear today?

These are basic and massive confusion, anxiety, and apprehension on a level rarely experienced by a healthy person. What time of day is it? , What month is it? , What season is it? , Where am I? , How did I get here? , Am I going to die? , Who are all these people coming in and out? , Why can't I swallow? , Why am I always choking? , Why can't I go home, please? , Why am I always crying, I'm not upset? , Why am I so lonely, alone, and afraid, even when you are here, Joseph? , Why can't I walk? , Just let me try. Please! How will I know if I don't try? What is this tube coming out of my stomach? It hurts.

Just imagine looking down at an object in front of you and not knowing it is your own arm. Oh, my God.

This confusion and fear were endless, despite my constant presence, except for short excursions to shower, return calls, and check the mail. Unfortunately, almost nothing was built into the system to address these maladies. They weren't even recognized as something to be addressed. These continued, untreated conditions were a major deterrent to Phyliss' rehabilitation and return to health. Actually, they were life-threatening.

Not only were these problems not addressed, but the workings of the system seriously made them worse. During her stay in the facilities during these seven weeks, I counted at least sixteen room changes. About half could not be avoided. The other half was related to insurance, logistics, and I know not what else.

Every day the conditions fed on themselves and got more serious. They initiated a downward spiral. There were charts which recorded medications, blood pressure, and temperature, just about everything, everywhere. There were no charts to record the fact that "AFLAC" was killing her. The situation was similar to extreme and excellent maintenance and repair of a car without checking to see if it had tires. It was that obvious.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Many of the stroke patients had few visitors and none had a constant presence to help fill this void. To the contrary, the facility made it extraordinarily difficult to allow twenty-four-hour access by a family member. It was a fight every day, and with every shift, to get past security beyond visiting hours even with prearranged permission.

It was heart breaking to see my love being overcome by these horrible emotions. I slowly began to realize the nature of these insidious disabilities that were secondary to the stroke but equally as debilitating and life-threatening. The fact that they were not recognized nor treated actually made them more dangerous than her primary malady. What compounded the effect of "AFLAC" was the fact that I was subject, to a lesser extent, to the same infirmity.

I mentioned this "oversight" of not addressing the issues of "AFLAC" described above to one of the dear home health workers that visited Phyliss after we got home. She conveyed the following information to me that was extremely relevant, enlightening, and shocking.

It seems that in the past there were regular, full-time positions of "Psychiatric Nurses" assigned to the care of the patients in the hospital. I understand that a major part of their work was exactly to address the patient's well-being from the standpoint of the items I addressed in the "AFLAC."

What happened? Insurance companies, including Medicare, stopped paying for this discipline, so the health care facilities just stopped addressing these issues. I guess, if asked, they might say, "well we instruct all the health care workers to address these issues." In my opinion, no one did that. It was always someone else's job.

The provision of excellent health care is being degraded and interfered with by what insurers will pay for. It was a very sad state of affairs. Pray that insurance doesn't stop paying for nursing care. If they do, the hospitals will probably eliminate the nurses.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The shift change

In the paragraphs below, I describe some serious deficiencies of Phyliss' treatment that I summarized from my observations. I should note that all the circumstances did not occur in the same facility, none of the facilities was immune from one or more of these issues. However, the most frequent and egregious events occurred during her rehabilitation.

Adding to Phyliss' confusion was what occurred during the change of staff during shift changes. The thoughtful care and benefit from the superior staff members were oftentimes offset or even reversed when the shift changed. There was no way of telling who would be where, or when.

This was most unfortunate for Phyliss who was continuing to experience a massive trauma and confusion. Patient care ground to a halt at shift changes while departing staff composed reports, recorded data, and prepped the next shift.

I always managed to succeed in augmenting her care with the perseverance, and persistence I learned from Phyliss, some help from compassionate staff members, and just plain being a "pain in the ass." The latter was one of the few techniques I did not learn from dear and kind Phyliss. I was able to develop this effortlessly on my own. It seemed to come naturally. This was a clear example of "security" and "policy" trumping concerned care from a family member.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Healing sleep; you're lazy, Phyliss!

We are drilled all our lives that a good night's sleep is essential for healthy people to rejuvenate and repair our bodies and minds and stay healthy. It makes sense. I recall eight hours of restful sleep is commonly recommended. Imagine how much rest a person who has received the equivalent of a gunshot to the head must need to recuperate and heal. Somehow health facility system developers were absent the day those memos were distributed.

It was eight-o-clock in the evening, visiting hours were over. The zoo began: lights on/lights off, blood pressure measurements, temperature readings, medication distribution, squeaky-wheeled industrial trash carts in the hall, public address announcements, monitor alarms, beepers, phones, and sounds that are just plain annoying but unrecognizable. It was a nighttime symphony played by an orchestra of incompetent musicians. I am sure all of this activity must be necessary. Maybe it is and maybe it is not. I am not sure. What I am sure of is that there is not one thought given to whether the patient can get any sleep at all. Why am I so upset about this?

How could Phyliss' brain possibly heal when she did not get one uninterrupted night's sleep in one and a half months? I know, because I was one big nerve in that period myself, and I lost thirty pounds. If the routine made a healthy person like me sick, how could a severely injured person get well? That's not the end of this issue.

"Six-o-clock in the morning: "Get up, Phyliss. Oh, you're not sleeping? "Well, anyway, it is time for your speech therapy and breakfast." "It is seven-o-clock." "Phyliss, it's time for physical therapy." "My Phyliss, you are just not performing well at all or trying hard enough." "Stop dozing off, Phyliss." "Pay attention, you must seriously apply yourself, if you are to progress."

"No, your husband cannot be here." "He will be a distraction." "I guess I will just have to write on your chart that you are just really lazy." Trust me, folks, it really did happen and I saw it on her chart.

This physical therapy "babe," "Little miss just-out-of-college," really did accuse my helpless, confused, fearful wife who worked tirelessly all her life for the benefit of others, of being lazy after a severe head trauma, and being kept up all night for weeks by their incompetent system. She then had the audacity to write it on Phyliss' chart to mask the lack of progress precipitated by her own incompetence and her absence of basic humanity.

I could spit. I was so angry. I never used that phrase before. It is a good one. I won't describe how I vented my anger. It is a good thing I was always taught that violence is never the right solution.

I made sure Phyliss had another therapist the next day, and had her therapy appointment changed to three-o-clock in the afternoon. Now why did I have to figure out that a patient with brain damage who did not sleep all night would not stay awake during physical therapy at seven-o-clock in the morning? I imagined I saw Rod Serling in the hallway with the "Twilight Zone" theme playing ominously in the background.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Eating and elimination

OK, maybe the "sleep thingy" was a little hard to figure out, but I still cannot forgive the "physical therapy babe thingy." This next issue, however, was a little tiny bit hard to, shall we say, let pass. I mean, we all do it, don't we? Even the nurses do it. Yes, I am afraid I am talking about eating and pooping. It probably has been a while since you read about these topics. (I warned you to skip this chapter.)

Every living thing and every inanimate device that does work on Earth, without exception, consumes sustenance or fuel, burns it to produce energy and eliminates the by-products of that combustion. This should be an easy one to get right. Nothing is more basic and common. Isn't that correct? The process is everywhere, right under our noses.

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

One would assume that if a health facility can't get these two things right, then how or Earth would they be able to successfully accomplish the more difficult ones. That is a frightening thought to place your loved one into a care system that can't perform these basic functions properly.

A major disability of many stroke patients is the inability to swallow properly. The most difficult things to swallow are, of all things, thin liquids like water and foods like meat, that need extensive chewing. We deal with these foods just fine, but they can easily cause choking in a stroke patient. The severity, and therefore, the exact therapy vary with each patient. This discussion describes Phyliss' condition.

Speech therapy (including swallowing training) can help lessen this problem. But, in the meantime, a diet of thickened liquids and soft, easy-to-swallow and easy-to-chew foods are necessary. Thick liquids like apricot nectar are OK, but water, coffee, tea and thin juices have to be "thickened" with a product called, appropriately, "thick-it" or something like it. It is a gelatin-like powder that is mixed with the liquid to make it thicker and therefore easier to swallow.

While Phyliss was able to feed herself from a prepared platter, she was not yet able to distinguish foods and liquids that were acceptable without causing her problems. She certainly could not mix the "thick-it." It is very "tricky" to get the right thickness. If that's not difficult enough, the liquid seems to get thicker the longer it sits.

The dietary department would send up a tray for each meal. Some times thin liquids would be served without "thick-it mixed in. Sometimes, thin liquids would be served with thick-it separately, requiring the patient to make the mix. How could Phyliss, in her confused state, even understand the concept of thickening liquids?

Many times, hard to chew foods with choking dangers were sent. They rarely got it right. The tray was delivered, left on the side table outside Phyliss' reach and the delivery person left. The reasoning was, "it's not their job to feed the patient." It was the nurse's responsibility. "It's not my job, man.

Ask the nurse. She says it is the delivery person's responsibility. I met with the patient advocate, a lovely, courteous and cooperative woman. She said she would meet with the head of nursing and dietary department head and resolve the issue.

The next day the same errors were made and no one was there to help Phyliss. I have no idea how the other patients got fed. I gave up and served my love and her roommate myself for the duration of her stay. They probably would have both starved or choked without assistance.

Nine years later, I was in the hospital for a gall bladder operation. I filled out a number of forms indicating I was a diabetic. It was on my record from previous visits. I was consistently served a regular diet, loaded with refined sugar. It is remarkable.

OK, I guess feeding is quite complicated. A lot can go wrong. There are so many choices. Certainly, getting the waste to come out the other end would not be as "hard." Sorry, I couldn't resist, again, OK, not as "difficult."

I understand it is not unusual for a patient in a hospital to become constipated, but, please, seven days without the least concern. "We will give her a laxative, but on the next shift." "Maybe we can try a suppository?" "We will try an enema." "I will tell the nurse's aide." "I will let the head nurse know." "I'll put it on her chart." "Maybe the dietary department can help." "It is nothing to worry about." "I will ask the doctor to prescribe something." Nothing got done until an explosion occurred. It was truly difficult to imagine.

It was not until I got home, on my own, did I conclude that nothing works on a patient with Phyliss' disability besides, I can't say it any more delicately, physical, digital extraction. Why would no "professional" own up to this fact in the hospital or the rehabilitation center? Well, I guess I already know the answer. They are supposed to meet all the needs of the patient. How more basic can needs be than getting food in and out of a patient? If they can't or won't, or refuse to meet these two essential needs, how are they meeting the other critical, clinical and rehabilitative needs? They can't. My head is going to explode!

* * * * * * * * * * *

The relapse, back to the emergency room

Phyliss was making marginal progress in the rehabilitation center – hard to believe. It was just before lunch time. Because of the zoo during the night and lack of sleep, she was starting to doze off. I used the opportunity to get some lunch in the cafeteria. I brought a sandwich for me and some goodies for Phyliss. I thought we could to eat together in the room. Phyliss was still sleeping. It was not a normal sleep. It was a very deep sleep. The sleep was so deep, that she was actually limp. It bothered me, so I tried to wake her. I could not. Vigorous efforts would not wake her – loud voice, shaking, ice cubes, nothing.

I called the nurse, and she dismissed the event, saying she was just tired. I insisted this was not normal sleep. After several more attempts and trying to convince her, I got another nurse. She gave me the same, "she is just tired" routine. I showed her how nothing would wake her and how limp she was. It finally got her attention, and now three nurses were in the room in panic mode. I was already in panic mode.

They quickly brought a stretcher and we headed for the emergency room of the hospital which was next to the rehabilitation center. By the time we got to the emergency room, Phyliss started to weakly respond to verbal commands, and over the next half hour was awake but sleepy. Phyliss was very confused. They did some tests. They could not ascertain what caused the event and sent us back to her room in the rehabilitation center.

When we got back, Phyliss asked me why everyone was yelling at her and poking her. During her comatose-like state she was completely aware of what was going on, but could not awaken. It was strange and frightening. I thought I lost her.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I think I aged at least a year that afternoon. Of more concern was my fear that her condition was even more serious and that this might be a harbinger of what her life would be like in the future. It was a most depressing thought. I thought, "Did God save her only to have her suffer like this?" When would this horrible thing happen again? It disappeared for six years.

Six years later it started happening again, about a dozen times a week. Then, it finally happened more seriously, much more seriously. We could not wake her up at all. It appeared she had a stroke and woke up the next day. The details of this episode are recounted in the chapter entitled, "The Miracle." No one has been able to explain these strange bouts of deep sleep while completely aware. No matter how many times I witnessed them, they still instilled the same terror.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It's bathing time; you will have to step out of the room

We had been married for thirty-seven years when Phyliss had her stroke. I would imagine all marriages are different, but I believe we had a "normal" marriage. Without going into detail, we shared every minute together, even the most intimate of activities.

I guess that is why I could never understand when something personal had to be done they would "shoo" the husband out of the room. Why on Earth would hospital staff feel the need to usher a deeply devoted husband out of the room while bathing the patient. With Phyliss in her weak and confused state, I would never leave the room. Rather insistently sometimes, I might say.

One day, I found out why they don't want a family member to stay. I am not an expert, but even I know that there are some rules that should never be broken when dealing with female personal hygiene. It is amazing that a female nurse's aide would not know the same. But, she didn't or didn't care. I assure you that she never took care of Phyliss again. Is it any wonder that urinary tract infections for women are almost a certainty during a hospital stay?

What is most infuriating is using the excuse of privacy for throwing a loved one out of the room just to do an incompetent job without supervision. A stroke patient's system has been so terribly compromised; a urinary tract infection could be become life-threatening.

When I was told that Phyliss had a ninety-nine percent chance of dying in the first year after such a stroke, I believed that it was because of the direct consequences of the stroke. As time passed, I came to believe it was because of the poor and incompetent care given to the patient during and after the hospital stay.

Don't ever let a loved one endure a hospital stay or even out patient procedure without being her constant and vigilant advocate. It will certainly comfort her and it might even save her life.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Like talking to the chickens, and I meet my first unlikely angel

Phyliss' stroke was caused by a blood clot that formed from atrial fibulation (a type of irregular heartbeat) of the heart that dislodged and migrated to her brain. The atrial fibulation became permanent and she needed medication to prevent another clot and another stroke for the rest of her life. A second stroke would most likely be fatal. It was something I could not bear to think about.

I discovered that the doctor was giving her a regular aspirin each day to prevent another clot. That was the extent of her blot clot prevention therapy. I told the doctor, Phyliss and I had both been taking a regular aspirin a day for years and it did not prevent this stroke. Maybe providing something more aggressive would be needed. I was respectful and courteous.

I would have been more effective if I had been talking to our chickens. He summarily and immediately rejected my uninformed, layman's suggestion. This seemed to defy logic, and worried me the rest of the day and into the night. Where could I get advice to allay my fears, if I were right, and then communicate with the Gallus domesticus, with whom I was dealing?

The next day, I was in the hospital cafeteria, alone at one of the tables. A gentleman asked if he could join me. I readily agreed. He seemed friendly and pleasant. I did not recognize him. He did not bring anything to eat to the table, and he was sporting a white coat with a hospital name tag. I assumed him to be a doctor in the hospital.

I am not too good at remembering names, especially as distracted and depressed as I was about Phyliss' therapy, so I could not tell you what it said or what his name was. He apologized for interrupting my lunch, and said he should not be interfering, but he wanted to give me some advice. He seemed a little ill-at-ease and appeared to be observing who was sitting near us. No one was.

I thought this was interesting, but somewhat unusual. He said he knew my wife was in the rehabilitation center and that she was being given aspirin therapy to prevent another stroke. Now, his declaration immediately piqued my interest, and I listened intently. He said it was generally not accepted practice to comment on therapy given to a patient by another doctor. But, nevertheless, he felt this was quite important. He went on to say that he believed that aspirin therapy was neither appropriate nor adequate to prevent my wife from having another stroke.

I told him what I said to the doctor the day before and what his reaction was. He agreed with my assessment. He said that I, of course, had to make the decision, but if his wife were in the same circumstance, he would not prescribe aspirin therapy but rather the more aggressive Warfarin anticoagulant therapy to prevent another stroke. Before I had a chance to ask him the details of Phyliss' case, how he knew of it, and who he was, he wished Phyliss and me the best, said good bye, and disappeared. I was truly nonplussed.

That evening, when I went home to check calls and mail, I researched Warfarin and aspirin therapy for stroke patients and, in fact, discovered that Warfarin anticoagulant therapy was indeed much more effective and appropriate for Phyliss' condition as I suspected, and as the gentleman in the white coat said. But, who was he? I never saw or heard from him again. Was he the first of the many angels to be sent to me? The next morning, I scheduled myself to sit in on the weekly meeting when the staff discusses each patient's condition and progress or lack thereof.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The psychologist's interview and the staff meeting

Sometime during Phyliss' stay in the rehabilitation center, a woman came in to interview/evaluate her. I believe she was a psychologist. She seemed pleasant enough, but a bit standoffish. (I was surprised also; it really is a word. OK, you don't believe me. She was taciturn. That's really a word, too.)

To begin, there was no small talk or attempt to put Phyliss at ease prior to the interview or explain her purpose. She didn't try to determine who I was. She went right into questions presumably designed to evaluate Phyliss' condition and the damage the stroke had done. It may have been to determine her mental state or both. I don't know. I was a non-person in the room.

It became apparent that the interview was a waste of time, since we never saw her again. No one seemed to be addressing her psychological issues for the entire stay, anyway. I guess she needed to write a report and put it in Phyliss' file to collect her fee.

There were many questions asked. I did not participate nor was I asked to participate. I did listen intently. At least I wasn't asked to leave the room. Oh, she was so lucky she didn't ask me to leave the room. I think I was becoming known as the husband from hell with a chip on his shoulder. I didn't care what they thought of me.

Each question that was asked invoked my own mental answer. Phyliss answered every question almost exactly as I would have answered it. She had no hesitation, never asked a question to be repeated, despite her hearing problems, and never was confused or befuddled. She was involved, gave her complete attention, made eye contact, answered in complete sentences with excellent diction, and never wandered from the subject. She didn't look at me for approval or guidance. They were her answers alone.

After every response, I mentally cheered, "great Phyliss, good answer, Phyliss, you did well, Phyliss, that's my Sweetheart." I was so relieved and proud. I was proud because I felt like she was competing on "Jeopardy" and won. I was relieved that apparently most, if not all, of her wonderful mental abilities had made it through the stroke fully intact. She was my Phyliss, or so my layman's mind thought or wanted to believe.

Later, Miss Psychologist appeared as a member of the review committee. I invited myself to attend to expose what I considered to be shortcomings in Phyliss' care. She did not acknowledge my presence, and did not smile once. She gave a deadpan presentation filled with medical terms. It seemed like she described a never-ending book of deficiencies, abnormalities, and maladies from which Phyliss was suffering.

I knew I had no technical training, and what I observed of the interview was through the eyes of an adoring husband and novice, at best and not the trained eyes of a healthcare specialist. But, my God, lady, don't give a negative discourse on my wife's condition and not make the least attempt to inform or comfort her husband sitting right in front of you, what that all meant. She didn't even give any conclusions or recommendations for treatment.

I expressed my displeasure of her method of presentation and she had no comment whatsoever. It was disconcerting, infuriating, and sad, all at once. She was incapable of reading or wanting to read or understanding my frustration. These were skills that you might think would be major strengths required of a licensed psychologist. If she lacked these basic "people" skills, then what other "skills" does she lack? But, then again, what did I know.

* * * * * * * * * * *

My time was limited, and it was being wasted on her, so I moved onto the doctor conducting the meeting and the other issues I had concerning Phyliss' care – maybe he would be a manifestation of intelligence in a sea of detachment. I expressed my displeasure with the "AFLAC" issues discussed above, the improper bathing, the difficulty in my getting trouble-free twenty-four-hour access, deficiencies in feeding and elimination, and the lack of patient care during the shift changes.

He did not interrupt me and, with a sense of tranquility, listened with polite disinterest. I believed I was not being taken seriously. It was clear he didn't want me to be there and was not concerned about my observations, and did not consider them to be valuable or useful.

Much to my surprise, however, I noticed a number of knowing nods from some of the other attendees who were nurses. I felt I had made my views known to those who mattered, the women who were directly responsible for overseeing Phyliss' needs on a one-to-one basis.

I saved the most critical issue for last. Addressing the anticoagulant issue was paramount on my mind. The thought that Phyliss could have another stroke, destroyed me. My argument was, if the use of aspirin was inefficacious before the stroke, why would it be appropriate or effective now?

Based on my own thinking and observations, my research, and the advice of the gentleman in the white jacket, I was firm, and my request this time was not a suggestion. He did not challenge me, probably to get me to leave. I left.

Later that day, the Warfarin therapy was initiated. The Warfarin therapy kept Phyliss from having another stroke for eight years. I was later to discover that was somewhat of a rather remarkable achievement considering the extent of the brain damage from Phyliss' massive stroke. The fact that the doctor would yield so easily to a layman's directive on an important medical decision, added to my list of deficiencies in her care. He posed no argument for having prescribed aspirin therapy or continuing it. He just wanted me to go away. The doctor and his brother were on the medical staff. There were two of these guys freely roaming the halls.

What other directives had been so casually made? The meeting had only added to my growing concerns for her welfare rather than placated them. It reinforced my determination that I needed to remove Phyliss from this environment, and quickly.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The System

Staff performance accounted for some of the deficiencies, but there was another overbearing obstacle that loomed over Phyliss' health and recovery. It was the monster called "the system" that was in command and out of control.

The system had moved Phyliss systematically through a series of engagements predetermined by a list of factors. These factors many times had little to do with patient care and rehabilitation. Unfortunately, Phyliss' physical, and especially mental and emotional well-being, were no where near the top of the list of health facility functions. They didn't even seem to be on the list.

From my observation, the more important factors that predominantly fed the appetite of the administrative monster were public image, profit motive, legal issues, labor issues, facility maintenance, long-established conventions and traditions, staff and departmental conflicts, governmental regulations, insurance, regulations and limitations, logistics, and security.

When I list these determinants in this format, I can easily see how Phyliss' real needs got lost in the ensnarement of health facility functions. It is remarkable that she came out sane and alive. It is remarkable that I came out sane and alive. It is remarkable that anyone comes out sane and alive. Some do not.

It becomes clear how the valiant efforts of even the most skilled and conscientious health care professionals can be negated by this entanglement of administrative insanity. It is remarkable how these heroes and heroines can continue to function within this quagmire and still cope with the complications of their own lives. Maybe some of them can't and don't. May God help them and bless them as they try to help others.

As the creature of the federal government destroys and eventually devours the health care system, and for that matter the country, the only vision left to imagine is a formerly great country without a functioning health care system to help its citizens.

Thank God. My love does not need the country or the health care system any longer. I hope that God has mercy on us mortals who have been left behind and may unfortunately be lost in the black hole of neglect and incompetence called "the health care system." Our future health care system will make the Veterans' Health Care System seem superlative.

Phyliss, please pray for us who remain to live in this morass.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Our escape from Alcatraz

Phyliss was in the rehabilitation center about a month. The effects of the untreated "AFLAC" were having a devastating effect on her. She was steadily and rapidly losing weight. Her confusion and fear were extraordinarily high and getting progressively worse. She was becoming detached from reality, had almost no sense of time, location, or orientation and even my presence was no longer adequate to comfort her. Her appetite was gone and it all was predictable and was no surprise. The physical rehabilitation was a joke. Was she progressing? She was regressing.

None of this was even on the radar screen of the staff and the system. With all of the individuals assigned to their various disciplines and tasks, there was no one overseeing "AFLAC" and its deadly effects and logical conclusion, the decline or even death of my dear wife.

My love was dying before my eyes. I was desperate; I had no expertise to correct the situation, so I could only conclude that I had to remove her from the situation that was killing her. I didn't know what the next step was after that, I just knew I had to plan an escape and figure out the rest after I got her out of danger. She was on the railroad track and the train was coming.

This was a war and my best buddy had been seriously wounded and was on the battlefield dying. The prime directive was to get her off the field, out of danger, and then call for the medic.

The doctor said Phyliss had two or three more weeks of "therapy" that Medicare would pay for. The key words for me were "that Medicare would pay for." Is this how professional care givers judge the length of therapy today? - How long Medicare will pay for the treatment? That did it for me. Nobody noticed or cared that Phyliss was dying before their eyes.

I announced that day, Monday that Phyliss was going home with me on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day. Further, I wanted my home orientation (a joke) and her medications by Wednesday to take with us. End of story. (The same "therapy babe" that said Phyliss was "lazy" gave me my forty-five minute home orientation. That was tense.) I didn't care if Medicare would pay for three more weeks. We would be out of here on Thanksgiving Day. I would soon find out how appropriate and significant the name of that day would be.

She said they don't give out medications, just prescriptions. "OK, give me the prescriptions on Tuesday, and I will get them filled at the pharmacy." "We always give out the prescriptions on the day you leave." I asked, "How will I get ten prescriptions filled on Thanksgiving Day?"

Even if I could find a pharmacy open, they certainly would not have all ten medications in stock. Besides, "I am alone." "Who will stay with Phyliss when I drop them off and when I pick them up?" She repeated, "We can't give the prescriptions out until the day you leave." "That is the policy." It was system monster again.

I became disturbed, more than I was already disturbed, and demanded the prescriptions be given to me the next day. She looked over at the doctor, he reluctantly nodded and they dropped into my hands from Heaven the next day. I filled the prescriptions that afternoon, and yes, I had to go back the next day, Wednesday, to pick up the three prescriptions they did not have in stock.

Did it really require a genius to figure out that they would not have them all in stock in the quantities and forms and strengths that were prescribed? Ten prescriptions, times two forms, times four strengths makes eighty combinations.

I really did not lament that we would not be going home to the traditional turkey dinner on Thanksgiving Day. After over a month in rehabilitation, I had dealt with enough turkeys.

Thursday arrived, we went home, and the longest, most challenging day of my life began. The day turned out to be quite an ordeal for my love as well.

HOME ALONE, WITH PHYLISS

It seems most ironic that something I had desperately wished for from a very early age, aggressively pursued, and finally achieved, had now become a source of anxiety, fear, and angst - being at home alone with Phyliss. It did not seem possible.

The mere suggestion, a few years prior, that this would be credible, appeared to be a preposterous supposition. Yet, here it was, a reality.

I had fought so hard to pry her from the grips of her certain demise at the rehabilitation center. I had rejoiced at my achievement and success. I had saved my dear wife. I had won one of the biggest and most important battles of my life, thus far, to get her home. This was the woman I loved. Why was I fearful of being alone with her?

We were home. We got out of the ambulance and entered the familiar surroundings that had been our "safe haven and love nest" for three decades. A variation of Dr. Martin Luther King's famous quote from his "I have a dream" speech went though my mind: "Home at last, home at last, thank God almighty, we are home at last." At the end of such an ordeal, why did an unbelievable chill go through my body from my head to my toes?

A terrifying truth set in. I had no idea how to take care of Phyliss. I was alone, and unprepared. Her welfare, and yes, even her life, was solely in my hands. Certainly, the forty-five-minute lesson given by "physical therapy babe" would not prepare anybody for anything, let alone the overwhelming task of keeping Phyliss alive and "well."

I, at once, realized how parents must feel when bringing their first child home from the hospital. The life of this helpless baby was in their hands, only they had each other to care for her.

Phyliss had me, alone.

A feeling of panic overwhelmed me, but I could not show it. Phyliss had been through so much already, she didn't need to witness her "rock" crumble before her eyes. What I thought were monumental, complete, and excellent preparations, were, in many ways, inadequate, inappropriate, and minimal. There were many omissions and issues that were overlooked, or not fully thought through. I was blinded by my goal to get away from a life threatening situation.

I thought I had prepared myself and our home well for her homecoming. I had not. My preparedness was woefully inadequate. I had totally and completely underestimated the enormity of the enterprise that confronted me.

One other important shortcoming was not adequately considering my diminished physical and mental condition. The five years prior to Phyliss' stroke, and particularly the last year, were very demanding in the office. We had more work in the office than ever before. The work included several particularly demanding clients and large, complex and multifaceted projects. I was exhausted before she had the stroke.

Phyliss and I went on a cruise for me to recharge. It was marvelous, but even the joy of a two-week cruise was demanding for us. She always bore a large part of my burdens. Phyliss' stroke occurred at the end of this five-year gauntlet, and added enormously to my fatigue.

By the time I was able to get Phyliss out of the rehabilitation center, I was spent and burned out, but did not know it until that front door closed behind us when we got home. I looked around, and there was no one but Phyliss and me. Her sister, Jeanette, still lived with us, but she was ninety years old and needed almost as much care as Phyliss did. We didn't even have a pet then.

At that moment I realized her life depended on me, and only me. I felt like the statue of "Atlas" carrying the world on his back in Rockefeller Center. I would be lying, if I did not say that I felt real panic.

The problem was I was carrying Phyliss' world, but I was no "Atlas." I felt crushed under the weight of what lay ahead. Nevertheless, I refused to let the fear paralyze me, and as each task presented itself that day, I addressed it as best I could. This was too important to fail.

Lifting and transferring her from one place to another by myself, was much more difficult than I thought it would be, but it was also dangerous for both of us. I was no athlete. I didn't even want to think of falling over or dropping her, with no one around to help. Somehow, God gave me the strength to survive the day, without injuring Phyliss or myself. The seating in the house was inappropriate. She needed much more side support, the cushions were too soft and they were too low for me to be able to pick her up. Everything was wrong.

Finally the comfort of evening arrived. It was near bedtime. Then I realized that evening and night had their own terrible challenges. These two traditional comforters and rejuvenators of evening and night had now become enemies. I was poorly equipped to defeat them. I managed to place Phyliss on the toilet. Nothing happened. I waited. Still, nothing happened. "Maybe, tomorrow," I thought.

I tried several times to put her back in the wheelchair to take her to bed. I could not do it. At that instant, I realized I had hit my "wall." I was never this mentally and physically incapable of expending one more calorie.

I sat on the couch. My body and my brain were paralyzed. This was serious. I could not move. I could not remember fear like this in my entire life. We always like to think of ourselves as competent and capable of doing anything. This was a stark realization that was a fantasy.

Looking back on that moment is reminiscent of the TV show "Naked and Afraid." Seemingly skilled and competent people are thrown into a situation of foreign and monumental stress, finding they were pushed beyond their limits and "tapping out." It is a feeling that must be experienced to understand. The only problem for me was that not just my life was at stake. There was no possibility of asking to be taken home. I was home, and it was hell.

Phyliss and I were now both helpless and isolated from the world. It was Thanksgiving Day, everything was closed and everyone I knew was miles away, visiting family and friends. Thanksgiving Day was supposed to be joyful, surrounded by friends and family, good food, and cheer. It had become a nightmare. Holidays were never the same after that day.

Had I made a fatal error and endangered the woman I loved so much, the woman who had helped me all my life. Evidently, I had. I was an idiot with a master's degree in planning. Phyliss was my teacher all of my life and I had failed the most important test of my life. That thought made our predicament so much more difficult to accept.

My options seemed to be zero. But, Phyliss never accepted the concept that one's options are ever zero.

What felt like eternity passed, but it was only a few minutes. Phyliss was confused and fearful. She wondered where I was and called me. She was unaware of the danger we were in. I could not get up. At this point, I was a sobbing, slobbering mess, of no use to myself, and least of all to Phyliss.

I had visions of our bodies being found the next day right where we remained. I really did. "What a sad way for us to leave this earth," I thought. In the past, I had wondered how we would die. I guess we all do at some time, especially as we get older and in poor health.

This was not my vision of a dignified way of leaving this earth, at least not for Phyliss. I deserved whatever I got for my stupidity. I had imagined a closed casket dual funeral. At least the crypts we bought at the cemetery would not go to waste.

I think it was the fear in Phyliss' voice when she called out that released me from my fog and gave me a second wind. I looked over at the side table next to the couch and saw the phone. But, whom would I call? Call 911, you dope! My brain just was not working. If this were not an emergency, what was?

They would send an ambulance and an EMS to save us. But wait my dear, lifelong neighbors were EMS volunteers for the Ambulance Squad. Oh no, I think they went away for the holiday. With hope in my heart, I called them instead. Dear Mary Lee answered! I began to feebly try to explain my circumstance in a very confused and incoherent manner. Halfway through my plea, I realized that the phone was dead. I was talking to myself. I thought we got disconnected. I wanted to curse Alexander Graham Bell and all his offspring and descendants.

I battled with the phone in my debilitated state, and tried to redial. I couldn't find the redial button. Not more than a minute passed. I looked up and I was surrounded by an army, not any army, but "U.S. Special Forces." Mary Lee heard the desperation in my voice, knew something was terribly wrong, and mustered her entire Thanksgiving assemblage and led the rescue brigade to our house.

She, Bill, her husband, and Joy, their daughter had given years of volunteer service to our community as certified EMS's and now they were here with their entire family to save us. The only one they didn't bring with them was the turkey. They barely all fit in the room.

I know they had to come through the front door, but it seemed they descended from Heaven right through the ceiling. As if by magic, they put Phyliss in the wheel chair, then into bed, made her comfortable, and attended to my sorry self. They then comforted me, and waited until Phyliss fell asleep, and offered to bring Thanksgiving dinner and food for the next day. We had already eaten.

They offered to tend to any of our other needs, and said they would stop by tomorrow. After a touching and solemn group prayer, they went back home, leaving multiple contact numbers for further assistance. They disappeared to resume their interrupted, cold turkey dinner.

How blessed we were. Despite the tumultuous day, we truly had much to be thankful for that Thanksgiving, 2005.

After they were gone, I said a sincere prayer of Thanksgiving for every one of them, and an extra prayer asking forgiveness from Mr. Bell and his descendants.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The next three months, were understandably, exhausting for both Phyliss and me. My bouts of depression, anger, and impatience were not my finest hour. I did not understand it or realize it, but the stress had made me into someone I did not recognize nor wanted to know.

I was obsessed to meet Phyliss' every need with a passion, but inexplicably without joy because of my perceived inadequacy. Her suffering consumed, devastated, and traumatized me. I could not comprehend or accept the horror of what had happened to her and what was continuing to happen to her. The future looked black.

The anger and impatience were with me and with my inability to deal with Phyliss' losses, but caused me to lash out and be impatient with others. And, yes, I am so devastated to admit that it occasionally included Phyliss and her kind, but sometimes difficult, niece who had come from Florida only to help. God was not even immune from my displeasure.

Fortunately, my outbursts were not frequent and eventually I gained control. Her niece again visited the following year to help, and help she did with enthusiasm and love. I again asked her forgiveness from the year before, she gave it, went home to die the next day of a massive heart attack. It was Christmas Eve. Her task to help her dear aunt had been completed. Thank you and rest in peace, dear Roseann. Thank you for forgiving me.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I could not imagine why a remarkable woman such as Phyliss would be afflicted so terribly and yet here I was adding to her burden, the woman I loved more than myself. It destroyed me then and destroys me now as I write this. I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now.

I know, God and Phyliss have long since forgiven me, but I have yet to learn how to forgive myself. Self-forgiveness just doesn't seem possible now that she is gone.

Working from an energy deficit of several decades of overwork and the ravages of diabetes, I realized, quite soon, that Phyliss' care was too much even for a motivated spouse like me. I started almost immediately searching for a full-time aide that could help me cope with the overwhelming task of normal household functions and Phyliss' care.

The search was not easy. At the time, there was a shortage of help and an abundance of need. Fortunately for Phyliss and me, a number of our angels started appearing to reduce my work load and to improve Phyliss' spirits. Now that I recall, it seemed that it was my spirits that needed to be livened more than Phyliss'. Mary Lee, Mary Alice, Barbara, Cathy, and Rose Ann filled the void that I had not the energy to fill. They formed a truly remarkable team of friends that would be hard to surpass.

I was fortunate to find assistance in about three months. I could have not lasted much longer. At first, Barbara, was a mixed blessing. Our personalities were incompatible. I was still suffering from extreme exhaustion and burn out.

Some of our angels who got us through those first trying months: Left to right: Marylee, Mary Alice, Phyliss, Barbara, Rose Ann, her niece, now together with Phyliss

In Barbara's previous assignments, all the families welcomed a full-time aide to care for a family member. Unfortunately, they assumed the attitude that the job was the assignment of the aide and participated little in the actual care of the family member. They delegated full responsibility for care to Barbara.

Some assignments were entirely "solo" with no family member present except for weekly visits. This was her vision of the job, but not mine. My communicating skills were inadequate as was her command of English.

This misunderstanding of the job description was woefully another of my shortcomings. Phyliss' major disability was loneliness and my constant presence and contact was necessary to make her well. I had to be involved.

Some serious "battles" between Barbara and me ensued over these differing views of the job description. I regret that I was not the most diplomatic negotiator of the dispute. Nevertheless, we did reach common ground for the sake of Phyliss' health, and the two of us mellowed, settled our differences, and embarked on our eight-year mission of caring for Phyliss. The result was a system that provided for Phyliss' emotional and physical well-being.

From that day forward, I vowed to never let any circumstance, no matter its nature, no matter how grave or overwhelming, interfere with my only goals for the rest of my life with Phyliss: her uncompromised care, her welfare, her comfort, and her happiness, however that could be manifested. I believe I achieved those goals with devotion, compassion, and love, and I consider them, unquestionably, to be the foremost accomplishments of my life.

I would place the writing of this book in her honor the second most important accomplishment of my life. After those two accomplishments, nothing else seemed to matter - nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**THE YEARS OF REMARKABLE COURAGE**

Her valiant oratorio

Humor

My attempt at levity in the book: At times throughout the book, and in this chapter, you may find that I may make an attempt at irreverence or humor to make a point. I assure you that these issues I will present are deadly serious, emphasis on the "deadly." Do not think for a moment they are not.

My feeble, awkward, and probably unsuccessful attempts at humor are merely my defense mechanisms which help me to cope with the horrible injury to my love and the trauma I endured to insure that she received the care she needed and deserved. Without the lightheartedness, I would lose my mind. Maybe I have already. Reliving the story is not easy. If it helps even one person, I will feel fulfilled, and it will have been worth the effort.

Her real humor and merriment

As you read the next chapter keep in mind that Phyliss retained her optimism and sense of humor every minute. Try to imagine yourself, in her place, doing that for even a month. She always had a remarkable sense of whimsicality, but after the stroke, it was more sophisticated, mature, and subtle.

When playing "Scrabble," she was a formidable opponent, but, after the stroke, she would, shall we say, "apply the rules rather loosely," but always in good-natured, sophisticated humor and fun. When her sister would complain about her deviation from "conventional" play, Phyliss would always say without hesitation, "It's okay, Sis, don't you know I'm handicapped?" "It's only a game." I have no idea how she maintained her optimism and delightful demeanor.

The world is so much lesser a place, now that you are both gone.

It is a shame that the quality of this photograph, from so many years ago, is so poor, but it perfectly illustrates her vibrant rapport with everyone around her. It is remarkable that this tiny photo survived for so long. I have no idea from where it came. This priceless artifact for me was unceremoniously placed at the bottom of her jewelry box.

If I could only return to just one day of what is captured in this photograph. Maybe soon, when we are joined one final time, every day will be like this, again. Thank you, Mr. Palumbo for having kept my love, and all of us so full of happiness. This was a preserved moment in time of two remarkable people, full of life, kindness, and wisdom for all of us.

Since Barbara and I had declared a truce, my mind was free to concentrate on Phyliss' well-being. The weight of the routine tasks of the household had been lifted from my shoulders and this allowed me to organize our new, most challenging life.

The question was always, "To reveal or not to reveal?"

As I mentioned, the doctors at the hospital concurred that a patient with a severe stroke of the magnitude that Phyliss experienced, had very little chance of living more than a year. It was difficult for me to live with this declaration, knowing that we had so little time left to spend with each other. It was even more devastating keeping this from her, having shared everything our entire lives.

It tormented me to have to make the decision of divulging such a horrible thing, or keeping it as a secret within me.

Telling her would allow her to face her own mortality on her terms and to make peace here on Earth before her departure. Conversely, keeping this from her would spare her the anguish of knowing she had so little time left.

I hated having this responsibility, but it was I and only I, who had to decide.

Unfortunately, it would not be the last of the life-changing decisions that would have to be made by me on Phyliss' behalf. For me, this was one of the most difficult matters with which to deal in executing her care - knowing some terrible thing and not sharing it with her. Having to make a life or death decision without her knowledge and without her input was even a worse issue. That is a horrible thing, no one should have to do, but that's what those vows were about.

From the first month after we arrived home, Phyliss displayed an aggressive attitude and desire to get well again. She never said, "If I walk again." "If I hear again." "If I can see well again." She always said, "When I can walk again." "When I can hear again." "When I can see well again." She always displayed determination and optimism to get better.

It was this attitude and my knowledge of her during our lives together that made me decide not to tell her. How could I destroy this wonderful positive outlook by telling her she had so little time to live? It would not be right. It would be like telling a small child, full of innocence and enthusiasm that there was no Santa Claus. I could not do it. Besides, I thought, "What if the doctors were wrong". She could live with the specter of her impending death for years, unnecessarily.

I remember how anxious she became every year we had to monitor the growth of her brain tumors with an MRI. How relieved she was to find that the growth was only marginal. Knowing she had so little time would have broken her spirit. This was one time when I could empathically absorb her pain as she had done for me for so many years. It allowed me to live with this horrible inevitability knowing I had spared her this pain.

* * * * * * * * * * *

A few words of advice: Before committing to marry, couples need to know every detail about each other. The day may come when your partner will have to make decisions for you like the decisions that confronted me. Will they make the decision in your best interest or in their own best interests? Don't be so sure, you know the answer to that question.

Unconditional and passionate love must be the foundation of your marriage to arrive at the correct answer. Don't marry someone just because it was so lovely that he asked you to marry him while sky diving.

There is a little quip that circulates that says, "Be good to your children, someday they may be selecting your nursing home." The saying misses the mark. You really don't want your children to put you in any nursing home. They should be putting you in their home for care until there is no other choice.

But, I guess I am old fashion and my thinking is obsolete. From my observations over the years, I could not even imagine placing Phyliss in any kind of institutional "care." It was not even a vague thought, while I was capable of her care at home.

It is with great discomfort to admit, I have witnessed many, (a lot) of people unwilling to spend their own resources for the care of their loved one. I have observed them to be unwilling to even use the resources of their "loved one" in order to increase their own inheritance after they were gone.

It is rare to see such loathsome people get one more minute of happiness out of such heinous deeds. Many times their misdeeds come back to haunt them when they are in need. Pick your spouse well, raise your children well, and treat them both with respect and love.

Your life could depend on your actions.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Was it her "best year ever?"

I, reluctantly, chose to assume the doctors were right about Phyliss' impending, premature demise. I concluded that if their diagnosis were inaccurate, at least I would make my future decisions assuming a worst case scenario.

Having accepted their opinion, I vowed to make her last year memorable. I concentrated on bringing myself back to physical and emotional well-being to engineer a remarkable year for her. My intention was to make it "her best year ever." In retrospect, that was a lofty goal, but that is what she would have done for me, without question.

Phyliss and I always enjoyed the flowers at Longwood Gardens, a favorite place.

I listed all of her favorite activities and evaluated each based on whether she was capable of participating. Equally importantly was whether I was capable of organizing and participating in each venture.

Phyliss and our Godchild, Lana and her son and daughter, are shown resting in the motor home after a full day at Longwood Gardens

The qualifying activities included performances at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia, various performances at local performing venues, day trips to Longwood Gardens, the Ocean City boardwalk and the Princeton campus, visits to and by family and friends, and Sunday Mass, among others.

Phyliss is among more of her angels at her birthday party.

Even doctors' visits and medical tests were used as opportunities to inject her back into a "normal" life by incorporating an outing for lunch or dinner at a local restaurant or an ice cream treat on the way home. Not once did she decline an opportunity for an outing and she enjoyed and appreciated every minute that I planned.

Phyliss has yet, another birthday. God granted her seven more after her stroke. I always helped her blow without her knowing. I thought I was so clever. She always knew I helped.

It was sad there were so many activities that could not be put on the list. I filled the next year with dozens of events starting with "The Nutcracker" at the Academy of Music, only a little over a month after she came home. I was pushing it, and I was exhausted, but her enthusiasm and her surprising energy level rejuvenated me and fed her recovery and my own.

There is nothing like having your nails painted by dear friend, Emmy, to perk up a lady's spirit

I was soon to learn that attending a performance at the Academy of Music and dinner afterward was an exhausting endeavor and a logistical challenge. It was a "two-man job" and not for the fainthearted. The enjoyment of the activity was somewhat limited because of Phyliss' diminished attention span, diminished hearing, and poor eyesight. But, it was enjoyable for her, nevertheless.

The excursion did get her out of the house, gave her exercise, and allowed her to participate in the activities of the outside world as much as possible. It was as close to "normal" as I could get within her limitations. That was, at once, joyful and saddening.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When we attended the performances at the "Academy," I would occasionally encounter a lone woman accompanying, whom I believed was her daughter, to the performance.

Her daughter appeared to have muscular dystrophy or a similar affliction. The young girl was profoundly disabled. She was being transported in an unbelievably complex and cumbersome "machine" with arm and head supports, an oxygen tank, and who knows what else. It was truly a remarkable, but daunting, portable life-supporting system.

It was hard to imagine that she could even see the performance being held prisoner and trapped in the frozen and contorted position of her body.

As I pushed Phyliss in our basic travel chair, we would occasionally pass each other on the sidewalk outside the "Academy" and exchange knowing smiles.

Here I was, with Phyliss and Barbara to help me, feeling exhausted, overwhelmed and carrying a generous portion of self-pity.

And yet, there before me was this remarkable woman, alone insuring that her daughter would have the best life experience she could provide. I was in wonderment that she could manage a smile, laden with such a heavy burden.

I concluded that it was possible because, to her, it was not a burden, but an act of love she was performing for her dear daughter. Her love and dedication inspired me to redouble my efforts for Phyliss' care and made me realize that no matter how large a cross that Phyliss and I carried, there were always others with larger crosses to carry over greater distances.

It was a humbling experience and one that made me realize, Phyliss and I were certainly not alone in this world of suffering and pain. How easily and mindlessly we worship thousands whose claim to fame is playing with a ball, holding some inane record, being attractive, or for no other reason that they are famous just for being famous. And, yet, the true heroes and heroines walk among us executing monumental feats without the least recognition or desire to be recognized. God bless them; shame on us.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I would always let Phyliss take the initiative in determining what we did. She amazed me with her enthusiasm. She prompted many activities from advertisements she saw on television or ideas she got reading printed matter. She was interested in everything.

She never once, said "no" to a suggestion to participate in an activity or visit some venue or person. She never once said she was tired or she did not have the energy participate. It was a trait that warmed my heart and encouraged me to want to do more for her.

I never had to worry about being deflated by a negative attitude or response to an idea or proposal. Almost always, her energy and enthusiasm were far greater than mine.

The lily ponds, and the greenhouses at Longwood Gardens, were enjoyable spots for us. The drive was not pleasant for Phyliss; but, she was always ready to go to one of her favorite places. I thanked God that she was capable of getting out and had the energy and enthusiasm to participate and enjoy. The place always had pleasant memories for us both. The "Hello Kitty" blanket was a life-saver on cool days.

Her disabilities never diminished her eagerness, her passion, and her gusto to participate in any activity I suggested. This remarkable attitude under the most trying conditions is what kept me motivated and in awe of the woman I married and just made me love her even more.

What attracted me to her those years before we were married was most impressive, but the attractiveness was insignificant compared to the character I would observe these next eight years. It did not seem possible that within the wonderful woman I married there were so much more character and courage than I could have imagined.

* * * * * * * * * *

Cruising with Phyliss after the stroke

General comments A few general comments about cruising with a loved one with special needs.

There are books and many web sites on this subject that are much more comprehensive than my presentation here. Research the subject before you decide to set sail on this adventure. I hope that my personal experiences can add to those you glean elsewhere. These observations that I make might help a little especially so if you are traveling with your wife whom you love dearly and for whom you are the primary care giver trying to maximize her enjoyment under difficult circumstances.

Some of my comments may not apply to the most recent ships, since the last cruise we took was in 2008. I just was not physically capable any more of executing such an endeavor after that. A generality I believe that can be made is the more recently built the ship is the more it will be accommodative to the special needs of the disabled, not only in the cabins, but also around the ship in general.

After reading my comments and researching, you might want to stay home! If I knew all of this before we left, maybe we would have never left. Not really, in retrospect, now that she is gone, I don't regret one minute, if it enriched her last years, even just a bit, and it certainly did.

If this is an activity that you two enjoyed before the disability, by all means give it a try if you are both capable. If you don't at least try, the regrets after she is gone will be overwhelming. Continuing activities that were common before the disability can go a long way to give some normalcy to your new life. Familiar activities, sights, and surroundings may distract from what was lost. Do not overreach however and attempt endeavors that may not be possible. Being unable to successfully participate in a once-enjoyed activity may be a source of great frustration rather than an experience fond remembrance.

Before anything else

Evaluate your abilities and those of your love. At the same time, evaluate your disabilities. Do this together, if possible and if practical. Write them down. Be thorough, be honest, and be realistic. Don't deceive yourself to predetermine an outcome. Once you have done this, match the abilities and disabilities with what you learn here and from your own research. If the abilities and disabilities clash with what you learned is necessary to be successful, then maybe another form of therapy and enjoyment may be more appropriate. Please take note that many times the damage from a stroke can make it difficult for the afflicted person to completely recognize a handicap. I suppose a disabled person believes that if they can climb stairs on their own, how serious could the stroke have been. Then they must be okay and are encouraged to try other familiar task that they cannot handle.

Packing

"They" say, pack light. There is no such thing when dealing with special needs. Pack everything you need for her care. You will not be able to get special items on the ship or in port. It is a monumental task. Give it your full attention. Record the location of everything. "If you can't find it, you don't have it." Arrange ahead of time to have assistance from the cruise line embarking and debarking. Medications, yours and hers! Addressing details like bringing a mortar and pestle to crush pills if she cannot swallow are paramount. Take triple the number of pills in case of a terrible delay or loss. Put a third in a suitcase, another third in a carry-on and the remaining third in a hidden pocket on your person. Get prescriptions from your doctor to take with you. Don't forget: yours and hers.

Help!

Depending on the level of disabilities, you should seriously consider bringing help with you on the cruise. You will probably have to pay their way. Choose your help carefully. You want someone or someone's who are there to help and not vacation. Many times you will have to go long distances and back to make arrangements. You don't want to push a wheel chair during these tasks. You will need someone to stay with your love.

Research the services that the cruise line offers to the disabled. These services can be substantial and staff is very accommodating. Some are better than others. Again, do your research. Nobody said this would be easy, folks.

Ship selection

Only select ships built recently, within the last six to seven years. They have been designed and built from the ground up with the disabled in mind. Even older ships like the "Crown" that have been updated, have features and even cabins that inherently cannot be fully upgraded.

Obstacles

The flood bulkheads, in most of the older ships, in the passages, of which there are many, have four inch risers which make navigating a wheelchair a tiring adventure and a challenge. Managing an electric wheelchair may well be impossible. The newer ships seem to have solved this problem and have no risers at the bulkheads.

Cabins

Recently designed vessels are very accommodating, but have relatively very few cabins designated as accessible. These ships are not subject to U.S. regulations regarding the number of cabins provided. By necessity, these are usually larger cabins which are quite costly. So, book early. This is not your two hundred fifty dollar Caribbean cruise here. Only a few handicapped designated on a huge ship will be economy cabins. They go very quickly. If disability is involved, book your cruise as early as possible.

Special accommodations, hospital bed

Phyliss needed a hospital bed on our cruises and it had to be supplied by a separate firm. Be ready to fork up as much as an additional one thousand dollars. Bring your own extension cord! Even if a hospital bed is not necessary at home, it might be necessary on the ship. Floors at home don't usually move. If they do, maybe you better look for another house.

On deck, the railings

Stay away from the railings on deck. Your love will be in a wheeled vehicle without bumpers, no steering to speak of, no real brakes, and no air bags, on a moving ship. There will be precious little between you and disaster. If you go overboard, you are both dead.

What could go wrong? The railings are not designed to U.S. standards. You will find that there are portions of the railing that are hinged to allow access to facilities and gangplanks at moorings. It is hard to believe that these hinged gates are not locked and anyone can "mess" with them. Keep alert and stay away. The horizontal and vertical members of the railing are further apart than they are in an American facility and could pose a danger in case of an impact from a person in a wheelchair. Keep your small children away too.

Weather

Give increased attention to the weather. Conditions at sea are much more extreme and your dear will probably be more sensitive to those extremes. Conditions can, and will, change rapidly. Protecting yourself and your "valuable cargo" from the elements will be much more of a challenge than on "terra firma." Be particularly aware that you may be going much further south or north from your home port with radically different weather.

Your endurance

Think all the time, think distance: Most, if not all, major cruise ships today are three football fields long! If you attend ten activities a day, that's ten round trips with a wheelchair. Don't forget something in the cabin, it's a long trip back and forth, and who attends to your love while you are gone? There are elevators everywhere and many activities attract large numbers using them all at one time, for example, dining. It isn't easy getting on and off a full elevator with a wheelchair. It is not pleasant for the other passengers either. You can't just squeeze in or take the stairs.

Crew and staff

One concern I never had was about the professionalism and capabilities of the kind staff and crew, everywhere, on and off all the ships we sailed. They always went out of their way to graciously accommodate our special needs. They were extraordinarily dedicated individuals.

Excursions off the ship, life boat tenders

Some ports will not accommodate the larger ships at their docking facilities. This is more and more common as the ships get larger and larger. Some today cannot fit through the Panama Canal. They anchor offshore and use the powered lifeboats as "tenders" to "ferry" the passengers between the shore and the ship. It is a short and not usually an adventuresome trip, unless you have responsibility of protecting a person in a wheelchair. Find out ahead of time which ports are docking ports and which are "tendered" ports. Tendering can be fun, but not in inclement weather and rough seas. One advantage to "tendering" is it is a valuable experience for the crew and passengers, if the life boats ever need to be used to evacuate the ship.

Watch your precious wife in a relatively light-duty, travel wheelchair, meant to be used on solid ground, being lifted by four men, carrying her up and down a full-story-high set of metal stairs, thirty-inch wide, soaked in ocean spray, suspended between two rocking ships and you will see what I mean.

This was heart attack territory for me. Again, the members of the crew were remarkable, and so was Phyliss \- not a complaint. This was not something I would risk Phyliss' life for again. I should not have done it the first time.

What was I thinking? More importantly, what was my dear Phyliss thinking? Bar Harbor, Maine's port presented one such adventure. We should have just looked at pictures of Bar Harbor on the television travelogue in our cabin or bought a few postcards.

Cruise line

Obviously, Phyliss' physical capabilities were very limited. Many cruise lines cater to young and active clientele or those with children. The ships are designed for and the activities are oriented to please the group they targeted.

Some ships and destinations attract the real "swingers" and "party crowd," I think they call it "clubbing" these days. I remember "clubbing" was bashing someone with a baseball bat. I guess that's why some Cruise lines attract the "old fogeys" like Phyliss and me.

You must decide if these characteristics are beneficial or detrimental to your spouse and your style. Remember, preferences sometimes change with the level of disability. Don't make assumptions, ask her. This is probably good advice, no, excellent advice, even if she is not disabled, guys. Cunard, Norwegian, Celebrity, Royal Caribbean, and Holland America among others, served us well.

Destinations

Where you go can also determine the nature of the passengers and the weather you will encounter. Time of year and season also will affect the success of your excursion. I took these factors into account when I planned a cruise for Phyliss. Some ports are not adjacent to or near the city that they serve. Buses may be needed to see the city. Rome is one such destination both for air and ship travel. Do your research.

Good luck

"Bon voyage" or as "Bon" as you can make it for your honey and money. She is worth the effort and expense. If not, then why did you marry her in the first place?

Our three cruises after the stroke

Phyliss was thrilled at the prospect of going on a cruise. My thinking was the more activity I could arrange for her that we used to participate in before the stroke, the more her life would seem normal, take her mind off her condition, and the more it would maintain her positive outlook. The thinking was good and it was successful. It had the desired effect.

I did vow to make this the best year possible. I was extremely impressed with the positive reaction Phyliss gave to the short excursions we had taken in the few months after arriving home. In keeping with my propensity for over doing things, and encouraged with Phyliss' optimism and surprising stamina, I booked a seven-day round-trip cruise from Philadelphia to Bermuda. Taking a cruise anywhere was a most enjoyable activity. It gave us an opportunity to be alone and relaxed. The trip was enjoyable for her, but I had no idea what I was about to undertake. Some of my previous comments can give you an impression of the challenge the three cruises posed. Following is a brief description of the individual cruises.

Bermuda, the first time

Philadelphia always had all the obvious advantages to become a major east coast cruise liner port - a deep protected port, an historic and a unique destination, a central location to four states, and the hub to more than six million people. Like so many other fields, Philadelphia squandered these priceless gifts and was eclipsed by the ports of New York, Baltimore, Boston, and, yes, even Bayonne (Port Liberty), N.J. All of this was because of poor management and planning, corruption, lack of vision, and political posturing.

Thus, only one cruise line sails out of Philadelphia, Norwegian Cruise Lines to one destination, Bermuda, with one ship, the Norwegian Crown, an older ship only partially renovated for individuals with special needs. It was not much of a choice for the "Best Year Ever" for my love, but it was a cruise. There was a ship, it moved, there was water, there was a destination, it returned to the place it left, and it wasn't an Italian ship so, it didn't usually beach itself, capsize, and sink. Besides, if I were wrong, Phyliss and I would go together, one way, to a much better destination. What more could a person want?

The choice of a cruise from Philadelphia was an excellent one regarding easy access and lack of crowds. I asked her sister Theresa to come with us. She eased Phyliss' loneliness. She provided much needed companionship throughout the cruise. She was indispensable in being a familiar companion to Phyliss when I had to make numerous arrangements and coordinate our itinerary around the ship.

Most times I would reconnoiter the ship's facilities and the port before attempting to involve Phyliss in an activity. Theresa would stay behind with Phyliss until my reconnaissance was complete. This was a necessary procedure when traveling with a person with special needs. It is very easy to get into difficulty not knowing what to expect on unfamiliar turf. A "dry run" without your dear is always advisable when in enemy territory.

I did, however, underestimate Theresa's physical abilities to negotiate the distances we had to walk both on and off the ship. I may have underestimated my own ability to navigate the distances pushing Phyliss in her wheelchair.

The cruise was uncomplicated and straightforward: two days at sea to Bermuda, one day in each of two ports, and two days at sea back to Philadelphia. Phyliss enjoyed the simplicity and the change of being in the real world again. The meals were great, as usual, and having all activities and entertainment easily accessible were a Godsend for maneuvering in a wheelchair.

Cruises present one of the fine recreations for the disabled as long as access to and from the port is not complicated. The availability of plentiful, competent, and friendly staff is reassuring for the care-giver and for the cared. Although I had many misgivings and fears to undertake the trip, it accomplished the goal of fully introducing Phyliss back into the world of relative "normality." I feared that taking Phyliss on such a robust vacation only five months after her stroke was pushing the envelope, but it appeared her energy and stamina were up to the activity level. Mission accomplished, captain.

Québec and New England

The Hotel Frontenac, Québec, Canada from the deck of our ship

Although Phyliss was settling into a reasonable routine, she had made little physical progress. The gamble to remove the feeding tube was successful, but she was still paralyzed on her entire left side. It was now a year after her stroke and there loomed the ominous prediction that Phyliss would not have much more than that to live. Our time together could be rapidly coming to an abrupt climax.

The probability of her impending demise haunted me day and night, along with my self-imposed goal of providing her the "best year ever" of her life. How much time did I have left to reach my goal for my love? I thought, "Not much." It seemed she had already pushed the survival envelope to its limit. It would not leave my mind.

After a great deal of soul searching, I decided to assume the posture of Admiral David Glasgow Farragut during the Civil War who said, "Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead!" I am sure he knew what was ahead; I did not have a clue. I did know for certain, if Phyliss knew that I had very little time to live, she would have made that time with me the best ever. I have no doubt it would have been her goal, and I made it mine.

Our savings were rapidly diminishing. We had very little to pay on the mortgage, rates were low, and there were rumors that rates would go higher and money would be "tight." I took out an outrageous loan on the house by withdrawing most of the equity I could. I did not want finances to limit my care of Phyliss. I really did not care what happened after she was gone. In retrospect, maybe I should have. Burning your bridges behind you never seems to be a good philosophy to adopt. But, under extreme stress, clear thinking does not come easily.

"You can never have too many hugs and kisses, my dear"

While the cruise to Bermuda was a general success, it had a number of shortcomings, mainly for me. The experience for Phyliss was excellent, but, the strain and anxiety on me were enormous. It was fortunate for Phyliss and me that everything went as anticipated. On such a serious undertaking, there is no margin for the unexpected.

However, this was the big time, now. I was planning a twelve-day cruise to New England and Québec. It seemed I was a "glutton for punishment." I may have been a glutton, but I was not stupid, especially when it came to Phyliss' care.

I knew I could not do this by myself, or even with Theresa's help. Angel, Mary Alice had given Phyliss her life as her home-care nurse that first year. She had done her job well in bringing Phyliss back to me. She knew every detail of Phyliss' condition and her care. She had been my instructor.

I still had her phone number. I invited her and her husband to accompany us. She said, yes! Bonus, her husband was an emergency room nurse! Wow! This was doable. I could not ignore this opportunity. Phyliss and I as well would have better care on the cruise than she did back home. What a gift from heaven this was. Sometimes, life presents rare opportunities. You must constantly be on the lookout and seize them.

This was happening so fast; it was late for reservations and all I could get were two interior cabins. But, then, the reservation coordinator put me on hold for a while and came back with two, last-minute cancellations close to each other on a luxury deck.

When he heard of my circumstance, he managed to get the cabins for the same fare as the interior cabins. God Bless him and Celebrity Cruise Lines. (Plug, plug – give credit where credit is due) What a courteous and compassionate person he was. Sometimes you are fortunate to find angels everywhere. You would not usually expect to find them on the other end of the phone, however.

It was a rather cold day on the plaza in front of The Basilica of St. Anne de Beaupré.

Phyliss was always ready to go. Not one word of complaint.

Some days I would wish I had her energy and endurance.

She was always ready for the challenge.

The cruise left from "Port Liberty" in Bayonne. That was a little tricky, but possible. The cruise was wonderful, Mary Alice, Jim, and Theresa eased my mind and best of all, my dear was having "the best year of her life."

* * * * * * * * * *

The surprise of the cruise was to come when we arrived in Québec. Without our knowledge, Jim and Mary Alice arranged to have our favorite Tunisian/Québécois cab driver take us to the Basilica of St. Anne de Beaupré outside the city, the Basilica known for healing and miracles.

I did not think this trip would be possible. Jim, a bear of a man, picked up Phyliss effortlessly, like a doll, and gently placed her in and out the tiny Renault cab wherever we went. When we returned, we stopped atop the hill on the boardwalk in front of the famous Hotel Frontenac.

Mary Alice and Jim, I thank you and, I know, Phyliss thanks you too. I am sure she will reserve a place for you as you did for her. This trip was the pinnacle of enjoyment for Phyliss. It helped give her the peace she would need to endure the next difficult years.

It was a marvelous excursion, on a marvelous cruise, with marvelous people. Phyliss truly enjoyed this unexpected trip to her favorite places. And, I was so pleased, since it was to be her last visit to Canada.

Bermuda, the second time, and her last cruise

Our last cruise to Bermuda exhausted my energy and our finances. The good done by the cruises was easily replaced by less costly and less demanding excursions closer to home and spread over many months rather than an intense 6 days.

It was now three years since Phyliss had her stroke. While she had many "close calls" with potentially life-threatening consequences from the stroke, her optimism, her faith, and her thirst to live and get well always conquered the threats. She was as resilient as a cat with nine lives, or a tightly-compressed super-ball. She always bounced back, and never stopped fighting to live as full a life as she could. As long as she possessed this optimism, it was impossible for me to not provide the care, the resources, and the support necessary for her to wage her battle to live that full life.

It was becoming apparent that Phyliss had not conformed to the characteristics of a normal stroke patient and the prediction of her demise given by the doctors. I had to seriously reconsider my thinking to meter my energy and resources to accommodate this new reality. Phyliss had lived much longer than expected and might just live even longer than any presumption previously made.

My goal of giving her the best year of her life, had turned into giving her the best two years of her life, and then the best three years of her life and finally the best years of her life, however, long that would be. It was a drastic change in outlook for me. It was wonderful to have her with me for years beyond my expectations, but I had to still create the conditions to make it happen.

My goal had to change to giving her the best remaining years of her life. For me, there were no limiting factors when providing the best year of her life. I quickly realized that no matter how much I loved her; there were possible limitations for longer periods of survival.

The three limitations that were difficult to ignore were my declining health, my reduced capabilities, and our finances. If I were to provide the best care for her for an unknown number of years, I would need to, necessarily, meter my energy and finances and plan, not for the "best year of her life," but rather for the "long haul." These two goals had significant differences.

My condition and hers when she came home that Thanksgiving Day convinced me that the one year prediction by the doctors was very optimistic for her and for me as well. I could not even imagine either of us being alive for more than another year. I was burned out before my care of her even started.

When I told my partner, Lee, my thinking, he replied that we could easily both live for ten years or more. I thought he was delusional. As year three ended, I was not so sure.

These were horrible things to think about, but necessary to insure that Phyliss' care remained unassailable and continuous. My planning had to drastically change.

My capabilities were diminishing, but I wanted to try another cruise. In September of 2008, I booked another cruise to Bermuda with a neighbor, her friend and Phyliss. The cruise was not as enjoyable for Phyliss as the first two. Her energy seemed less and there was less enthusiasm.

Several times she wanted to skip the dinning room and have our meal in the cabin, and she rarely wanted to endure dressing and attending the performance after dinner. The effort and expense did not produce the excellent results they did on the other cruises.

When we returned, I concluded that Phyliss could be exposed to so many more enjoyable events for an entire year for the energy and resources spent just for five days at sea.

I reluctantly, and sadly, decided to stop using the cruises as a diversion and activity for Phyliss. While the cruises did provide a concentrated recovery from the stroke, they were now starting to limit a wider range of frequent and varied activities on a daily, weekly, and monthly basis. It appeared that that's what she needed now.

During our previous "normal" lives, taking an extended vacation once a year was enough for us to rejuvenate our energy and persevere, but Phyliss needed stimulation on a daily basis. The cruises were not meeting that need. Plans for care had to always be fluid.

It was not a decision I made joyfully, because it seemed it was the beginning of a slow process where Phyliss' world was becoming smaller and the range of activities she could enjoy was shrinking as well.

As inevitable as this is for all of us as we age, it was particularly sad to watch it enveloping someone I loved whose world was already becoming so limited.

These years which followed found me regrettably thinking more and more how similar we are at the beginning of our lives as infants and us older folks, as we approach our eventual end.

In the beginning, we are helpless; our hearing and sight are not fully developed; we cannot speak; our understanding is limited; we have a focused support system; we have little control of our environment, our bodies, and our lives; our diets are severely limited; we must eat special foods; we have no teeth; we cannot walk; we cannot perform useful work; we have no finances; we cannot drive; and our memory and memories are limited.

All of these characteristics, and many more, describe many of us at the end of our lives. But, as I cared for Phyliss, I could not accept the one terrible difference that would not go away. As infants, we have our whole lives ahead of us, gaining strength and new capabilities every day that passes. As we grow, the whole world opens to us. The expectation is, for the infant, almost always, tomorrow will be better and more rewarding than today.

Every day as I looked at Phyliss leaned over in her wheelchair, I could only think of one awful truth: tomorrow would, almost certainly, be worse than today for both of us.

And, yet, in her solace and silence, with failing eyesight, she had the strength to only see the bright future of an infant, with every day worth living. And, as with an infant, tomorrow would be better, more fulfilling and rewarding than today. What a remarkable gift she had.

If God could only have granted me the marvelous "vision" He had given to her. It was a vision that had nothing to do with her eyesight. Maybe, you should pray that He will be merciful enough to give that vision to you and those you love. I hope that I will be granted that vision when the time comes. I certainly don't seem to have it now.

* * * * * * * * * *

Deafness and visitors

Loneliness was a major burden for Phyliss, inflicted by the stroke. The phenomenon was exacerbated by the decades of loss of hearing in one ear, and eventual complete deafness in her last years. Also, the decades of blindness in one eye and the diminished and tunnel vision in the other, added to the sense of isolation.

Phyliss in her life saving lounge chair with Jesus, St. Anne, Mary, our papal blessing, her guy and her activity board to keep her grounded in time for the day.

While the loneliness caused by the stroke was intense, it diminished with time. This improvement was negated by the gradual loss of hearing. Circumstances seemed to always be against her. But, she was always intent on living every moment with hopefulness.

The isolation lessened when visitors came, and on occasion it disappeared entirely if the visitors conscientiously made an effort to interact and communicate with her. Her inclusion and integration into the group were the elixirs that helped cure this affliction of isolation, if only temporarily.

After having observed this positive reaction, I encouraged visits of all types. Even visits from the folks who came door-to-door, attempting religious conversion were invited in to talk. Family, friends, and neighbors were encouraged to come, and we visited many of them at their homes.

Not one had accessible houses. I bought and made a mixture of ramps and devices to allow us to get the wheelchair into their homes. When that job was too exhausting or too dangerous, I would park in their driveways, and we would entertain them as guests inside our mini motor home.

Before they came or prior to seeing Phyliss, I would try to brief them about Phyliss' disabilities, her many limitations, and how they could work around those limitations so that their visit could be the most beneficial to her. Very few would recognize those limitations and put forth the effort to help pull Phyliss out of her isolation. That was a very sad revelation.

I would give them these guidelines that probably would be valuable for visiting anyone: Have them turn off all distractions: TV, cell phones, etc.; Have them sit close to Phyliss, directly in front of her; write their responses on the "dry erase" board I gave them; ask her many questions in simple language and allow her to respond so her extensive speaking could stimulate her brain and would drive away the loneliness; and give animated responses that were consistent with her comments and responses to reinforce what they wrote. This avoided misunderstanding and confusion. They were to limit talking to each other and leaving her out. If they had to talk to others, they were to explain what was said between them.

She desperately wanted to be involved in the activities around her. If they left for a moment, they were to tell her where they were going and when and if they would return. They were to show interest in what she said. These were a lot of rules, but I felt if they had come to visit with her they should make the effort to advance her healing. She would have done no less for them. She had done more than that for most of them.

After all they were supposed to be concerned with her welfare and now she needed their help desperately. Most had been helped by Phyliss through their own trials.

Nanette is another former student bringing cheer to Phyliss from her career administrative service in JAG in the Pacific.

Now, it was she who needed compassion. I felt no remorse in being so demanding. It seems unthinkable, but some would not put forth this minimal effort for such a short time and so infrequently. There were too many rules, and it was too much work.

Normally when we visit friends, the visit is for entertainment and social interaction. When it is someone who is recovering from a massive injury, the purpose should be to help in their rehabilitation, not for our own entertainment.

Many times it was difficult to make guests realize that Phyliss had come close to death. She was no means fully recovered, and still in danger. I resigned myself to having to redouble my efforts to heal her injuries myself. It made me feel the same loneliness that Phyliss must have been feeling, only in her case much more severely.

Despite my briefing, this is what transpired: First the lights in the room were increased. I would seat multiple guests closely, directly in front of Phyliss to improve visibility and maximize clues to Phyliss about what was happening. These guests, especially those who had not seen each other in a while, would start to talk to each other rather than to Phyliss. It totally frustrated her and me as well.

As they talked, Phyliss would observe their expressions of joy or disappointment and wonder what they were discussing. I know, because she would ask me what the conversation was about later. It was so distressing. It did not seem possible.

One day I stood behind the guests instead of behind Phyliss and watched the anguish and confusion on Phyliss' face as she turned back and forth as the conversation between the visitors alternated. She wanted so badly to know what was being said and to be included. She was an outcast, a child outside a candy store, with her face pressed against the window. It was hard to watch her desperation to absorb what was transpiring before her. When she was well, she always had concern for everyone, and now that she needed comradery and compassion so terribly it was not given. It would have been so easy to make Phyliss the center of attention for just one hour. It left me with a heavy heart.

I eventually had to start to limit the visits, and when they did occur, I would sit behind Phyliss on a stool and talk into her ear while she could still hear, or write on the "dry erase" board to keep her in the conversation. It was so depressing that so few people would put forth the effort that it took to ease the pain of someone's suffering, particularly one they supposedly cared about. Is it that we are so self-absorbed today that we cannot for one hour turn off our self-indulgence to help another? It was one of the most sorrowful aspects of her infirmary – loneliness was one of Phyliss' few afflictions that could be successfully addressed if only people would have cared enough.

She never once, displayed displeasure or dissatisfaction with what was happening. She only expressed appreciation that they visited her. That was her manner. Again, her acceptance and forgiveness shamed me, my displeasure and my lack of clemency for their transgressions. I just pray, that God will let me into Heaven with a grade of only of "C -."

When thinking of some of these visits, I would often recall Phyliss' "Serenity Prayer":

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

There were so many things I could not change, but it was so frustrating to be powerless and ineffective regarding the things I could. Not including Phyliss in the conversation was one such thing. I guess I did not have the wisdom to know the difference. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe I had not the serenity, the courage, nor the wisdom necessary to follow her prayer. I know she had them.

A simple request denied, one more cross to bear

One of the greatest losses Phyliss had to suffer was her severely limited ability to execute even simple tasks in the service of anyone in need. It troubled her deeply. Executing God's work by granting assistance to others was her hallmark, her lifeblood. It was what sustained her. It was her reason to be on this earth, in this life, her "raison d'être."

It defined her existence for her adult life.

You read in previous chapters of her marvelous accomplishments. There was very little that she could not do, or would not do, for someone completely needy or just someone with a solitary need.

After her stroke, it was a challenge, indeed, to find or create meaningful work, or any work, for that matter that would fulfill this basic need deep inside her. Certainly, there were a number of menial tasks for her to do. She executed them with her usual enthusiasm. But, she always wanted more ways to help others, real help. My inability to fulfill her desire was so difficult to accept. I was seemingly helpless.

The true challenge was to find a recurring, meaningful endeavor for which she was qualified, and had the skills, capabilities, and energy to execute. Searching and not finding such an activity was a torment for me.

Phyliss was a devout person, the most devout. She attended Mass every week, sometimes every day. She practiced her religion quietly, reverently, and honestly. She did not preach to others, but obeyed the laws of God and the teachings of Jesus. By example and being a role-model, she required that those she dealt with maintain the high standards she lived by herself.

There was no line between attending Mass, listening to the sermons, and her actions. When she left Mass, she went into the world and practiced what Jesus taught her. There was never any hypocrisy in the way she conducted her life. Did she strongly "encourage" others to lead a similar life? Surely, she did. Her standards could not be challenged, for she never required of others in life what she had not lived herself. She always encouraged, no required, excellence.

The time was about eight months after her stroke. It was summer, more particularly, the month of August, her birth month. When we returned from church, every week, she would read the church bulletin, in detail, and comment on the many requests for volunteers there were. Unfortunately, all the requests required mobility, hearing, computer skills, and sometimes, transport and visiting homes that were not accessible.

Additionally, she noticed that there were frequent requests for additional Eucharistic Ministers for Masses that were not well-attended, especially when many parishioners were away on vacation in the summer months. She expressed a strong interest in meeting this need. Her suggestion caught me off guard. Was this a task for which she would be suited? Why had I missed this?

Phyliss had found a need she could meet, where I had not. Why was I surprised? The more I thought of it, the more I realized what a perfect marriage this would be. Here was a calling to serve God. Who was better to serve this need than one of God's most loyal and dedicated servants? By volunteering, she would solve a problem for the congregation and fulfill her need to serve God and the parishioners and be useful.

Phyliss had spent thirty-seven years teaching children and adults in public and religious setting. Her abilities, credentials, and her dedication were unassailable and without equal. Her reputation in the community was sterling and beyond reproach. Many of her former students were now parents in the parish and were raising their own children with the tools she had given them. She was a fixture in the congregation.

This service would be life-changing for her, for the parish, and for me as well. It would so be so comforting to see her happiness, feeling so useful and essential again. It was a heavenly calling that was regular and nearby in an accessible building. This was nothing but perfect.

Today, with the emphasis on accommodating and appreciating the disabled, how gratifying it would be for able-bodied parishioners to receive the Body of Christ from one of their own who had been afflicted. How inspiring it would be to others, who had been disabled as well, to see another participating in such noble activity, possibly encouraging them to do the same. How remarkable it would be for visitors to the church to witness her accomplishment, the inclusiveness of our church, and to receive the Host from this remarkable woman.

This would truly be a gift from Heaven for her, and for the parish, as long as she lived, and as long as she was able.

It was a long night for me, waiting for the morning to arrive to call the parish office, in response to the request for volunteers. I could not contain my joy and happiness for Phyliss, and, quite frankly, for me.

Morning came. The call was to an answering machine. Another long night of anticipation ensued. My call was returned the next day. I joyfully stated the purpose of my call and Phyliss' desire to volunteer as a Eucharistic Minister. I gave no further description. Phyliss was a symbol of excellence in the community and was well known by most everyone. What further explanation was necessary?

The same excitement surged through me as when Phyliss gave me my first kiss at Penn State. My excitement for her wellbeing was childlike.

There was no hesitation, not even time to think, only a reflex action from the other end of the phone and an emphatic "Oh, no, she can't become a Eucharistic minister!" I was dumbfounded. It was as if someone had wacked me in the head.

It was fortunate I was already sitting down. I could have hurt myself hitting the floor.

I immediately thought, "Am I dreaming, what had I just heard?" I must have been misunderstood. I regained my composure, and after a brief back and forth, I was told that Phyliss could not get up onto the altar. I said I didn't think God would mind if the priest walked down a few steps to give the small ciborium containing the Hosts to Phyliss. I would study with Phyliss to become a minister, and we could give out the Hosts as a couple. I guess I did not understand, "being a minister was a very personal thing." I had no idea.

I could not deal with the ridiculous and illogical comments and arguments that ensued. From the initial, immediate, and assertive, negative response, it was obvious that compassion, logic, and commonsense were not to influence this discussion. Neither of us was making any progress. I was told that the request would have to be "studied."

The next day, I got a call from the lay-head of the Eucharistic Ministers, trying, strongly to convince me that Phyliss could serve in some other way. Obviously, she had been briefed and coached to participate in this charade.

I wasn't looking to have Phyliss distribute the Hosts to a crowded Christmas or Easter Mass. My goal was to have her participate, possibly, once a week or once a month, at one of the daily Masses where only twenty or thirty parishioners attended. That's all. Most who attended the daily mass were members of the prayer group that regularly met at our house for years. That level of involvement would have meant the world to her.

I never got a chance to express my intentions. There was just endless, predetermined negativity to our request.

What else would Phyliss be able to do? : crochet lap blankets? , visit the poor? , answer the phone? , be an usher? , be a reader? , be a deacon? , or decorate for Christmas? Or possibly, it would be something that would place her out of the public eye. Maybe, that was the intent all along. I never knew what the intent was, and still do not. God forgive me; I was enraged.

My God, the inhumanity was incomprehensible. From that day forward, to this day, I cannot listen to a sermon from the pulpit about love, compassion, and empathy for our fellow man, without bewilderment. It would seem our actions and our attitudes are driving our membership to the ranks of atheism. Is it any surprise that organized Christianity is so under attack and despised in some quarters? With leaders like this, who would follow?

In reality, she gave me no suggestions, because Phyliss was not able to do any of these activities. I could not believe she allowed herself to become a part of this despicable enterprise.

Phyliss could place a Host in the outstretched hands of a faithful, fellow parishioner. She could devoutly and clearly declare, "The Body of Christ." How wonderful it would be to receive the Host from a person of Phyliss' character and devotion. Every day I think of this travesty, it breaks my heart that I had failed her so completely.

The next day, I got another phone call. It was a final and irreversible rejection to her request.

I was infuriated. With great sadness and a heavy heart, I approached Phyliss with this crushing news.

She looked at me, somewhat melancholy. As she customarily did when something was out of her power to control, she put her arm out with her palm down, raised it slowly, turned her hand with the palm up, and tilted her head slightly toward her hand, in forgiving resignation and said, "that's OK, Joseph, we will find some other way to help the church." "There is always a way." She lived another seven years fully capable of distributing the Host. She died never having had the chance to do so. My heart and my spirit were broken. I could not even imagine what she was feeling.

I felt so ashamed of my anger in light of her gift of humble forgiveness and acceptance. I could have cried, and I did. The tears just rolled down my cheeks. I was convinced I had failed her, and I did,

My love . . . She was the woman who had never failed me.

This tragedy occurred more than eight years ago. How I lamented all those years, the lost joy, she could have had, the new people she could have met, and the fulfillment and comfort it would have given her and those who had received the Body of Christ from her. The sorrow of my failure was indescribable all those years. But it could not compare to my sorrow after she died and to this day.

I tried to talk her out of her forgiveness and pursue this further. I know, if I had persisted, I could have gotten this decision reversed, from within the parish or from without **. Every time I tried, she implored me to forgive and forget.** I could not forget nor forgive for a very long time. I am still carrying that cross, but not very well.

I did not realize that my actions could have endangered her salvation, while her actions assured mine.

As always, she did the right thing for her and for me.

She carried my crosses for me all my life.

And then, she carried her own crosses with her right up into Heaven.

My God, how I miss her.

Another devastating lost opportunity for service

Another call for volunteers appeared in the church bulletin. I saw the announcement this time before Phyliss did. Should I respond, after the previous devastations? I would. Evidently I am a slow learner and a glutton for punishment. I felt the value to Phyliss was worth the effort. I discussed it with Phyliss, and of course, she freely accepted the challenge with her usual enthusiasm to help others.

The call for assistance was in conjunction with the CCD classes (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine) at the Catholic School. The CCD classes provide religious education to Catholic children attending secular schools. At least that's what they are "allowed" to do presently, who knows about the future. Don't laugh. Don't doubt me on this one, folks. Christianity and legitimate, compassionate religion have legions of well armed enemies and cohorts.

The plan was, during the group CCD classes, children would have the opportunity to be counseled on a one-on-one, personal basis, with an adult volunteer advisor. It would be a perfect opportunity for each student to clarify his understanding of his faith without fear of embarrassment or the distraction of the group. It seemed to be a wonderful idea for the children and a wonderful activity for the perfectly qualified volunteer, Phyliss.

This opportunity arose sometime about a little over a year after Phyliss' stroke. She could still hear voice very well, especially with her hearing aid. Nonetheless, I felt she could be more effective if we did the service together. I knew she would prefer that and I know I did, as well. I had to be there for transport and support anyway. Why not serve together? We concurrently signed up immediately.

We were required to go to an office about a half hour away to be photographed and finger printed, fill forms, have a background check, and basically sign our lives away. After two more visits to the same office to get finger printed for a second and third time, the process was complete.

After all, we were a couple of rather shady characters. Who knew what Phyliss could have hidden in her wheelchair and me in my beard? I apologize for my bitterness. Forgiving and forgetting are two things I was never able to learn from Phyliss' example, I am so sorry to say.

Phyliss would be back in school, teaching. She was no longer capable to teach in the classroom, since directional hearing was not possible, and the demands of full time teaching were beyond her capabilities. But this was different. This would be teaching and guiding in a one-on-one, private, relaxed, setting with my assistance. This was a gift from Heaven, salvation, and paradise for a remarkable woman starved to be useful once again. She was saved. We were saved.

Our excitement was palatable. Phyliss must have had thoughts of her salvation and paradise in her head for days. But, her thoughts of paradise were replaced with thoughts of the epic poet, John Milton and "Paradise Lost."

The program was abruptly canceled, without warning, without reason, without thanks, without anything - another cross for her to bear. I didn't think it was possible for it to happen again. But, it did. It really did.

I could not recover from this one. I am just not that forgiving a person. I was so blinded with anger. I don't even remember anything about what happened after. I do remember that Phyliss shrugged her shoulder; she could only shrug one shoulder, and absorbed the pain for both of us, again.

Once again, she put her arm out with her palm down, raised it slowly, turned her hand with the palm up, and tilted her head slightly toward her hand, in forgiving resignation and said, "That's okay, Joseph, we will find some other way to help the church." "There is always a way."

What a horrible irony it was. The three greatest disappointments (one more is yet to come, really) in the eight years after her stroke emanated from the church supposedly espousing the teachings of her beloved, Jesus. Was our Lord testing her for greater things? If He were testing her, she certainly passed with flying colors.

Brava, my dear, Phyliss. I just wish I had the strength to absorb your pain instead of the other way around.

The doctors' visits and the tests

They were never ending. But they were therapy; they were security blankets . . . for a while. Doctors' visits were almost always monitoring exercises. There were no cures for her ailments, just cautious monitoring to slow the deterioration and avoid catastrophes. I knew this; she did not.

I could not tell her this; it would have broken her spirit and destroyed her will to live. Quite frankly, if I did tell her this, for the first time in our lives, she would not have believed me. That would have been heartbreaking for me.

As many visits to the doctors and specialists that Phyliss made over the eight years, there were so many that I just decided to discontinue many of them. As a primary care giver, these are some of the horrible decisions that must be made. You can only pray that you are doing the right thing. After four or five years of "doing the right thing" and carefully monitoring all of her disabilities with tests and doctors' visits, I decided that the pain, danger, and discomfort of some of the test were not worth the lessening of her quality of life.

The machines and apparatus manufactured for monitoring and testing were not made to accommodate people with disabilities. This added to the ordeal of the tests for Phyliss.

Pap smear: Gynecologists' tables were designed by a male sadist whose only goals were to facilitate the manufacturing process, to make them usable for the doctor's purposes, and possibly torture the female gender in payment for a failed marriage. Getting Phyliss on a flat surface, three feet off the floor, into an impossible position for a person completely paralyzed on her left side was a near impossible and exhausting task for Barbara, the doctor, Phyliss, and me. It was almost as dangerous trying to get off the table. I won't even mention how utterly embarrassing it must have been for her, despite Dr. Burke's kind and compassionate manner. Oh, my poor wife. I just couldn't bear to watch her suffer this indignity again.

Future tests were canceled.

Mammogram: This was a joy. This was another near impossible ordeal to position Phyliss properly. Next the squishing, clamping, vice grip device comes. Oh, my poor wife. Oh poor womanhood. It is fortunate that they don't have a similar test for testicular cancer! Oh, my, I can feel the pain just thinking about it.

Future tests were canceled.

MRI: This is a horrible test for anyone. Phyliss had twenty-five during her various afflictions. I had no idea of her endurance until I experienced one myself. It took a year for me to recover from the claustrophobia and panic.

Future tests were canceled.

Echo cardiogram: Having an eighty-three year old woman paralyzed on one side with no muscle tone, and compromised joints holding her arms over her head for twenty-five minutes on a cold metal table eight inches wide was torture for her and torture for me.

Oh, my poor wife.

Future tests were canceled.

Colonoscopy: You must be kidding.

Barium enema: Are you still kidding?

Chemical Heart Stress test: This is an injection to raise her heart rate above one hundred forty beats per minute while monitoring it on a cardiogram, with a doctor standing by in case she has a heart attack. This is followed by another injection to hopefully slow it to normal speed. It was irregular heart beats that caused the stroke in the first place! It is appropriately called a "stress test." It was a stress test for her and stress test for me.

Oh, my poor wife.

Future tests were canceled.

Supplemental Eye tests: Testing rooms are not made for wheelchairs. Testing chairs are not made for people who are not stable and paralyzed. Testing devices are not made for people with neck mobility problems and spinal tumors. Dark rooms are not made for people who cannot hear and must take multiple commands from reading a dry-erase board. Supplemental Eye tests are not made for Phyliss.

Oh, my poor wife.

Future tests were canceled.

Dentistry: Dentists' chairs are not made for the disabled, period, they just are not. Oh, my poor wife.

This was one case where Phyliss just had to bear the discomfort, I am afraid. I could not cancel these visits.

To be fair, I need to mention one other relevant factor here. Despite all of the deficiencies to conduct these tests and procedures due to the "system," I cannot fault one of the practitioners.

Without exception, every one of the care-givers, nurses, aides, and doctors extended extraordinary compassion to Phyliss and me in the execution of the tests and the visits to the offices and labs.

Each professional displayed unusual care to accommodate us and make the procedures as painless and comfortable as possible. I am indebted to each of them for their kindness.

These are the decisions that must be made unilaterally by the primary care giver. They are heartbreaking decisions that must be lived with for the rest of your life. Will it be that your loved one will be afflicted by a condition that could have been prevented by one of these tests? It is Russian roulette. But it is not a game.

God was good to us. Phyliss did not have any condition in those last four years that these tests were designed to reveal. I saved her from a great deal of suffering. But, I had no way of knowing if my decisions would be correct. It created a specter of worry and anxiety that followed me everywhere. You can only ask for Devine guidance, and hope you get it. It is all you can do.

Time

I understand that there are as many different strokes as there are stroke patients. It appears very logical. It seems strange that our brain is so complex that it cannot understand itself. It is reasonable that the consequences of a random interruption of blood supply can produce different disabilities for each patient. The extent of the damage and where it takes place seems to be pure chance.

Among may other things, the stroke damaged Phyliss' ability to place events in time especially in the short term. It was as if life was not limited or controlled by time.

On occasion, this deficiency was beneficial because it lessened the tendency for her to dwell on her own mortality. Sometime, God recognizes a disability and provides a mechanism to lessen its pain. This was one such time. The disability was severe at first. She did not know day from night, the month or the season. I used daily signs to announce all of this and the activities of the day. By the time we returned home, her perception had improved. I placed large analog clocks everywhere to help the improvement along. Daylight savings time was a nightmare.

The analog clocks were still not the answer. I replaced the clocks with ones that mechanically displayed analog time, day, and date. They worked fine, but they could not be seen at night.

The digital clock is set to the date of her birthday

I purchased digital LED versions and they worked for years. Then one day, about three years ago, she asked what time it was. I pointed to the digital clock, since sometimes she would forget to look at the clock.

She said, "I can see the numbers, dear, but I don't know what they mean." When she injected the salutation "dear" into an important and weighty question, it pained my soul to observe her kind and calm manner for something that would have destroyed me. It gave me the same reaction that I had when we went to see "Oklahoma" and she lamented that there was no music. How devastating it would have been to me to look at a clock and one day realize I could not understand the numbers. She just adjusted without a complaint. I had to return to using the analog clocks and keep a light on at night.

Her last few years were plagued not being able to tell whether it was 3:00 in the morning or 3:00 in the afternoon. She could not see the tiny am/pm indicator light. The only remedy was to make giant signs indicating when it was day or night. The signs worked well as long as she remembered to look at them. She always marveled at all the aids and her gratitude for them was immense. That made me try that much harder.

* * * * * * * * * *

I have a comment about our "concern" for the disabled. We all say we have concern for the disabled, especially politicians. The subject seems to be sacrosanct. Everyone has compassion for them. We spend a fortune somehow for their benefit. Most of the concern is disingenuous and most of the money spent on serving them is superficial.

The clock is an excellent example. There must be millions of people similar to Phyliss who have trouble with various deficiencies in telling time. It is an extremely serious deficiency that engenders confusion and diminishes the quality of life for them and their care-givers.

Yet, there is not a single clock available that is illuminated, tells the time of day, the day, the month, the year, the season, and the part of the day. We develop hundreds of thousands of apps, displays, video games, devices and who knows what else for our frivolous pleasure and enjoyment. Yet aids and devices for the disabled are from the Stone Age. There is nothing available but "Radio Shack" junk born of decades of ancient technology. But, nobody cares. "Let them suffer" is the attitude. What happened to us? Even the great machines of capitalism and profit motive have joined the junkyard of indifference and mendacious concern.

The last years, the last months

From year six to her death, there developed an almost imperceptible and slow change in her composure as evidenced by some of her questions and answers to questions. Always positive and hopeful, but slow realization that maybe her life was finite and approaching its end.

The last year, her energy was less and yet her enthusiasm and desire to be involved was not diminished.

She told her sister, she was sure she would die before me, and if she did, would she check on me to see that I was all right. Her sister agreed and has done so. The statement and the question would not have been something that would have entered her mind in the prior years.

She seemed to becoming aware of the realization that she would not be around much longer, but she was not worried about her dying; she was worried about my well-being living without her – how true to her character.

I am discovering, in all her wisdom, her concern was well founded.

* * * * * * * * * *

" **THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA"** at first once, then times two

Saint Paul's church, Princeton, New Jersey

In keeping with my Phyliss', "the best year ever," program, which morphed into Phyliss' "many best years ever," I planned another trip to Princeton to enjoy the town and the campus. This was an outing we had made many times starting from the time I was working in Princeton. It was another activity that was ideal for Phyliss because of the fine memories of previous day-trips and its "do ability," for our capabilities and resources.

It was a beautiful day. The temperature was perfect. There was abundant sunshine and there was a pleasant breeze. The atmosphere was pleasant and relaxed and not hurried as it was customarily.

As always, Barbara was with us, and it gave me a particular serenity knowing Phyliss had redundant care when venturing out of the house and into the world. It seemed like one of our traditional outings.

It was to be one of our best.

At the end of the day, we routinely stopped at St. Paul's Church on Nassau Street. It is a beautiful church and a place where Phyliss would always gain solace in lighting candles and praying for deceased family members and loved ones. This day was no exception, but it was going to be a little different that day. I had planned a surprise.

During our last visit, I noticed a flyer announcing a future concert to be held at the church. I quietly took a copy home to read later without Phyliss' noticing. The event seemed too good to be true. The night was to be graced with the Irish tenor, Ciarán Sheehan, who played the lead role in the "Phantom of the Opera" on Broadway and it was to be given in a venue easily accessed by us.

We had enjoyed the performance as part of a bus trip to New York before Phyliss had her stroke. He was to be joined with an extremely talented soprano, Gay Willis, and equally talented Eily O'Grady Patterson, wife of the famous Irish Tenor, Frank Patterson, on the piano. The night culminated with a delightful ensemble of eight young ladies playing harps, the "Strings of Tara."

This venue and performance were a perfect selection for Phyliss' tastes and for her enjoyment. Since trips to New York performances would be so challenging now, this was a rare opportunity to have Phyliss attend a world-class performance within our sphere of access and capability.

In effect, if we could not go to the concert, what would be better than having the concert come to us? I purchased tickets for the performance and timed our day to arrive at the church for the concert without her knowledge.

As the day was ending, we usually got ready to start our journey home. Instead, I described the concert to Phyliss and that we were not going home, but attending the concert that evening. She was so surprised and delighted. Again, her energy, enthusiasm, and adaptability were remarkable for this major change in schedule and substantial lengthening of our day. For this I was so thankful. Her attitude made life with these disabilities bearable for both of us.

We wandered our way down Nassau Street as we usually did, and arrived at Saint Paul's Church just before the opening. Making our way to the church entrance, a lone gentleman, most handsome and distinguished looking and sporting a tuxedo approached and gave us the biggest smile and friendliest salutation as he passed. He radiated humility as he said, "It will be a pleasure to see you inside." "Thank you for coming." It was Ciarán Sheehan.

Famous and gifted performers often have a deserved reputation of having pretentiousness and detached from us mere mortals. This was not he. His amicable and cordial demeanor in just this one moment, spilled over and permeated the evening, and made the performance ever so much more enjoyable for me, and especially for Phyliss.

Not surprisingly, the concert was remarkable in every way. The ensemble's appearance, voices, selections, humor, banter, harmony, coordination, and accompaniment were all without equal. It was the finest concert we had ever attended. I was overjoyed that God had blessed Phyliss with this wonderful day and evening.

It was a notable addition to the "many best years ever" program for Phyliss. We both slept contented that night thanks to these wonderful and talented artists.

* * * * * * * * * *

The aura of enjoyment of the concert permeated and echoed throughout the house the next day. Ever inventive and pensive, Phyliss remarked, "Why don't we see if we could have a similar concert here at our church." I was still basking in yesterday's success, and had not even given that a thought. It seemed to be a monumental task and not too plausible. I did not want to discourage Phyliss, and without revealing my misgivings, I said it sounded like a good idea and would investigate.

I hurriedly researched her proposal and found that the group regularly traveled, giving concerts at interested churches as fund raisers for church causes. This was generously done by charging a minimal fee and allowing the church to retain the rest of the proceeds for the benefit of the congregation. I thought, "What a wonderful and generous offering by these professionals."

An idea that Phyliss formulated instantly in her mind, almost by instinct, I had to "think" about for a day before coming to the same realization. Like most everybody I met, I could never be her equal in so many things.

I was never able to determine how her mind could work like that, especially under pressure. One thing was certain:

I was overjoyed that the insidious thief that had stricken her body had not been able to steal the remarkable workings of her mind.

Saint Mary of the Lakes Church, Medford, New Jersey

I started planning immediately. I had the opportunity, now, to take one of the best days Phyliss had and duplicate it: a gift from Heaven. How delightful that would that be, I thought?

It would be a phenomenal experience for her, but it seemed it would also be quite daunting and exhausting. Did I have the energy?

I had no idea of the effort or skills involved in such an enterprise. But, truthfully, the extraordinary experience of the first concert so motivated me to do this, exhaustion disappeared as a factor to consider. The idea was inspiring. She was inspired. I was inspired.

Most motivating of all, it was Phyliss' idea, and I could involve her in the planning of the event. The prospect of her participation was the best part for me.

I seriously questioned whether she would have the energy to meaningfully participate. In reality, the issue became, did I have the energy to meaningfully participate? It proved to be a major challenge for me to keep up with her enthusiasm.

She did not have a full realization of it, but her time to enjoy the concert was limited. Phyliss was deaf in one ear and was losing her hearing in the other. Her total loss of hearing was no longer a possibility, nor even a probability. It was now a terrible and eminent certainty.

Her hearing loss began a number of years earlier. Her hearing monitoring tests indicated it began with the upper frequencies, (most musical instruments) to the lower frequencies (voice). For Phyliss to hear the instrumentals and the voices and enjoy this second concert, it had to be planned and executed with dispatch.

Eily Patterson was my contact for the arrangements. She was able to schedule a December 9, 2007 performance, to accommodate the urgency presented by Phyliss' impending hearing loss. It would be a Christmas concert! She expertly and cordially provided me with all the information I needed to organize and coordinate the affair.

The ensemble needed a piano and they could not arrange for one to be transported from New York. The church had a small upright piano which was serviceable and adequate, but it seemed inappropriate for professionals to come from New York and have to use anything but the finest instrument to equal the quality of their voices.

Phyliss always had a solution. She "strongly suggested" moving our Steinway Piano to Saint Mary's for use during the concern and then formally donating it to the church at the end of the concert as a surprise to the parish. As well as I knew her, she never hesitated to surprise me after all these years. That would solve the problem.

She was generous in everything. Her brilliant and beneficent act was typical of her character. In total befuddlement, as with her previous volunteer offer to the church, this offer was refused. I was told, "We already have a piano." What a wonderful gesture it would have been for her to personally present the gift. We were obviously not communicating, effectively. Actually, we were not communicating at all.

Phyliss was to have another cross to bear. Again, without hesitation, she strongly requested that I drop the matter. I reluctantly rented a Steinway Piano from a nearby dealer, arranged transport to and from the church, and the necessary set up, tuning and task lighting for the performance the evening of the concert. This was to be her third disappointment to serve the betterment of the church and the congregation. Like the other rejections, this one rolled off her like water off a duck. I didn't have any "quacks" left in me.

We moved on from the disappointment of the rejected piano donation. She noticed that there were a number of critical overhead lights burned out in the church that had to be replaced before the concert. It was a seemingly easy task, but not twenty feet off the floor. My broken nose and concussion at the school dance years before came to mind.

The whole idea of my undertaking the task of changing the light bulbs made Phyliss uneasy and she would not be able to visit me in the hospital as she did before. Enter, the gracious and skilled maintenance man. I didn't ask how he did it. Phyliss was pleased.

I soon realized. There was necessarily a substantial amount of public speaking required to execute this undertaking. I never liked speaking in public. But, who would do it? There were no volunteers. We "discussed" it. Can you guess who was selected? Phyliss selected me. That was no surprise.

What speaking was required? : Announcement and explanation to the congregation of the concert at six Masses for two months, and the composition, introductions and master of ceremonies responsibilities at the concert.

How did I get into this? Oh, yes, I remember how. The love of Phyliss and "her best years ever" program are how I got into this. What better reasons were there? I gave it no more thought. It was a "fait accompli." It was then on to the next tasks.

Next, I opened a bank account. What would I do about the tickets? Compose, print, mail, address, record, deposit checks. Then the calls started coming in: "May I return these tickets?" "May I reserve my tickets and pay you later?" "May I order two more?" "I lost my tickets." "I can't afford a ticket, can I still come?" "How do I get to the church?" "Thirty-five dollars is terribly expensive." "Can you change the date?" "Oh, my check did not clear?" "I didn't receive my tickets." "Oh, here they are."

There were complimentary tickets for public servants: police, fire, and those that serve in the military. Then, there was the task of finding their names and addresses. Make sure to invite the "powers that be."

The exercise was an education in human behavior and a challenge to our sanity.

With limited mobility, one hand, one ear, and one eye, Phyliss addressed, stamped, and recorded almost eight hundred requests. God Bless her spirit. This wasn't mailing Christmas cards to friends and family. She loved every minute of it. She was helping me and a Devine cause, as she did all her life. Finally, this was a real and useful task for her. She was truly happy, as was I.

When Phyliss first suggested the concert, I immediately, and, quite frankly, only thought of the enjoyment she would receive from attending. That was as far as my feeble mind could go. I had no idea of the joy she would receive from preparing for it and gifting her anonymous efforts to the congregation.

This was still another time she did not surprise me.

Of course, Phyliss "suggested" I wear a tuxedo and all the fixin's. There were so many fixin's, and she knew them all from her work as a girl at the haberdashery. She picked out and coordinated everything. "Don't forget the haircut, Joseph." She engineered her own hair and wardrobe with Barbara.

The ushers, were wonderful. The leader took charge, organized them. They came dressed in their own tuxedos. They kept decorum and organization effortlessly, roped off seats, put up signs, and arranged traffic control at the entrance, exit, and parking lot. And, of course, there was the presence of the "Marlboro Man," with my cousins, to assure that no detail fell though the cracks.

A volunteer member of the youth group assured that the sound system was functional prior to and during the concert. Christmas decorations, seasonal flowers, and lights appeared as if by magic.

The performers had specialized needs. Considering their graciousness and their charity, Phyliss insisted that they be treated with the utmost care and respect: provided were: a place to stage and prepare in the church, hors d'oeuvres and beverages, (they were preparing and traveling during the dinner hour. They would be hungry and thirsty.) The three main entertainers would need a private staging area and toilet facility. She suggested use of our motor home.

Next, was the preparation of the interior of the motor home to accommodate Ciarán, Gay, and Mrs. Patterson. Of course, Phyliss required only the best accommodations for our guests. "How would they get into the motor home with the lift in the way, could you build some steps, Joseph?" "Maybe a sign on the door with their names would be a nice touch." "Please, make sure the bathroom works."

You could park it by the rear door for the entertainers to use as a "green room." "Make sure they have beverages and food, my dear." "Don't forget the tables in the back of the church so they can sell their albums."

All of those female performers had to be given bouquets at the end of the concert, of course. I slipped in one extra for Phyliss. Phyliss wanted me to assure her that all these "extras" would be paid for by us to maximize the money left for the church from the ticket sales. I obeyed on two conditions: The first condition was that the net proceeds would be placed in a fund to be used to finance the arts at Saint Mary's school. She readily agreed to this condition.

The second condition was that the fund be called "The Phyliss Badame Endowment for the Arts Fund at St. Mary of the Lakes School." Suddenly, her need for humility overpowered her desire to be cooperative. I knew I didn't dare twist her arm, but my crying and begging got the job done. She reluctantly acquiesced.

The night of the concert came. Preparing both of us for the evening with Barbara's capable assistance and last minute arrangements were exhausting. We arrived, I got Phyliss situated in the audience and Angels Barbara, Mary Lee, and Cathy began their yeoman's' duty of attending to Phyliss' care and comfort while I did my "thing."

It was a chilly Sunday, winter night during the Christmas season and it was raining slightly. When Ciarán arrived, his smile, friendliness, and charm immediately radiated as they did in Princeton. He personally greeted the pastor, Phyliss and me and expressed how magical it was coming to our church and our little town that night. He expressed how warming it was to drive down our serene main street with all the Christmas decorations shimmering off the glaze of the wet street. It is a sight I had seen many times before, but it took his sensitive artistic eye to make me realize how fortunate we were to live here in this "Thomas Kinkade wonderland."

He said the trip was culminated with the remarkable sight of the interior of our lovely church adorned for the Holy Season. He thanked us so much for inviting him to this "Currier and Ives" display. In reality, it was we who had to thank him for making the evening possible and reminding us of our auspicious place in the world.

Again, all the performers were most gracious and oh, so talented. Their combined performances made it a marvelous evening. It was a befitting expression of the joys of the Christmas season for the parishioners of St. Mary of the Lakes congregation. Thanks go to Phyliss and her vision.

The highlight of the evening was Ciarán's surprise to Phyliss by approaching her and singing a beautiful solo rendition of her favorite "Ave Maria" She was visibly touched by his act of compassion and kindness. He didn't have to do it, but his actions that evening removed Phyliss from her world of disabilities to a few magic moments in a world free of her impairments. It created for her a treasured memory for the rest of her life, and mine, as well.

I had forgotten about the flowers and somehow they appeared and he presented the bouquet to a beaming Phyliss. We were honored to have been so fortunate to associate with such a talented performer, his equally talented ensemble, all fine and compassionate human beings. I believed the parishioners had equal appreciation and responded in a like fashion.

The evening ended so perfectly, as we returned to our home. I could barely contain my internal joy that, again, another day could be added to Phyliss', "Many best years ever." The next day I embarked on my quest for the next opportunity to add to her experiences.

It immediately came to my mind, "this evening would be a difficult one to surpass, my dear." "Now, where did I put that cruise brochure to Bermuda?" I thank Jesus, for giving her the inspiration and us the strength to make that evening possible."

Our generous performers made it possible to open Phyliss' scholarship fund with a substantial fourteen thousand dollars. I guess the piano donation would have to wait. I only wish it could have happened while she was still alive. She could have experienced the joy of personally giving her gift to the church that wonderful night. That truly would have made the evening perfect.

Now, she will never be able to experience the fulfillment of giving that one hundred seventeen-year-old masterpiece to the church. The parishioners will never have the delight of receiving that gift from her and future generations will not have the experience of its heavenly harmony in a celestial place.

To this day my feeble mind still does not comprehend these three disappointing events related to the church. Only God knows.

* * * * * * * * * *

THE SUBJECT OF "INTIMACY"

This is a delicate, but necessary subject, one that no one seems to want to address, before or after an illness.

I am not sure what makes me think I can address it, but I feel I need to try. Maybe the fact that I truly believe that Phyliss is guiding this authorship, is what gives me some confidence that I can cast some light on the topic.

Before our age of sexual "enlightenment," in the dark ages before and during my adolescence, no one talked of the "horrors" of intimacy between a husband and wife. Oh, I am so sorry, between a male and a female. Sorry, again, I have to say, "Between two humans." Wow. I just can't get this right. I guess it is correct to say, "Between or among a number of living or dead things or inanimate objects or even with one self." I just can't keep up. There, I think I covered all the possibilities. Now, that's "comprehensive intimacy 101." I pray that we are not visited by beings from another world before I finish this chapter. I'd have to add intimacy between Earth "stuff" and extraterrestrial "stuff." That would be a tough chapter indeed. But, I digress. That seems to be a major shortcoming of mine. Well, one of them.

The subject was always in the shadows and the information sources were the "guys" on the corner or the girls at the slumber party, where no one "slumbered." Any knowledge that was gleaned about the subject was either wrong or perverted. But, yet the guys bragged falsehoods and the girls whispered astonished rumors, and the parents, amid an air of knowing indifference, were just plain aloof and unconcerned and said nothing out of paralyzing fear that their children might ask a question.

Parents were mute because they knew less than their kids knew, and their kids knew it. Even when the rare audacious parent dared to venture into enemy territory, the kids pretended to listen and did a lot of impatient eye-rolling, and under-their-breath giggling, while thinking how out of touch their parents were.

Most kids probably wondered how their parents ever figured out how to have them. Nobody really knew what they were doing. In later years, the porno films and videos displayed superhuman feats of gymnastics and endurance. They were designed to make every viewer believe they were totally inadequate and incapable of such performances without chemical intervention.

Eventually, success was achieved and our younger and younger children were convinced that the purpose of a date was to convince your "partner" that you were more experienced and had more endurance than they. We have become so liberated and sophisticated. We have made such progress.

Even clothes, especially the girls' clothes, left nothing to the imagination as a prelude or enticement for better things to come. I label the fashion craze as "Stripped and dipped." Some young ladies appear to have been "stripped" and then "dipped" in paint and left to "drip dry" before they unsuspectingly or sometimes purposefully, venture into an ogling world of drooling males. All that was left was the stalking and the prowess of the act - the more aggressive and athletic the better. Nothing was left for intimacy and love when they finally found the person with whom they wanted to spend their lives. Marriage and true love became boring and anti-climatic, no pun intended.

Before Phyliss and I met, I at fourteen and she at thirty, neither of us knew another person. As our friendship grew, over the years, so did our intimacy, until our marriage when our love was consummated. Slowly and amorously, we grew, we taught and we learned from each other how to love our partner. We didn't read books, look at films, consult a counselor, ask a "friend" we just luxuriated in each others' presence and figured it out on our own. God preprogrammed us for that. That was truly the wonder of maturing together. "Why ask a friend?" We were each others' friend. "Who better to ask about intimacy than the person whom you love and with whom you are being intimate?"

When Phyliss had her stroke, we had been basking in decades of mutually enjoyable love and intimacy. How we experienced love and intimacy was no different from how we experienced the full range of married life activity, with mutual respect and kindness toward each other. How boring and old fashioned we were. We were definitely not "cool."

Then, the stroke came and robbed us of all that. Without addressing the details, the physical and emotional consequences of the stroke deprived Phyliss of even these most fundamental enjoyments. I knew that the event was and would be life-changing. Many of those changes were obvious, some were not so obvious, others lurked like a nocturnal predator in the thick of the jungle waiting for nightfall to execute its terrible attack.

After her stroke, Phyliss' residency in the Rehabilitation Center, addressed some of her debilitating conditions well, some not so well, and others not at all. It was a most inadequate exercise which lacked rigor, completeness and comprehensiveness. No issue illustrated this more than the subject of intimacy between a faithful and devoted married couple. This subject would certainly fall into the "covered not at all" category.

This was a most tragic omission. It is one of the most difficult circumstances to define and to address. Not addressing it, left the spouse, the primary care giver, me, to deal with a condition that would be monumental to solve even for a professional. Such was the case with Phyliss and me when we returned home.

For various medical reasons, for the most part, gone were the planned and impromptu moments of hugging, and touching, lovemaking and adventuresome things that lovers do. Gone were the relaxing evenings of cuddling in bed under the covers and just being in each other's arms. Gone were those childish and silly encounters of endearment. Gone was the feeling that your partner was always there to please you in any way at any time. Most attempts to revive these moments were awkward, ineffective, clumsy, and largely unsuccessful.

She was fully aware something was wrong. It broke my heart one day when she told me, "You always used to "pursue me," dear, and now you don't anymore." "Is it because I stink?" She was always so direct. Oh, the pain.

I didn't know what to say, or who to ask. For such a self-proclaimed problem solver, I certainly was not solving this problem.

Phyliss and I had not been prepared for this loss or how to deal with it. She did not fully understand it, what its origins were, and why it seemed to have no solution. I was at a loss for a solution or even a source for a solution. I was to learn over the years that it was the first of many problems that I had no power to correct.

All her life, Phyliss' core standards were not negotiable. During my life with her, even after her death, I enthusiastically made her standards mine. You see, I knew that if anything or anyone in the world disappointed her, it would be of no consequence to her, but if I disappointed her, she would be devastated. She told me once that I was the only person on Earth who could destroy her. I believed her. That knowledge drove my devotion to her for a lifetime. "Why would I want to destroy the woman I loved?"

Everyone who has ever known Phyliss, no matter how long or how well, from her young adulthood to her death, would not be surprised to learn the nature of her major character traits. They would also not be surprised to learn that at the top of that list would be the observance of marital fidelity among spouses especially her own.

These last years, Phyliss preferred to eat meals in the "Lazy boy" chair in the family room with me rather than at the kitchen table. The transfers to and from the wheel chair were becoming painful, and she wanted me with her always as I did her. Something that was not always possible to engineer.

We had just finished dinner. I removed the tray and took it to the kitchen and returned to the stool next to her chair. Having removed the tray, Rusty, her constant and dear companion, had already, predictably jumped on her lap - his favorite place and mine as well. I leaned my head on her shoulder and it reminded me of being at the drive-in movie in the car and her first kiss. My head still fit just right in the crook of her neck.

After a few minutes, I looked up and Phyliss wasn't crying, but she had a very sad look on her face. She said with some difficulty, as I am having writing about it, "Joseph, dear, I am so sorry I have not been able to please you and be intimate with you, forgive me." "If you like, you can try to find someone you like and have sex with her, I won't mind." I was totally unprepared. It floored me. I know she didn't mean it in her soul, and what courage it must have taken to make such an offer. With a big smile, as I always did when I didn't know exactly what to say, I quipped, "Why would I want to do that, Dopey? She smiled back with such a relieved look on her face that I had rejected her offer without giving it a thought. Really, I did, and I meant it.

Phyliss was giving me permission to have sex with another! This was an act of love and sacrifice that few people will experience in their life time. Those few sentences culminated her life of commitment and devotion to me and they enriched me beyond expression. Her words, however, overwhelmed me, knowing the pain she was suffering, to grant me with this bequest, because she could not bestow it on me personally. All these years, I was overcome with the grief of her loss of intimate love only to find that she was equally overcome by my loss of it as well.

We had both been deprived, but she took action to remedy my deprivation.

I am profoundly distressed that I had not the power to remedy hers.
**JOSEPH'S BRAIN TUMOR**

About four years ago, after sitting in front of the computer too long, everything began to blur. I lay down for a short nap to relax my eyes. The room was quiet. I heard a slight whistling noise. I searched for the source and was unsuccessful because no matter where I went the sound did not get louder or vary. I did not think too much about it.

That night I heard the sound in the bedroom and my search was equally unproductive. It continued throughout the night, unabated. Then, I realized the sound was in my head. It was somewhat frightening, because there was no relief from it. Music, television, radio - nothing overrode it. There was no where to go. It followed me everywhere and was getting louder. It was incessant.

I went to our family doctor and then to a specialist. It was tinnitus, a "ringing" in the ear. I am not sure why they call it ringing, because it sounds like a high-pitched steam leak. A hearing test showed a thirty percent reduction in both ears. The internet revealed literally hundreds of theories that would take a life time to investigate. Conclusion: no one knew anything. Everybody was trying to sell a book.

Somehow, I know not how, I discovered that if I chewed gum for a few minutes it caused the tinnitus to disappear. It reappeared a few minutes after I stopped. Maybe I should try to sell a book? It doesn't sound (no pun intended) like much but, in the middle of the night when you are crawling up the wall, it is a great deal. Chewing slowly worked quite well, didn't tire my jaws, too much, and relaxed me to sleep, if I didn't choke on the gum. This went on for months. Only the sound increased in volume. It is with me right now.

Our family doctor advised me to get an MRI to rule out a possible physical cause for the tinnitus. Why shouldn't I get one done? After all, I had taken Phyliss no fewer than twenty-five times for the same test to monitor her brain tumors. She said certainly it was not enjoyable, but endured the tests without a complaint. I promptly and obediently complied with the doctor's request with no apprehension. I was a big boy. I could handle a little magnetism. We used them in physics lab all the time, and they were stuck all over our refrigerator - no problem.

I was prepped, and lay on the table in front of the machine with my head in a restraint. That was a surprise. Then there was the second surprise, the iron mask. Frightening thoughts of Alexandre Dumas', "The Man in the Iron Mask" came to mind. The next surprise was that my whole body went into the machine; head first even though it was only a head scan. I immediately discovered that I was extremely claustrophobic. None of the "the three musketeers" arrived to save me. I was not to find my salvation in being a big boy, physics labs, and refrigerator magnets.

Then the final surprise started. It was the hammering. It was irregular, of different frequencies, intensities, and patterns. It was super, painfully, unbearably, intolerably loud and then went up from there. My first thought was to get out immediately, but I would just be back tomorrow; it had to be done, didn't it? In retrospect, I believe the CIA should abandon water boarding and adopt this as an interrogation tool.

I endured. But, I was totally traumatized. The effects of the trauma lasted for a year - unending anxiety and panic attacks. It was unusually comforting and consoling the next month when the copy repair man told me he fell asleep during his MRI! What a wimp I am!

I returned to the doctor for the results of my test. He had "bad news" and "way worse news." The bad news was that there was no visible, physical cause of the tinnitus. It seemed that I would just have to live with it. "What on Earth was the worse news," I thought. I had the rare brain tumor that took Phyliss' hearing and killed her.

Even knowing Phyliss' awful history and suffering with this disease, for some reason, I don't remember having any reaction, even four years later. I can only surmise that the slow growth of the tumor, my age, and my prayers to God to have me join Phyliss soon, must have made the tumor seem irrelevant, then, and especially now that she is gone. I strangely, seemed not to care. There doesn't seem to be a whole lot keeping me here in this cesspool man and woman have created except this book. Maybe the kooks are right. The earth might be better off without us.
"GET PROFESSIONAL HELP, JOE"

During my early life, I was fortunate enough to have never had the necessity to engage or come in contact with a psychiatric or psychological professional, well until the Peace Corps training. My thinking about the inclusion of these disciplines in our training was positive, at first. It made sense. Young people, for the most part, were being sent on an adventure, mostly unfamiliar to them, with a foreign language and culture, sometimes with questionable health care, and without their usual support group they had back home for all their lives.

It seemed logical that the group should be evaluated for mental toughness and be prepared to deal with the emotional challenges that such an adventure would present. It sounded like a good idea, maybe a great idea.

What I observed in the group sessions disturbed me greatly and forced me to reconsider my original assessment of the idea. There was a charming young lady who sat next to me in the sessions. I would talk with her before the sessions started, and I was very impressed with her abilities and her suitability for our task, as I understood it. She was in the family planning group to go to Tunisia.

I could not observe a single negative trait about her for the job that needed to be done. I thought, "How fortunate we are as a country to have her represent us, and how fortunate the host country was to have her serve them." In my opinion, it was a perfect marriage of assignment and individual. But, what did I know, I was just an architect.

She was a bit shy. No, I take that back. She was quiet, courteous, polite, and pensive. She thought before she spoke or acted and when she did, her thinking was excellent, and the conclusions were appropriate. She had "people skills." She seemed to be an ideal candidate for this role.

In comes the social worker, or whoever or whatever he was. I tried to put him out of my mind over the years. He "hounded" the dear from the beginning. I am not sure why. Maybe he was testing her? Maybe she wasn't tough enough? Maybe, he was testing us at her expense? That would be so unfair and cruel. But, she held up well. Whatever his reasoning, it was not productive; it was callous; and it was not worth the damage. It was not pretty.

I could not take it any longer, and I reprimanded him for his treatment of her and told him what I thought of his actions. I gave back to him, what he had given to her. He backed off, and surprisingly, did not attack me and dropped his attack of her. I seriously thought, no, I was certain, that was the end of my Peace Corps career before it started. I pictured the red marks for conduct I had gotten in the second grade appearing on my psychological evaluation sheet. I tried not to let the incident affect my attitude for the rest of the sessions, but it was difficult. After, I thought it probably was not such a good idea to challenge, the person who was to determine my suitability in serving my role in the Peace Corps.

Several more sessions made my mind wander and question the value of the exercises. We weren't learning anything and we had a ton of other more important learning to absorb. This was not advancing our training, but it was required to complete the course. I endured.

One night, a few sessions later, he began on another young woman, our training leader, of all people. She was possibly in her late twenties or early thirties and single. She had great responsibilities and executed them with skill.

She was a woman of authority in a man's world. I think I related to her because that was Phyliss' station in life. God knows I admired her and some of that admiration transferred to this woman. She was in a difficult place to be in the late ninety sixties. She was attractive and authoritative and in control at the same time. Some, at that time, might have grossly misinterpreted her strength and command of the situation and her ability to get the job done as an "unfeminine" or masculine trait. I did not. Those that could have been of that mind set may have had some personal problems of their own that might need some analysis.

I don't remember the context or his point, but in one session the social worker addressed her, by implying that one might think of her in a masculine light, but . . . Well, before he could finish his sentence, the poor woman burst into uncontrollable and inconsolable tears. The idiot had stepped in a monumental pile of his own excrement. The group of trainees just gasped as did I. No one knew what to do, including him, especially him. It was like helplessly watching a child playing with a stick of dynamite and cringing when it went off in the middle of the room. Nothing could reverse the damage done by the explosion. Raw emotions were scattered all over the room from the blast.

Some tried to console her, I tried, but what did I know, what did we know? It seemed the only decent thing we could do was leave in an attempt to give her solitude to recover in privacy. The sociologist begged everyone not to leave and return as if he were going to be able to correct this travesty. The imbecile caused it!

No one knew what to do, and no one did anything. I thought of trying to talk to her later, but I really feared I would do more harm than good. I really had no expertise. My thinking, maybe rationalization or self-exoneration are better words, was that the strength she had displayed in executing her duties would serve her in this crisis. Evidently, I was right. The next day she carried on, but there had to have been continuing hurt that needed healing. But, where could she find comfort from her pain. The only person "qualified" to help, was the antagonist.

We had no more sessions that summer, or if we did, I did not attend them. I don't really remember.

It was from this background of my only encounter with the field of psychology that I entered the horrors of claustrophobia, anxiety, and panic and the call to get professional help.

As a result of my encounter with the claustrophobic MRI machine, a number of close friends, actually best friends, compassionately advised me to get professional help to heal my wounds and lessen my pain - seemingly wise counsel that appeared prudent to pursue despite my previous experiences. There did not seem to be any other path.

Some advised me to "get out, and do something you enjoy." At that point, I did not enjoy anything.

So, I had no choice but to seek "professional help." This was something I had never experienced before and I had no idea how to deal with it on my own. This was not a burden I could foist on my already overburdened and fragile wife. It had to be my challenge and mine alone.

My research produced about four or five names of therapists. I was advised: "Miss Badadvice is in Europe for a symposium for two weeks." "Dr. Ihaveadegree only has hours every third Thursday, except when the Moon is full." "Mrs. Notsohelpfull will see you, but she is booked for two months." "Mrs. Yourhourisup no longer is associated with this practice. I don't know where she is now." Well, I think you get the idea.

Wow. I finally found a real voice at the other end of the phone! Mrs. Goodlistener could see me next Thursday. I probably wouldn't harm my self by then, or would I? It was no big deal if I did, right. My problem would be solved, and it wouldn't cost me a penny. Besides, she had lots and lots of letters after her name.

Thursday came. The session began. For one hour, I bared my soul. "The hour is up, one hundred twenty dollars, please, see you next Thursday" she said. The following Thursday produced another hour of soul baring. "The hour is up, one hundred twenty dollars, please, see you next Thursday." The third session was so trying, I began walking out, forgetting to pay her. She asked me if I had forgotten something. During the forth session, I began getting some not so helpful advice. I was running out of money. It didn't seem worthwhile going back for a fifth session. I got the impression I was feeling better, but, it may have been that I wasn't spending any more money every week.

One night, I asked Barbara to watch Phyliss carefully, since I needed to take myself to the emergency room for some "real" professional help. I thought my head would explode, and I needed to get out of my skin immediately and I could find no buttons, zipper, or rip cord to do the job. I don't recall driving myself to the hospital.

I signed in and wrote that I thought I was having an anxiety or panic attack as the result of the previous claustrophobic event of the MRI test. I turned around, and noticed that there were at least twenty-five people in the waiting room.

"Could all of these people be sick?" I thought. No one seemed to be in discomfort. But, then again, I guess I looked okay too. The crowd only added to my anxiety. "Was Phyliss all right at home?" I tried to close my eyes and not think about it, and waited the three hours when my name finally was called.

I entered the emergency room, and I was immediately confronted by a security guard twice my size in every dimension. He had a plastic bag with a draw string in one hand. I thought, "Maybe he's going to put the bag over my head, to end my misery." "Shucks!" He just grabbed my arm with a strong grip and escorted me to a bathroom.

I think I will call him "Guardian Man." "Guardian Man" searched me, and asked me to put everything I had, including all my clothes in the plastic bag with the drawstring. "Don't I get to close the door?" I asked. "No!"

At least he gave me one of those adorable and stylish gowns. It leaves your butt hanging out. Maybe one of the cute nurses wanted to pinch me. I was feeling better already. My anxiety was rapidly leaving me. At least the booties were adorable, and they gave me such a sense of security, warmth, and comfort. I loved the color and they matched.

"Guardian Man" escorted me to a gurney a short distance from the bathroom, in the hallway. And then, he stood there next to me. A half-hour passed, he didn't move a muscle. I had not peed since I left the house. I asked him if I could use the bathroom, and he reluctantly nodded affirmatively.

He escorted me to the bathroom, and we both went in, and I peed. I guess he didn't have to go. I was so looking forward to a "group pee." We went back to the gurney. He held my arm tightly, again. I surmised, he thought I might fall. I thought, "It was so considerate of him."

Shortly after returning to the gurney, a very attractive young lady came over to me. She could have been my granddaughter. Well, I thought, "Maybe she was a college volunteer, you know, a "candy striper," or maybe she was the nurse that wanted to pinch my butt." Then I saw the title, "Dr." on her name tag.

She asked me a lot of questions, very personal questions, and she took some notes. I wondered if my, ever present, "Guardian Man" or others waiting around the hall found the answers interesting. Probably not, I had led quite an uninteresting life, at least so far.

She gave me a lorazapam tablet and one of those cute little cups of water to calm me. I didn't think the lorazapam was necessary, it was so tiny and this whole experience itself had already had a remarkable calming effect on me. And, if I needed more help, I was sure I would have no problem filling the prescription at two in the morning on the way home.

"Dr. Younglady" shook my hand, she had such lovely hands, and "Guardian Man" saw that I got dressed, making sure I didn't lose my balance, and escorted me to the exit, firmly gripping my arm, in case I fell - he was a true friend to the end. He did not shake my hand. I don't know what his problem was, he saw me wash my hands when I went to pee.

The hospital had found a truly concerned person for the job. I wanted to write a letter of gratitude to the hospital administrators, but then I thought, "They probably get so many letters of thanks; they wouldn't have time to read mine."

As I passed the threshold of hospital liability (the door that led me off hospital property), I realized that no one asked me how I got to the hospital: walked, car, bus, boat, friend, helicopter, and nobody asked how I intended to get home. I was pleased that I had decided not to write that letter of gratitude.

I drove home. I don't remember the drive home either. I'm almost certain I didn't doze off from the medication.

I felt a little better when I got home. I suppose the lorazapam worked.

When I arrived home, I was relieved when I poked my head in the bedroom and saw Barbara and Phyliss were calmly asleep. I had slipped out and completely solved my problem without causing any anxiety to my dear wife.

In the solitude of the night, I could not help being in awe of our fine mental health system and its effectiveness. A true marvel; money well spent! How fortunate we all are, and the bill was only two thousand one hundred dollars. Oh, I forgot the four hundred eighty dollars for the therapist. No price is too high to pay to get well. "When you have your health, you have everything."

The next day, my anxiety came back.

* * * * * * * * * *

**LIFE IS A TEST, THE NOTE**

When we are very young, the world around us is almost as small as we, and nearly as uncomplicated as it is tiny. For those of only a few years, there is only the past (yesterday) and the present (today). That is easily understandable. The concept of "the future" is a more difficult idea to comprehend, because it hasn't happened yet. There is no reference for it.

Gradually, time is a dimension of which we become aware and on which we begin to focus. We begin to understand what "time" means. The future is this afternoon, and then it becomes tomorrow, and then next week and next month. (Ironically, as we age, understanding the concept of time again begins to become murky.)

When the holidays are months away we become aware that the future can be yet further away. As we observe the lives of those older than we, and they reach the milestones of achieving graduation, driving a car, getting married, and attending college, time begins to reveal to us that "the future" can be quite distant from where we are now.

The full impact of how far the future goes doesn't become apparent until we see our contemporaries age or even begin to die. Finally, as we see the elderly leave, we come to the realization that we have become them. Suddenly, or sometimes gradually, the concept of "the future" fades and disappears as we realize there is little or no future left. Time has been exhausted. We have used up all of our minutes. At that point, we are at a loss to comprehend any further, because the thought of eternity cannot even be imagined by our feeble minds.

During this process of trying to comprehend time, we start to realize our place in that future and how complicated life became as we aged. The older we get, the more it becomes apparent that we must make decisions, sometimes pleasant decisions, sometimes not so pleasant, sometimes horrible, unthinkable decisions that affect our future and the future of those around us. As we proceed, we gain a sense of self, whether we realize it or not. We are developing our character, personality, worthiness or our unworthiness as a human being.

The path we take though life is being determined. And as a human being, God gave us free will to decide the path or to have another or others decide the path for us. To complicate matters further, despite our freedom to do so, deciding the path for ourselves may not always be the most beneficial conclusion for us.

Having a benevolent, knowledgeable, and kind mentor or guardian who knows us and respects us, make, or help make the decisions for us can be very positive. The relationship between Phyliss and me is a perfect example of such a positive outcome when someone else guides our path for us. Caring and knowledgeable parents or relatives are another example.

So here we are. We passed through life, valuing our time or wasting it, usually unnoticed, and then time "whacks us, up side the head," as they say. The "free" ride is suddenly over.

All at once, in the blink of an eye, we find ourselves in a complicated new world, sometimes an impossible world, where the concepts of time, the future, character, and courage all merge and become paramount, unavoidable, and even lifesaving or life threatening. That benign world that was so simple in our youthful ignorance now can become an enemy waiting for us to falter or take a misstep and consume us and the one we love.

We can suddenly find ourselves alone and having to make difficult decisions for ourselves and others. It is not always an enviable position in which to find ourselves. Such is the circumstance of the primary care-giver to a stricken loved one. Such was my circumstance.

Now, after a life of learning and preparation, or a life of playing and foolish self-indulgence and selfishness, God gives us the inevitable test. It could be the test doesn't come until we leave this earth, but it will come. We will eventually come to realize that "Life is a Test," sometimes a series of tests, culminating in a final exam.

God started by giving Phyliss and me a series of "small," "pop-quizzes," as we used to call them - her brain tumors, the operations, the treatments and the aftermaths.

Her tests were to endure her trials with bravery and courage. My tests were to help her endure them.

She, of course, "aced" them all. I was extremely close, thanks to her example. I have to admit for the first time in public and in writing, I did cheat once in a while and copied some of the answers from her test paper when she wasn't looking. I took advantage of her poor eyesight. Sorry, Phyliss, forgive me God. I know she purposely did not cover her test paper that well.

I thought that those were the tests of our lives. They were not. I learned soon enough. Phyliss' stroke began our final exam. You know sometimes, we take a test and it just goes on forever: hours, sometimes multiple days. With all our years of formal education, neither of us had ever taken a test that lasted more than eight years.

We certainly had prepared, but this was uncharted territory even for a master teacher and one of her best students. (She would say her "best student," but if I display humility, maybe I'll get "extra credit")

This was a comprehensive exam, folks. It covered every aspect of human endeavor, behavior, and emotion. To make matters worse, Phyliss was given so many disabilities while she was taking the test. Her stellar performance while taking the test was as formidable as how she lived her life before the test began.

My performance, regretfully, was not so much.

I certainly received good grades in the test. But, there were times, only a few, I am happy to say, when the pressures of this marathon test were more than I could bear. I would briefly need to leave the room, pause, and splash my face with water before I could resume taking the test. During these brief lapses, I was not so pleasant to those around me, even my darling Phyliss. I was overwhelmed by the enormity of my trial.

When I returned to the room, there was Phyliss toiling over the hardships of the test, not missing a single challenge, not skipping a single question. It was difficult to watch her hard work and single-mindedness to obtain a perfect grade. This one time, I thought I had left the room and returned unnoticed but I had not. Phyliss had written me a note and left it on my desk in my absence. The test monitor must have seen it and taken it. It disappeared. I never saw it.

Eventually, the horrible, seemingly, never ending, tests were over (Phyliss had died) Needless to say, she, again "aced" every part of the tests, beginning to end.

Eight months after the test was over, I was gathering up some of Phyliss' belonging. I had a box where I put all of her notes and writings. They were all I had left of her, except some photos and my memories. It was painful to read through them and see some of the torture that must have been in her mind. She wrote notes about everything. She even meticulously recorded how many eggs the chickens laid each day.

* * * * * * * * * *

Then . . . I happened upon a note written to me; it read:

"Dear, Dear Joe,

I feel like you don't love me any more or just as much, I feel like really crying and crying (sad face with exclamation marks and tears) I don't want to upset you, but I seem to (upset you) all the time! I'm sorry. I am sad, really sad, when I do something I'm not supposed to, to you. (Sad face with more tears)

Please forgive me?"

Again, the image of Phyliss and me, taking a test in the room, was a metaphor of our eight years of suffering. There were no room and written test. The note was not a metaphor. It was real. It was written by her hand, to me. The pain I feel that I added to her suffering with even a few hurtful moments or words cannot be adequately expressed. To realize that I added even a moment of suffering to her tormented existence is more than I can ever bear. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Some tell me I was such a wonderful husband and I scoff at the assertion. If I were so wonderful why do I feel so dreadful right down to my very soul?

I harmed her and she asked for my forgiveness. Oh, the eternal torment.

You find your love right now and express your sorrow for past transgressions or unkindness, ask her forgiveness, and pledge to never commit another.

If you do not, you will never be able to forgive yourself when she is gone.

I know . . . oh, how well I know.

* * * * * * * * * *
THE NOTE:

(about April 2009)

"JOSEPH IS WINNING" – The Chickens and the Eggs

Phyliss was a woman who worshiped Jesus all her life and devoted every resource she had to his teachings and more particularly the teaching of serving others less fortunate than she. Among all of her terrible disabilities, I believe what tortured her most was the feeling of being useless and suddenly not being able to continue this calling and worse yet, being a burden to others, especially me, her adored husband.

It is for this reason, it was so devastating when she was prevented from being a Eucharistic Minister, snubbed when attempting to donate the Steinway Piano to the church, and thwarted in trying to counsel CCD students one-on-one. These were the perfect venues to help improve her life. I should have tried harder to make them all possible in some imaginative way despite her protests to forgive and forget. I deeply regret not using my resources to correct those misdeeds is some way.

Having failed in those endeavors, I searched for other ways she could continue her work of helping others. I seemed to have failed at that as well by confusing her need to help others, with giving her an enjoyable life. I did not realize fully that one was not a substitute for the other.

Certainly the hundreds of excursions out of the house assisted in making her life more bearable. Most were to relive pleasant experiences from the past. They ranged from the mundane visits to local restaurants to monumental endeavors such as the fourteen-day cruise to New England, Nova Scotia, and Québec.

A seemingly straightforward act of adopting "Rusty" from the animal shelter early on in her stroke, proved to be genius since he provided her with companionship, and warmth continuously. He actually did keep her warm. The stroke had left her in a constant state of being cold and his substantial twenty pounds of continuous purring and furry, warmth was better than any electric blanket. He was loyal every day.

Another attempted activity/distraction was the raising of chickens for eggs. The goal was to involve Phyliss in the feeding of the chickens, the gathering of the eggs, and the documentation of the egg-laying progress. I arranged the coop such that Phyliss could reach the cubicles where the eggs were laid from her wheel chair. Gathering worked for about a month, but the cold weather and the logistics of navigating over the straw bed with the wheelchair were difficult for her and us. The gathering became a major challenge, and I decided to terminate the activity.

Phyliss compensated by concentrating on recording and commenting on the egg production. Her documentation was extraordinary, as was anything she attempted. I mention this simple task because it revealed the wonderful working of her mind and how it kept her upbeat for the duration of her suffering.

She recorded the date and the quantity. She lamented when production was poor and rejoiced when production was good. One day when production was particularly low, I quipped that I would need to have a "talk" with the ladies or they might become chicken soup. She commented every day how my "talk" was being effective or not so much, probably in sympathy with the chickens. She rejoiced when her guy was "winning" because she loved me, but also it meant that there were extra eggs to give to family and friends.

She worried about the rooster getting enough love, certainly relating it to my doing the same. Her comment about the production being better the next day was always, **"hope springs eternal"** \- revealing her philosophy of "tomorrow will be better than today." I was mentioned in some way every day, as was Barbara, and of course, Jesus.

In the spring of my life her love enveloped me. She was with me for all my life. How wonderful it was. How fortunate could I have been? There were certainly the unpleasantries and invectiveness of life, but hope never left us.

On every scrap of paper, magazine cover, greeting card, and notebook she wrote,

"Hope springs eternal."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Hope springs eternal in the human breast;

Man never is, but always to be blessed:

The soul, uneasy and confined from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come."

"An Essay on Man"

Alexander Pope

She lamented that she promised to help, but she lamented that she was of no help at all. But, through it all "hope springs eternal." There was an entire mini notebook filled with these recordings that she made so diligently and attentively.

This simple activity kept her mind active and her thinking optimistic for a year and a half, more so than even the last cruise. To her, the complex and expensive cruise represented personal enjoyment and self-indulgence, a concentration on the benefit to "her." The egg production and recording represented a simple, useful, and life-sustaining activity that would benefit me and those around her. She again concentrated on the benefit to "others."

Quite frankly, this is a revelation that I did not fully discern until I read and studied in detail the nature of the "Egg production log" she prepared. How illuminating simple things can be when you take the time to notice them. If you care for a loved one, make this effort to pick up subtle communications your love may be giving you. Do it while they are with you. After they are gone, the missed signs will do her no good and cause you heartache.

All that wisdom and goodness came from counting eggs.

**January 29, 2012** – "Barbara gathered 9 eggs today. Joseph really has to give the chickens a pep talk or he has to make their shed a lot warmer! Time will tell, yes, it will."

**January 30, 2012** –"Barbara gathered 10 eggs, today!"

**January 31, 2012** – "Today, Barbara gathered eggs. Maybe the warmer weather will improve their love making (smiley face with exclamation marks). We need to wait and see. Warmer days are predicted! Good (smiley face with exclamation marks).☺"

**February 1, 2012** – "Barbara gathered nine eggs today! We are looking forward to an increase, as soon as Joseph has some free time to really talk to them! He tried this and it worked. So he will try again and again, Yep!" (A word I never heard her use)

**Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012** – "Barbara gathered 7 eggs today! Joseph is determined to strengthen the tone of his voice so that they will listen to him and he will make sure that the chickens will stay in the pen. So there! I don't know when Joe will find the time to do all he wants to do with the chickens."

"I have promised to help, but so far, I haven't been helpful at all. Other than writing these events, I am not able to help any more. But, hope is eternal. I believe that. (Smiley face) ☺"

"Time will tell. David was here to spend Valentine's Day with me and we gave him today's catch to take home (smiley face) ☺"

February 16, 2012 - Another good day – "We must admit, the chickens are listening to Joseph. Barbara gathered 11 eggs today. "So, Joseph is winning."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Joseph is winning" – that is what she wanted so much for me my entire life with her. I was always her first concern above herself. It was humbling how three little words written on a notepad could express a lifetime of love and devotion from a woman who only had a little more than a year to live."

Wise Words for Married Folks: "Let self-denial be the daily aim of each." Burdened with all her disabilities, she was still my cheerleader, even if it were just Joseph vs. the chickens. Her heart rejoiced that I was doing so well with my enterprise.

It broke my heart when I first read it, and it still breaks my heart now.

* * * * * * * * * *

**THE MIRACLE**

After Phyliss' massive stroke October 12, 2005, her survival was very much in question. Her attending doctor gave her a slim chance of living for very long. She made some minor progress, but that first year was a roller coaster ride of crises and challenges. Slowly she gained some strength and stabilized into a marginally acceptable routine, mostly free of physical and emotional discomfort and pain.

Her quality of life would have been unbearable for most of us, but her moral strength and faith always gave her the certainty that her challenges would be overcome. Somehow, with her thirst for life, constant home care, and a group of dedicated and skilled home care professionals, she sidestepped and conquered every challenge to her physical and metal well-being, of which there were many. Her courage continued for six and a half, long years unabated and undeterred.

After that time, physical and emotional conditions started to deteriorate for Phyliss and, as a result, for me as well. Because time was distorted for her, she always pushed to move on from one activity to the next. I called it the "are we there yet" syndrome. The focus was on what was next, rather than the present. I would guess, any parent knows what I am talking about.

The focus of "what was next" was especially true of the pursuit of "bedtime." I tried for years to keep Phyliss awake until 9:00 p.m. to tire her so that she, and I, could get a good night's sleep. After years, of persistence, I weakened, and bedtime slipped from 9:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. Bedtime changed to 8:00 p.m. Well, the hour eventually settled at about 6:30 p.m.

This was much too early to go to bed, but she won the battle, and I just surrendered from exhaustion. After all, there was so little she had control over; this small concession was difficult for me, but monumental for her. It makes me sad to think of how confined the stroke made her life, and how little power either of us had to materially improve it.

This routine continued until the reversal of night and day began (I believe it is called "sun downer's effect"). It was a downward spiral and awful experience for us both. It made her quality of life go from bad to worse. It seemed, for me at least, that one thing could always be counted on: "tomorrow would be worse than today."

It was a terrible certainty with which to live. It was ironic. She always saw the opposite. I guess her view was due to her greater faith. I only wish mine had been, and would be now, a fraction as strong as hers.

We would perform the usual morning routine of getting out of bed and onto the shower chair, taking medicines, brushing teeth, using the potty chair, showering, drying and hair drying, dressing, putting on the arm sling, transferring to the lazy boy chair, leg and arm massaging and exercising, applying warmed blankets, eating breakfast, and brushing teeth again.

The routine concluded with searching for, finding and cleaning her glasses, tracking down her hearing aid until she became completely deaf, and lubricating her eyes, moistening her lips, situating "Rusty" on her lap, and finally setting up her reading stand, reading materials, and reading light for the morning. Hot tea and ice water were always by her side, and maybe a chocolate chip cookie. Well, there was always a chocolate chip cookie for a snack. Eating snacks seemed to absorb the nervous energy that we are all able to expend with our daily movements.

Other conventional activities included measuring temperature, heart rate, blood oxygen level, blood pressure and INR Warfarin level (blood clotting factor to prevent another blood clot and almost certainly another stroke). Sometimes included were a haircut, hair wash, and finger and toenail treatments. She was never too fond of the hair wash. It was always so hard to keep the water and shampoo out of her eyes. We always used baby shampoo. Even that irritated her delicate eyes. It was a sad, but necessary activity to which she did not look forward.

We take all of these daily routines for granted and perform them effortlessly for ourselves without thinking about them. It is a much more difficult, two-and-a-half hour, daily progression to perform these tasks for another. I looked forward to it every morning, as an act of love, and I thanked God every day for giving me the strength to do it and her never-ending gratitude that I did it for her. She knew it was love that made me do it. The acts, and my presence, were the foundations that fueled her emotional stability each day. She would have done no less for me, and I don't doubt she would have done more.

The "sun downer's effect" began taking over right after breakfast. It seemed to be a little morning nap. It would become an all-day, coma-like state. Nothing could stop it from occurring and nothing could wake her from it: loud noise, flashing lights and strobes, vibration, mild shaking, pinching, tickling, kissing, touching, pleasant and acrid smells, cold towels, warm towels, wet towels, the vacuum cleaner, the cat, an earthquake, nothing. It was frightening.

She would verbally respond to stimuli as if she were awake, but with her eyes closed. She would have memory of the event later, but she would not awaken from the stupor. If she did wake, she went back into the deep sleep immediately. It was a very strange and frightening behavior. I feared that one day we would not be able to awake her at all. That fear was soon to manifest itself.

There was always the constant temptation to let her sleep. There were so many things to accomplish during the day, and they could be done without interruption while she slept. She seemed so peaceful, a condition that was increasingly illusive and ephemeral. But the problem was maintaining nutrition, hydration, exercise, and mental stimulation without these active hours. These essentials all suffered greatly the longer she slept. Additionally, the longer she slept, it seemed the more difficult it became to wake her.

Not the least deprivation was being without each other's company, a staple of our love and our mental well-being. The deep sleep was an insidious imposter masquerading as a harbinger of peace and calm, but, in reality, it was an evil interloper that drained her life and her spirit and robbed us both of precious and limited time together.

Being without each other's company was the most difficult loss for us both. Most sadly, she would comment that being asleep during the day, freed her from the torture of her disabilities, even for a short time. It was so unbearably heartbreaking, for her to welcome this deep sleep to, at least temporarily, escape her personal hell of being trapped in a body and increasingly a mind that were failing her.

Her reasoning was most depressing to me, but her logic was unassailable, as always. I was beginning to hope that sleep would ease my suffering as well, but for me, it had become an illusive aspiration many years prior.

When I would leave the house, for an errand, she could see the car come out of the garage from her window. I would lower the car window and give an energetic and exaggerated wave which she would joyfully return. The same affectionate exchange always took place upon my welcomed return. Most times, the eager wave would be accompanied by a motion for me to hurry in to communicate something she had read or seen on television or to convey her perception of the events of the day. Her forever fertile mind always developed copious and intelligent ideas to share usually something to improve my life.

She had accumulated many thoughts to be discussed throughout the day. The communication always took place after a vigorous greeting of hugs and kisses. The conversation was always relevant, important, and very thorough and accurate. It was heartwarming to see her interest, engagement, and enthusiasm. In just a few words and gestures it assured me she was still my Phyliss. That was so important and sustaining to me.

It was the highlight of my day to see her enthusiastic reaction to my return. The sun downer's effect destroyed all that. The anticipated joy turned to devastation to look in the window and see her slouched over, lifeless, and totally unaware I was even there. If she knew she had missed this glorious and anticipated reunion, it would have saddened her deeply, as well. I waved and waved, but the waves went unanswered.

Each return drained the life out of me. In reality, she usually did not even know I had left. We had been deprived of two joyful events, my leaving and my returning. All those loving words, hugs, and kisses were never to happen and lost forever.

At about 5:00 p.m., she could not be left to sleep any longer, and aggressive attempts would be made to awaken her. This exhausting process sometimes took almost an hour of concentrated and persistent stimulation. Many times, the attempt had to be abandoned and initiated later. It was exhausting and depressing. Each attempt began with the attitude that this must succeed this time, only to be abandoned to be tried later.

Once finally awake, eating and making up for lost hydration could take place. Even these tasks were difficult, since she was still very sleepy and could not eat or drink substantial quantities at one time. A little talk and mental exercise or a game of "dominos" took place and then to bed. These abbreviated attempts to satisfy her therapy needs were grossly inadequate.

The same persistent state of sleep now turned into an equally persistent state of wakefulness. There was not one minute of sleep from 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. This was not peaceful wakefulness, but continuous unrest, anxiety, mild panic, hallucinations, and confusion. It was a nightmare every night.

The deficit of food and drink during the comatose-like day needed to be addressed all night long with snacks, hot tea, cold tea, and ice water. Sleeping pills had become ineffective and worsened the hallucinations.

Attempts at distractions included discussions, custom prayer books I had assembled, the Rosary, Television, Turner Classic Movies, mail order catalogs, large-print novels, the Large Print Bible, and "Large Print Readers' Digest" magazines. Each held her attention for a time before a change to something else was necessary.

Each night was a litany of crises to be addressed, resulting in an never ending series of sleepless twelve-hour shifts.

The one thing that was constant was nothing would put her to sleep. I have no idea where she got this energy. It must have been the coma-like sleep during the day that stored the energy more effectively than normal sleep. If I could have only reversed this routine, how wonderful it would have been.

Gradually, none of the distractions was effective, and the night was dominated more and more by the hallucinations. Eventually, some nights were all hallucinations. My exhausted brain was no match for Phyliss' racing mind and its ability to create her fantasies, and keep her awake.

To lessen her loneliness, Phyliss created a little girl, whom she aptly named after Christ: "Christina." This child I assumed was the child we never had or possibly an attempt to reincarnate the memory of her dear Hinda, from Tunisia. She spent many nights "educating" "Christina" on every subject and the ways of the world and life. I am so sorry I did not record any of the "lessons" because this endeavor was truly a masterful, thorough, and excellent education that "Christina" was getting.

An entire elementary school education just poured from her mind: no books, no curricula, and no lesson plans, just her mind. The lessons were organized, accurate, and thorough as if she were still in the classroom. Nothing could suppress her desire and ability to educate, nothing. Teaching was in her DNA.

I was ill equipped to handle these months. Should I go along with the fantasy, or should I attempt to bring her back to reality for fear of losing her all together? After much soul searching, I opted to try to gently, sometimes, not so gently pull her back to reality. Six and a half years prior, I had lost so much of her when she had her stroke. I could not bear to watch the rest of her fade into the darkness like this and leave me alone.

I thought often of President Regan and his last public letter, and the mocking of Charlton Heston by those despicable lowlifes Jim Carrey and Michael Moore when these two giants of our time were afflicted with Alzheimer's. My dear and kind neighbor, Tony, and a dear lifelong friend, Mary, also both faded into the darkness of Alzheimer's and dementia and years of blank stares and bewilderment. It was a prospect that was unthinkable to contemplate. How could this happen to my Phyliss? Please, not to her body and now her mind?

This routine became more and more severe as the months passed. This wore on Phyliss and weakened her terribly. We both lost weight. We lost thirty pounds between us. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Every attempt at treatment and medication failed miserably. All the medications made the "sun downers effect" and the hallucinations worse, much worse, and had to be discontinued.

I was dying, and I am still dying thinking about it. My weight loss continued. I weighed five pounds more than I did in high school, and I was a "runt." Sleep never came. The medications I took for my anxiety, panic, and claustrophobia that had previously served me so well didn't touch this depression.

This was the end of the world for us both. There was no future. The numerous times we had bypassed disaster seemed to have run out. We had used up our nine lives and all of our precious minutes. All the magic was ending, horribly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I surmised that I had about three weeks before Phyliss and I both would be admitted to a mental facility. Phyliss was in excellent physical health, I not so much. This trauma would certainly kill me with all of my health problems, but Phyliss' body and blood work were perfect and she would live many years in this fantasy world as did all those others who were consumed by the darkness of confusion.

I would be in no position to be her care-giver or even her advocate. This was a prospect that haunted me day and night without relief. When I awoke, I thought, "Would this be the last day, I would be able to care for you, Phyliss?"

Finally, one night after almost no sleep for a week, I could not go on any longer, sleeping on the couch, and put Phyliss solely in the custody of Barbara and went upstairs to bed. I was physically and emotionally drained and weakened.

I was never this low in my life. I don't even remember getting into bed. The room immediately faded to black, and the compassion of sleep came instantly. I was beginning to understand why Phyliss welcomed daytime sleep to escape the torture of being awake.

I completed my morning routine and checked on Phyliss. Barbara had gone upstairs to take her shower and Phyliss was sleeping comfortably. It was about 8:30 a.m. It was a relief to see her so calm. The morning wore on and Phyliss continued resting quietly. This was not unusual after a full night being awake with all the turmoil of restlessness and hallucinations. She was naturally, exhausted.

It was now 2:00 p.m. Phyliss was still asleep. This was unusual. Barbara and I agreed that this was not normal and she should be awakened. We could not. We could not wake her because this was not normal sleep. There was no response, and she was totally limp and lifeless. When I measured them, all her vital signs were normal. Oxygen, heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, and temperature were all within her normal ranges.

I called my dear nurse angel. She swiftly arrived. She made a few observations and conducted a few tests of her own and declared that she was lifeless despite her vital signs and stated that she had most likely had another stroke and was completely paralyzed on both sides now.

When I told her she had slept all morning, she believed that the stroke had occurred many hours prior. There were only two possible actions to take. One was to go to the emergency room where they could do little for her. There would certainly be much more brain damage – an unimaginable thought. The other option was Hospice at home to make her comfortable in her last days.

Frighteningly, it was not a difficult decision. Her challenges were overwhelming, additional disabilities would be unthinkable and the thought of the progressing dementia was unbearable. My time of being able to take care of her was running dangerously short.

That evening, some dear friends came and expressed tearful goodbyes, they left, and Barbara went to bed. I was alone with my love and my sorrow. The Hospice nurse arrived. She conducted an examination and made a few observations. She came to the same diagnosis that Phyliss had another major stroke. There was no misdiagnosis. She tutored me on the only things that could be done to make Phyliss "comfortable" while she inevitably would die over the next three or four days.

She left me with a horrible little cardboard box with medicines and needles and instructions. Phyliss' last days would be controlled by what was in that box. My God, she said she enjoyed her job.

From the medicines and the anticipated behaviors the Hospice nurse described, it seemed obvious that even though Phyliss was in a coma she would still be able to feel discomfort, pain, and breathing difficulty while dying. It was an unbelievably horrible thought and evening.

I could only stare back and forth between Phyliss' lifeless body and the little cardboard box filled with the trappings of death. I even feared opening it, and I did not. I didn't want to know the details or read the instructions. The nurse had mentioned the drugs atropine, morphine, lorazapam, and other names I don't remember, usually only heard on an episode of some detective mystery movie. These were not substances for us folks.

I did not know how much more I could take or she could take. From the weakened state I was already in, I was not even sure I could oversee or control making her "comfortable" in her last days. But if I did not or could not, who would? The questions floated around the room without answers. I had no choice. Phyliss was doomed to die of dehydration. It was an unthinkable prospect from a horror movie.

Again, there was no sleep that night. Phyliss' first stroke, now this coma, and all her tragedies of the past twenty-nine years, unmercifully would not leave my mind. I felt dead inside and wanted to be dead.

As much as this horror consumed me, I could not linger. I still had to care for Phyliss and follow the Hospice Nurse's direction. That was my burning desire, to care for her these last days. I had cared for her all these years. I could not give up these last days.

The night came and went with no sleep. Finally, the daylight pushed me out of bed with dread. This day would be the most impossibly difficult day of my life, and we already had our share. How would I survive it? I wanted to implore God to please let this horror go away. I then reconsidered and asked instead that he give me the strength I needed to serve Phyliss. She needed me more than ever before. I could not abandon her now.

Barbara came down and resumed the vigil. I showered and dressed and started down the stairs in a fog and immersed in my thoughts of the days to come. About half way down the stairs, the door to the bedroom banged open, and Barbara shouted "Phyliss awake, Phyliss hungry, Phyliss thirsty." What was I hearing?

The poor dear had cracked under the stress before I did. At first, I showed disbelief. After all, two nurses examined her, said she had another massive, fatal stroke and had three or four days to live. She could not possibly be awake. It was impossibility. But, she repeated her exclamations.

**It was obvious that something did happen.** I hurried down the rest of the stairs and followed her into the bedroom. As I entered, I could not believe my eyes. Phyliss was sitting up as customary, smiling, wished me good morning and asked me what was for breakfast. If that were not Phyliss, then I don't know who it was. The giveaway was she was hungry, as always. No imposter would have been able to fake that.

I thought, "Sweet Jesus" what am I seeing? What just happened? Had I just witnessed a miracle? Had Phyliss completely recovered from a massive stroke? There was almost no recovery from the first stroke more than six years prior.

I greeted her, hugged her, and lightly pinched her to make sure she was real. I kissed her and she kissed me back. Her body was supple, warm, and alive. She was breathing normally and her wonderful heart was beating just fine. She was fully responsive. She was Phyliss, my love, and she was back. Where had she gone?

I was ecstatic, overjoyed, and confused all at the same time. How can someone survive so much emotion in twenty-four hours? This vision was not the entirety of the miracle, as the next days and months would prove. The rest of the miracle was yet to come.

Yes, Phyliss was not just merely "back." The problem of the reversal of night and day had completely disappeared. There were no more hallucinations, none. She had a sound eight hours of sleep at night. She was awake and fully aware during the days. There were heightened energy and understanding. There were more engagement and conversation. Her memory was improved. There was no sign of dementia or confusion, none at all.

The next day we were at her favorite, local restaurant having lunch with her sister, nephew, and two of our God children. She was animated and the center of the conversation. She bantered and joked with us, the waitress, and the owner. She selected her favorite meal and ate it with gusto, and even had dessert. She made sure we remembered to take the remainder of the meal home to enjoy the next day.

The following Monday, we drove to Ocean City. The weather was perfect for Phyliss, sporting mild temperatures, full sunshine, and a light breeze. As customary, we took a tour of the boardwalk. As always, I bought my favorite "Curly Fries" and "Kohl's swirled custard" and as always, Phyliss refused them for herself because she said she was not hungry. And, as always, she adorably and impishly proceeded to slowly eat mine with a devilish self-satisfaction. Our loving banter was still as intact as ever, and Phyliss had returned to me displaying all the wonderfulness of our early love.

The next week, the weather was perfect again, and we spent an entire day at Longwood Gardens admiring the fall flower displays and her favorite camellias in the greenhouses as we had done so many times before.

The day excursion included a delightful lunch at the Garden Restaurant including a bowl of their marvelous mushroom soup, and ended with a pleasant and leisurely visit to the underground gift shop.

She stayed awake and alert during the one hour plus drive up and back, and we even had our favorite frozen custard with wet walnuts and fudge at "Cone Heads" when we arrived home.

A complete analysis of her blood and urine showed every variable within the acceptable range. Every organ was running on all cylinders. Her body was a machine that "Scotty" of the "Star ship Enterprise" would have been proud to command.

If my blood analysis could have even shone a fraction of her results, my endocrinologist would have jumped for joy. I would have jumped for joy.

God had truly performed a miracle for Phyliss. But it appeared that he performed a miracle for me as well. Her transformation from, an almost certain, world of suffering and death, back to the vibrant woman I adored all these years, pulled me from my deep depression and exhaustion and back to the world of the living. What a roller coaster ride this was.

While my faith had always been strong, I was never one who prayed regularly to God, especially for deliverance from adversity. I have always been one who believed that God does not help us, but rather helps us help ourselves. When adversity struck, I concentrated on the remedy. I hoped God would give me the strength to overcome the challenge. It seemed this was an exception or maybe a challenge to my belief.

After all, what had I done to deserve this miraculous renaissance? I had truly given up. Phyliss was in a coma and could not pray for His help. I can only conclude that He saw her suffering and granted her relief for all the years of her service to Him.

I apparently was a peripheral beneficiary of His Grace. My mortal mind must now rethink how God dispenses His love for us. I am not sure I am even capable of that or whether it is worth trying to understand. One thing that I am sure of, however:

I truly believe that this event was the result of God's intervention.

It is my hope that by recounting my story, it may well serve those who may be similarly challenged when looking after their loved one.

May God be by your side during your trials, as he was at our side.

* * * * * * * * * *
THE HEARTBREAK OF BECOMING, "THE MAN OF NO"

Throughout her life, Phyliss was always an advocate of the downtrodden. Anyone in need would receive her help, even if help was not requested. This particularly applied to family members.

Family, friends and anyone she knew who was in the hospital were visited by Phyliss on a regular basis.

It quickly became apparent, especially to staff, her visits were not normal visits.

Word quickly spread.

Phyliss was in the building.

When most of us visit someone who is sick, we have a seat, cross our legs one way, then the other, make small talk, tell them how great they look, pray they don't need a bedpan while we are there, look at our wrist watch, shave off a few minutes of the hour we said we would stay, leave the teddy bear or the flowers, and make a rapid departure. "What's next on the schedule?" "The car needs washing." This was not quite so with Phyliss. A visit from Phyliss was an act of unconditional love.

Phyliss would visit, stand next to the visited party, hold his or her hand, comfort them, and, of course, engage him in conversation to lift his spirits. It never ended there. It started there. She would evaluate his situation and condition to determine what could be done to improve the person's plight and return him to health or get him home.

Being a skilled administrator, a large part of her responsibility was to evaluate the performance of staff and take corrective action. It didn't matter what staff it was. She could identify laziness, incompetence, and inefficiency in a moment. There were no lengthy reporting and going up the command. The infraction was remedied on the spot. She always used these skills to improve the life of the person she visited. She got involved.

She observed everything and made sure the person was getting the best of care. She was not timid, and when she found incompetence, she made it clear that it would not be tolerated. She would not hesitate to go to whatever person(s) at whatever level necessary, to correct questionable or substandard care, immediately.

She would question everything and everyone and then compare responses and evaluate. Deception was never possible. Phyliss was a human lie detector. It did not matter if she had no expertise about an issue. The worker would never even suspect. (Check buying the copper plate in the "souk"; it was the same technique)

For you see, what she was addressing were not the details of the deficient care, but rather the attitude of the staff providing or not providing it. If the attitude was poor, necessarily the care was poor. Wherever she was, she commanded the room. No effort was too great to insure that excellent care was provided. The real skill was that Phyliss did all of this with courtesy, politeness and diplomacy. It was remarkable. I know, because I observed and learned many times. This drama played out much like her pursuit of our marriage license in Rome. I had learned well how to nod at the right time in support. But, in reality, so sadly, I was learning how to become her advocate.

Her role as an advocate was particularly aggressive when dealing with the care of her parents. One doctor had the misfortune of implying that a particular procedure would not be done since her mother had lived a long life and after all she did not have that much time left. He was so sorry he said that. For her, every effort to improve her mother or father's condition was worth the effort. Age had no place in the decision. The procedure was done.

In describing Phyliss' simple visit to a friend in the hospital, I could not help but recall the current outrage of the management of the entire Department of Veterans Affairs. This system has the responsibility of managing the health care of millions of our most deserving and needy citizens with a budget of more than $150 Billion. These are the citizens to whom we owe our country, our freedom and our lives and the lives of our children. Is it possible that an agency of 280,000 people did not have one person that could not see nor correct this travesty, yes, right up to the POTUS, especially, him? It is hard to imagine this criminal system operating for one more hour without exposure if Phyliss had to deal with a family member under its "care." I fear that we, as a country, will burn in hell for our indifference and neglect of our fellow human beings, born and unborn: For real, folks.

* * * * * * * * * *

I dread to think that all the good deeds Phyliss and I have done in our lives will be invalidated by our passive participation in the sins of our "leaders" and those who elected them and have allowed them to act in our behalf. We should all have the same fear when we leave this earth. If you do not have this fear, and do not ask forgiveness, then you are deluding yourself.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

From the time of her first brain tumor, twenty-nine years before her death, I became Phyliss' advocate. I used the lessons I learned from observing her to insure that her care was the best. Initially, my advocacy was needed during relatively short periods when she was particularly vulnerable. The times of discovery, treatment and convalescence from her operations and monitoring were such times. For two decades, my role as her advocate rose and fell with her needs. When she recovered, the necessity of my advocacy lessened and my care of her turned back to companionship, support, and love.

As her challenges increased, my advocacy and help increased proportionately. Then, the stroke arrived. My continuous vigilance became necessary, even essential. She was a master teacher, and I took everything I learned from her and applied it to her own care. It was truly an irony. Over the years, she had unknowingly, but skillfully and thoroughly, taught her own care-giver and advocate.

I remember one of her most poignant moments in her orientation to new students was her insistence for us to perform to the limit of our ability. She made it clear that she would accept no less from us. She assured us that she was demanding this effort not only for our benefit but also for her own benefit and the benefit of the community.

For, you see, she declared that some day we would be her doctor, lawyer, dentist, senator, or the person who repaired or even built her car, and she did not want an incompetent person doing these things for her. She certainly did not want her advocate to be incompetent. I wonder if she knew how truly prophetic her talk to us would be. I think she did.

After the stroke, everything was possible for Phyliss, nothing was impossible. For every problem there was a solution. Her care and her health, both physical and emotional were paramount. Every resource was used to insure her care would be equal to the care she ensured for those for whom she was responsible. She deserved no less.

Several years later, Phyliss' condition stabilized into a less than an acceptable routine. I was still aggressive about her well-being, but I was beginning to come to a horrible realization. Some conditions were not going to get better. Some were even going to deteriorate. I could not disclose this to her because this was never an acceptable circumstance when she was the advocate. For her, there was always a way.

There were always new options to be tried, a new cardiologist, a change of eye doctors, then back to the first eye doctor, always second opinions. Sometimes multiple doctors, nurses, and friends were asked opinions outside their field of expertise and the answers were compared for commonalities. No rock was left unturned.

One common theme dominated: optimism. There was a never-ending search for solutions to her many problems. She would have done no less for others. She did no less for others. She did no less for me.

As the years passed, I found that more and more conditions had no acceptable solutions, yet her optimism never diminished. She refused to accept that she would not get better. Tomorrow would always be better than today was always her mantra.

More and more, I found myself bordering on partially revealing the reality of her conditions to her. It was so painful walking this tightrope. At first, there was some discontentment with the professional help we were getting.

Sometimes the discontentment grew to dissatisfaction and eventually exasperation with the level of the care.

Each request she made was more frequently receiving a softened, but negative response from me, a "no."

We had asked every doctor, nurse, and specialist for solutions to problems that had no solutions. Even the most diminutive of things began to have no acceptable solutions. I had tried every type of pillow, every type of mattress, every kind of sock, ointments, eye glasses, frames, hearing aids and medications - many times going back to the original item used and then rotating through the choices once again. As options diminished, more and more attempts for solutions ended in "no." There was "no" solution.

My torment became unbearable when I sensed that maybe it was not just the professionals that were disappointing her. I was beginning to think she must have started to become disappointed with me.

She never once said anything of the sort to me, and probably never would. But I could feel her sorrow in my soul. If that were what she was thinking, I could not find a reason in the world to blame her.

Many times when I offered no solution, I could see her hesitation, her disappointment. She seemed befuddled. She had never been befuddled. Her look was a momentary shout of despair I had never witnessed. It made my blood run cold to witness that image of hopelessness, even for a moment.

She always managed to compose herself and withdraw and contain her disappointment somewhere inside her. I had never felt such sorrow and helplessness. I could only imagine what she was feeling. There was no one else to whom she could turn. If she had only yelled at me, or reprimanded me for not finding a solution to her problem, I think I would have felt better. But, she always had an aura of understanding, forgiveness, and acquiescence. Each time, I just died inside.

A most telling sign in the last months of her disappointment was her occasional refusal to believe what I said. Nothing was more devastating than that: her loss of trust in me. What could she do when she was helpless and she lost trust in the one person she relied on all of her life?

I cannot even imagine what that was like for her. What confusion and fear and panic when her eye and her brain were telling her one thing and her love was telling her another. Her greatest cross to bear was the fear that she was losing her mind.

I was failing her; I had failed her, but my God, what could I do? I am only a mortal. I have no magical power.

I had become "the man of no," the man of contradicting her, the man of challenging what her senses were telling her. I was challenging her sanity.

All the compassionate comforting from friends that try to convince me that I did all I could, will never be able to dispel the horrible feeling that I may have broken her spirit and in turn, my own. It would not have been so painful, but I was not any man, I was her man. I was her only man. I was the only human being that maintained her connection to the world, - the man she unconditionally loved, and the man on whom she could always count, and the man for whom she would have died.

I was the man that was always there for her, "was" being the operative word. I had been "her man" all her life, her "rock." The world around her was failing her, and now the only one that could save or comfort her was failing her as well. Her knight's shining armor was tarnishing before her eyes.

It destroys me to think of the destitute and loneliness she must have felt those last months when she began realizing that perhaps she would never be well again: that maybe she was alone, as we must all be when we die.

What if she thought that I abandoned her? I pray to God I am wrong. Please God give me a sign I am wrong.

The doctor said Phyliss died of a massive broken blood vessel in her brain, supposedly a purely physical happening.

As I write this, I cannot help but believe that she may have died of a broken heart . . .

Was it a heart that was broken by me?

What if she did? I know mine is broken, just thinking that.

If I could only die from my broken heart, maybe I could tell her how sorry I am?

* * * * * * * * * *

OUR MOMENT

the most significant moment of our lives

This is an ominous title for a chapter in a book about a lifelong love affair between two people. The important moment could be anything, and it, most likely, would be totally different for almost every couple. The thought conjures up visions of significantly important milestones in their lives.

The milestones could be possibly the moment they met, the day he (or she) proposed, the birth of their first child, their wedding day, possibly their honeymoon.

But maybe I am being too traditional in my list of possibilities.

Rusty and his brother are competing for her attention.

She never failed to give it.

In today's environment of frivolity and superficial relations, the moment might be the first time they had sex, went to a rock concert, went on a safari, went bungee jumping, snorted their first cocaine, bought their first Ferrari or more likely, stole their first Ferrari, or robbed their first bank together.

Who knows what insanity is out there? My God, some "lucky" woman just married Joran Van Der Sloot and already had his baby; what a significant moment in her life that must have been? She will soon find out how consequential a moment it was.

The most important moment of my life with Phyliss is much more mundane. Some might call it trivial, boring, and insignificant. I do not.

The moment represents the culmination of all the years of unconditional love that we gave to each other. The moment might actually go unnoticed by most. But, it represents a subtle moment of love, warmth, trust, and devotion, between two people that cannot be more profound. The moment is simple, unassuming, unremarkable, and almost indiscernible. It is not our vacations, nor our cruises, nor marriage, nor even our visit to Hinda in Tunisia.

During the last two years of her life, Phyliss was totally deaf, blind in one eye and had limited, poor tunnel vision in the remaining eye. She was totally paralyzed on her left side, and her taste was altered by the stroke. Her only communication with the world around her was her sense of smell, touch, and her deteriorating and limited eyesight with her one eye, fogged with a progressing cataract.

A common activity for her at home was reading a novel or her prayer book. Even thought she might be reading a page multiple times, her attention was laser-like and intense.

She seemed totally absorbed by the tale. There were no other stimuli to distract her, well maybe, Rusty or his brother sitting in the middle of her book.

I would enter the room and sit on the stool next to her chair. In order to get her attention, I would gently touch her hand that she was using as a book marker to maintain her place on the page.

Her hand looked young for her age, and her skin was so soft, despite a slight weathered look. It was so reassuring when I felt its life-given warmth.

Her serenity and peace were remarkable in the face of adversity and disability. It was her eternal faith in Jesus' compassion that was the source of her strength. When I look at this picture, I see a window. It makes me feel I can reach in and touch her. Oh, if I only could.

She was alive, and reasonably comfortable and contented. Because she was left with only these two imperfect sensory inputs, it was not easy for her to tell what or who was causing an attempt to contact her or from where it was coming.

At first, there would be a mild and surprised, sometimes, concerned and confused reaction. She was cautiously asking herself, "What is happening?" She would usually look up a bit dazzled, to her favored right side, and when there was no one or nothing there, she slowly rotated forward and then finally to her left, neglected side to see my smiling face.

Her blank and confused stare, immediately turned into a beaming half-smile, since that is all her paralyzed facial muscles could produce. There was instant recognition, acknowledgment, and joy, followed by a soft, "hi," a slow blink of her eye, and a gentle squeeze of my hand. The squeeze shouted to me, "I love you, Joseph." That was OUR MOMENT. It was repeated by us over and over to sustain us both, until the night she died.

There was no fanfare, angels, harps, or ethereal music. It was not earth shattering. It was simplicity itself: a touch, a smile, a loving and adoring look.

For Phyliss, our moment was her reassurance that her darling was here at her side, as he always had been. He loved her as intensely as he did when she was young, healthy, and beautiful. She was safe and cared for by him. For me, our moment was my solace that Phyliss was secure, happy, and as comfortable as I could make her. She loved me as intensely as she did when I was young, healthy and, well, not so beautiful.

In the twilight of our lives together, in our limited time remaining, how could there be a more wonderful, comforting moment than this? That same, gentle squeeze of my hand even in her coma was her last communication with me.

If you believe that I am a sentimental fool for being so attached to such an insignificant moment, then, my friend, it is not I, but you who have been the fool. I wish happy bungee jumping, to those who think that.

* * * * * * * * * *

WAS HER "BEST YEAR EVER" A MISTAKE?

Maybe, it was?

Loving looks between two sisters on the cruise to Bermuda

When a loved one is stricken with a major illness or disability which has certain or possible life-ending consequences, several of the primary goals become to minimize the consequences of the calamity, avoid the life-ending consequences, and attempt to return to as normal a life as possible. Those goals sound straight forward enough. But, to make decisions, as the loved one, the patient advocate, and the primary care giver, one needs substantial insight into the short term and long term factors that affect the future. As a lay person, gathering relevant and accurate information to make the important decisions to come can be difficult.

Phyliss' stroke was massive. It destroyed an area of her brain the size of her clenched fist. It was remarkable she survived. Her prognosis from all the professionals involved in her care was dismal. During the next year, improvement in her capabilities would be most limited. She would almost certainly die either from the consequences of the stroke or from another more debilitating or fatal stroke. She did not know this, but I did. I made the decision not to tell her, right or wrong. It was my burden.

The first few months were devastating for us both, but were directed by circumstance and necessity. The first two goals were primary: to minimize the consequences of the calamity and avoid the life-ending consequences of the stroke. Once those goals were achieved, there remained the third goal: to attempt to return to as normal a life as possible. As far as I was concerned, the primary driver of establishing this goal was the almost certain prospect that Phyliss had less than a year to live. It was a horrible thought. Phyliss and I had less than a year to spend with each other after a remarkable life of almost five decades together.

Her most enjoyable game – "Scrabble" traveling in the motor home

You know what my decision was as I described it in the preceding chapters. If we only had a year left, I was going to make it "her best year ever." Since we had so many wonderful years together, it was a somewhat optimistic and lofty goal and yet intimidating, to say the least. But, I was determined to make it so. She would have done no less for me.

To make this happen meant I needed to focus all of my resources and energy on Phyliss' enjoyment of life while making her as comfortable as possible. I evaluated her condition, her abilities, and her potential. I tailored the next year to include a lifestyle that matched her capabilities to the maximum without causing danger or harm to her while at the same time not extending her beyond her capacity.

I gave much less thought to my capabilities and placed no limitations on expenditure of time, finances or other resources. I would pull out all the stops and go full speed ahead for the next year. The resulting consequences could be addressed after she was gone. Quite frankly, I really didn't care what the consequences were after she was gone. My life would be over, and for all intentions it has been. I hate to break the bad news about "starting over again." Who has the energy to do that in this messed up world.

I believe I achieved my goal. I did my balancing act among our resources, her capabilities, and providing a superior life style.

* * * * * * * * *

Following that first year, I was presented with a mixed blessing. It was a blessing that I could accept rather easily. Not only did Phyliss survive, she thrived on our lifestyle. The doctors were right about the persistence of her disabilities. None disappeared and none diminished. But Phyliss' thirst for life, resilience, stamina, spirit, and faith defied her predicted departure.

Year one, melded with years two and three, and then, remarkably, extended to year eight. I thanked God for every one of those 30,062,880 minutes that he granted us. But, I was woefully unprepared for the expenditure of time, energy, and resources for this wonderful but unexpected extension of time.

A sunny day in Memorial Park at the traveling Vietnam memorial with angels

That first year, I successfully ran that one hundred-yard dash for which the doctors had prepared me. I won by a large margin. Good for you, Joe. But, then immediately after the dash, I found myself having to complete a triathlon of seven years. It was not an easy task for someone who trained and had the stamina for a sprint. But, then why am I questioning myself about "her best year ever" now that she is gone?

Those first few months of witnessing my dear's suffering and my deteriorated condition made me resign myself, too easily to, the almost certainty, that the doctors were right. I wanted to believe otherwise, but the reality of what they told me was right in front of me. There did not seem to be any reason to believe otherwise.

My original intent in writing this chapter was to forewarn care-givers to pace themselves for the long haul in expending their resources when mapping out a care regimen for their loved one. It sounded like a reasonable forewarning.

I gave my thinking additional thought, much more thought. I had to ask myself, "Was my original thinking sound?" After all, we had just experienced a monumental calamity in our lives. Now my observations may influence others who could face a similar circumstance.

I now believe that to have "paced" myself regarding Phyliss' care would not have been the best avenue to take regarding her well-being. What was the harm in developing the "best year of her life" philosophy other than exhausting our resources and my energy? The answer is that it did no harm to Phyliss what so ever. It was nothing but beneficial for Phyliss. And, after all, was that not the purpose in the first place. It was not I that needed, or deserved, the benefit of the fruits of those eight years. It was my lovely and deserving wife that was in need.

As I conclude this chapter, I came to a wonderful realization about the consequences of my plan for Phyliss' final years.

What if the remarkable first year after her stroke was the instigator of her longevity?

What if all of that effort and enhanced quality of life those first years helped give her the strength, courage, and serenity to live those extra years with peace of heart and solace? I have come to believe that, and it is a comforting realization for me now that she is gone, now that my own peace of heart is so difficult to realize.

Maybe, the "best year ever" philosophy is the best gift you can give your loved one . . . and yourself.

I say, plan for the future, in the future. Why worry about it now? It may never come.

* * * * * * * * * *

" **PHYLISS' FINAL STROKE"**

"The Death of the Love of my Life"

The season was fall, a few days before Halloween and the beginning of my favorite and most joyous time of the year. Despite Phyliss' ever-mounting hardships, and unlike the previous seven years, I was strangely welcoming the fall colors and spectacle of Halloween, the bounty and camaraderie of Thanksgiving, the joyousness and miracle of the birth of Christ . . . but not so much the anticipation of the events of the New Year.

I felt that three positive events out of four were better odds than Phyliss had been getting. I was comfortable with those odds. It finally appeared that Phyliss' constant optimism and thirst for life had finally started to clear the perpetual, unbearable gloom that seemed to following me everywhere. I had been feeling like "Linus" in the "Peanuts" cartoon with my own dark cloud following me around above my head, always threatening to ruin my day with foul weather.

While Phyliss' quality of life had remarkably improved since her brush with death almost two years prior, there loomed insurmountable conditions on the horizon that I tried, with limited success, to conceal from her.

Her brain tumor was now thirteen years old and had not been monitored for five years by the neurosurgeon. I think he believed she would not survive a corrective procedure in her condition. The cataract in her one, functioning eye was overdue for surgery, and the eye doctor was increasingly recommending that it be addressed. Her hearing left, returned very faintly, and now it seemed it was entirely gone forever. This was almost certainly a sign that the tumor had gotten much larger.

The numerous neuromas (tumors) on her spine were becoming less responsive to the pain medication; there was no other remedy for them. Moving Phyliss was becoming increasingly hazardous so as not to disturb or aggravate these tumors. There was a mild return of the reversal of day and night and occasional, but modest hallucinations at night. Her teeth were crumbling, and she was rightfully fearful of the scheduled surgery to remove seven of them at the end of the week. The surgery would necessitate stopping the Warfarin which prevented another stroke for almost two weeks – a real, but necessary gamble, if the surgery was to take place.

There were numerous other unthinkable problems. None had any permanent or favorable remedy, only the specter of getting worse, much worse. It was increasingly becoming more difficult to endure or even watch. It was probably more than she could ever endure. Even her bravery had its limits and certainly my limits had long since past.

It was not a future to look forward to with optimism and hope, and yet she constantly did. God bless her spirit and faith; Jesus, if I were only endowed with a fraction of her courage.

* * * * * * * * *

Of all of these conditions, nothing struck fear in me more than the prospect of an unsuccessful cataract surgery. The thought of my darling Phyliss, blind and deaf, tore my heart out. The eye doctor unsuccessfully assured me that the odds were extremely rare for blindness. In my fog, I remember it to be 1:10,000. This did not comfort me, since I recalled that it was a 50,000 to one chance for her to get this brain tumor, 1:150,000 to get two. And, yet, she had three. Is it any wonder that Phyliss and I were never fond of gambling?

I had spent our savings, took a huge mortgage on our home, the proceeds of which were now all gone, accumulated other large debts, my own health was failing, I developed the same brain tumor as Phyliss, the architectural profession always sucked, but now it sucked even more, and every aspect of our beloved former "America" was destroyed, never to rise again.

And, oh, most of the world was on fire and we have a government filled with diabolical America haters roaming the globe throwing gasoline on the fires and giving comfort to our enemies and ulcers to our allies. We can't forget those. I love it when I am told I am a pessimist and must not think negatively. Sorry, lost it.

* * * * * * * * *

Amid this background, I started the day of Monday, October 28, 2013, a seemingly "normal" day. Once we got Phyliss out of bed, completed her hygiene, and breakfast, and made her comfortable with a large-print book, most of my day was consumed getting our car to and from the dealer and getting it serviced and inspected.

As I think back, I cannot shake the agony of knowing that I spent most of my dear's precious last day on Earth, and our last day together, servicing and inspecting an inanimate, mechanical marvel/monster that controls much our lives. It is no solace for me to rationalize that my presence would have made little difference to Phyliss because of her particularly deep sleep that day.

When I returned from the dealer, I retrieved the mail from the mail box at the entrance wall. As I navigated the driveway and turned in front of the garage door, I pushed the remote button, and I waited for it to open. I could see Phyliss through the family room window, sitting in her chair, as usual, illuminated by her reading light.

Aside from being a great light, it was a salvation for her. She had lost control of almost everything in her life. It was one of the few things over which she still had even a modicum of control - on, off, zoom, and very easy redirection with one hand. Most would call it a minor thing. It was not. It is difficult to understand if you are not paralyzed or if you have never observed the anguish of a kind person who spent her entire life helping so many others, now unable to help herself in the execution of even the most basic tasks.

As I always did, I lowered my window and enthusiastically motioned with an exaggerated series of arm waves that would attract even her seriously compromised eyesight. It was so joyful to see her face light up and enthusiastically return the gesture multiple times to insure she had gotten my attention. My attention was such an important thing to her. No, I am mistaken. It was the most important thing to her.

The waves were followed by a vigorous hand motion as if to say, "I am so glad you have returned; come in quickly, my dear!" It reminded me so much of her adorable greetings described in the chapter entitled, "You can never have too many hugs and kisses, my dear." And, you need not speculate about the joy we both got when I greeted her inside. This seemingly "silly" dance we performed was repeated every time I returned to our home. It was so much more than "silly." It was her life line to her sanity and my love.

To Phyliss, it meant that her lover and source of her tranquility had navigated the dangerous world out there and returned to her once more, unharmed. Her "Joe" was safe, and she felt so much less worried and so much more comforted. She could now relax. I remember a similar reaction from her mother when we left the house and returned. That didn't seem silly, either.

* * * * * * * * *

This time, my return was so disappointingly different. There was no customary, warm, returned greeting. I looked past the glare on the tinted window glass by squinting my eyes. I intensified my concentration and my vision only to see Phyliss' motionless body slouched over with her head facing straight down. The devastation of that vision is hard to describe. It still haunts my memory with sadness and despair.

I could just barely make out Rusty outstretched on top of her book, basking in the warmth of her body and the reading light. His goals were to be comfortable and warm, and to prevent her from reading, forcing her to give him her undivided attention. But, right now, she had no attention to give to him or anyone. Nonetheless, this was still his favorite place. I could not blame him; it was mine, as well.

It was not the first time this awful apparition presented itself, but this vision was still so terrible each time it manifested itself. She did look so much at peace and not in pain or discomfort. She would often say that she welcomed sleeping during the day because it was the only time she was free of her disabilities and pain. She always had so much more wisdom than I. This time was no exception. I could not challenge her thinking.

It entered my mind, how horrible time had been to her, and would be to me. It stops for no one. The beautiful, vibrant, and impassioned woman that I married was slipping away from me slowly but unrelentingly. I could not help but think, "Is this the vision I will see when she finally leaves me?" The answer to the question would be revealed to me in the next hours.

I pensively and slowly parked the car in the garage, turned off the engine, and closed the door. There was no reason to rush.

As I entered, Barbara said that Phyliss had been in a deep sleep for most of the day since I left in the morning. I certainly was sad, but curiously relieved that she had not been deprived of my companionship and was spared the corresponding angst in my absence. It was always apparent to me that our constant companionship was a major source of her courage.

Six-o-clock arrived, and with the usual difficulty, Barbara and I awakened Phyliss from her deep sleep. She was unusually sluggish and devoid of energy. Reluctantly, she agreed to eat dinner at the kitchen table. We transferred her to the wheel chair as we had done tens of thousands of times and went into the kitchen. Our dinner of cod and fresh vegetables was consumed routinely. Rusty, as usual, turned up his nose up at what was left of dinner. Phyliss played a round of "dominos" with Barbara as I washed the dishes. Her interest in the five-thousandth game waned quickly, and she pushed to go to bed. It was much too early, but I acquiesced. I had a long day and welcomed early retirement.

I did not suspect it, but her lethargy was a manifestation that her spent and tortured body would be able to support her life for only a few more hours of the years we had together. All the signs were there, but my awareness was not, I am sorry to say. I guess it is true, none of us knows the time or place. It is certainly a manifestation of God's wisdom that is the case.

* * * * * * * * *

We went into the bedroom, transferred Phyliss to the shower chair and performed the, twice daily, toiletry procedure. I won't confront your senses with the details. We transferred Phyliss to the bed and situated her. The transfers were difficult, somewhat dangerous, but valuable to keep her limber. We gave the customary treatment to prevent dreaded bed sores and rubbed her legs with alcohol and cream to limit the effects of "restless leg syndrome."

Fifteen minutes later, all the dozen pillows and devices we used to keep her positioned, safe, and comfortable were in place as well as the adjustable bed table and her choice of reading: bible, homemade prayer book, published prayer books, novel, catalogs or mixtures of them all. She always knew her preference every night without fail. The air mattress was turned on, fully inflated and began its nightly dance of inhaling and exhaling. She had her many medicines that kept her alive and reasonably free of pain and discomfort.

Once settled, the ordeal of being up all night began. Her favorite treat, after dinner, was ice cream and a chocolate "Tastykake" without the much too sweet, icing. The ice cream cooled her throat, and the cake helped her swallow. Always, warm tea and ice water were by her side to counter the effects of dehydration from not drinking during the sleep-filled day.

Tonight's treat was to be special. I had found Phyliss' handwritten cook book with her prized and quite remarkable recipes that she had gathered over many decades. She had shown interest in baking some of her favorite ones, for me, of course. I had not been able to make it happen, until now. I had scheduled a regular weekly baking session to make her most favorite delights.

Kiana, a dear young high school student accepted an invitation to come over to play "Scrabble" with Phyliss, three times a week, as did Emily the year before. On Sunday, the day before, our new "angel" graciously visited and helped Phyliss finally bake her favorite apple cake to eat with the ice cream. The exercise was a great success. It was beautifully made. This was a particularly enjoyable treat for Phyliss. It was to be her last. She so generously gave most of the remaining apple cake to the "angel" to take home to her family. In retrospect, it truly seemed she knew she would not have the opportunity to finish it.

* * * * * * * * *

I waited the usual hour after bedtime and made the desert with "Turkey Hill" black cherry ice cream, the apple cake, and a copious portion of whipped cream with some vanilla extract and "Hershey's" chocolate syrup swirled on top. I was so proud of my accomplishment. It looked and tasted great, but I reluctantly had to pass on this marvelous, carbohydrate bomb. She ate it with gusto and appreciation. She brushed her teeth. I gave her a good night kiss, held up the dry erase board with "I love you" and some hearts, written in red.

The display produced her customary smile. The smile was always accompanied by an ever so slight forlorned expression that said, "Can't you sleep in bed with me, darling." There was barely enough room for her and her pillows. It was so heartbreaking to deny her this simple request.

When we first returned from the hospital, I put two hospital beds together for the first four months and we did "sleep" together. It seemed like an excellent idea after the physical, emotional, and institutional trauma we endured. I am an extremely restless sleeper and neither of us slept for more than an hour. The arrangement was untenable. I could not stay up all night and have the energy to care for her the next day. I sadly had to discontinue the sleeping arrangement.

Then for four years I slept on the couch next to the bed with a similar result. I suggested to Barbara that we alternate nights sleeping in Phyliss' room. She kindly insisted to take on the task herself every night. I reluctantly acquiesced, because I could not continue executing my sixteen hour days without some sleep during the nights. Rusty volunteered for nighttime yeoman's duties as well, bless his furry heart.

Phyliss never fully adapted to the arrangement. During difficult nights, I would sleep on the couch in the next room and would appear when needed, usually quite often. There is no relief in being a care giver of one you love. There are no rejuvenating evenings, no weekends, no holidays, and no vacations. You must be vigilant and on duty every day, every hour, every minute.

Every excursion out of the house is a military campaign fighting a bellicose world on multiple fronts with hopes you can win the battle and return to the enclave unscathed. There are just two thousand nine hundred thirty-seven consecutive sixteen-hour days until the end comes for one of you. When it does come for one, the other continues a new nightmare, alone, for God only knows how long. The wish that death would have taken both of you is not infrequent.

* * * * * * * * *

I gave the remaining melted ice cream to the anxiously awaiting, Rusty, took the dish into the kitchen, and crashed on the couch, exhausted, as always. I sat mindlessly in front of the television. I don't even remember, or cared, what was on. It was just noise to unsuccessfully help mask my tinnitus.

About an hour went by, maybe more. The fog of sleep rolled in. I was startled when Barbara crashed the bedroom door open with an alarmed, "Joseph!" "Phyliss very sick!" There was panic in her voice, and she was not a person prone to panic. Her proclamation screamed, "This was serious." My heart dropped. I felt chills run through my body, you know, like when you see someone seriously cut themselves with a knife in the kitchen. It was difficult to take a breath. I remember tripping on the foot rest, but, don't remember how I got to the bedroom. It was as if I were carried by some sort of transporter beam. Was this the moment I had dreaded – the horrible moment when she was dying, and I was helpless to do anything about it. It was.

When I entered the room, I remembered Phyliss sitting upright on the end of the bed. I was hallucinating. Phyliss could not sit upright on the end of the bed.

And, then I focused on her face. Her eye was wide open and not blinking. There was a look of fear, panic, and complete confusion all at the same time. She was screaming a silent, "help, me my dear Joseph!" but there were no words. Barbara said she saw Phyliss was having a problem, and went over to the bed with a concerned look on her face. Phyliss became alarmed and asked several times, "What is wrong? - What is wrong?" That was the last moment of awareness and responsiveness in Phyliss' eighty-six years on Earth.

When I left the room with the ice cream dish she said "Good night, dear, I will see you in the morning; I love you." Neither of us realized that was a promise she would not be able to keep.

I smiled and returned the affectionate sentiment in kind and gave her a kiss. I was never to hear her lovesome voice again. But, her last words have become quite a loving echo during my emptiness. I can only hope that my voice engendered a final loving echo for her. We lovers always fear that we will leave with some unkind last words to our darling on our lips. That is a fear I no longer have.

* * * * * * * * *

She was trying to throw up, but nothing was coming up. I prayed that something in the ice cream made her sick. I held up a board with a hastily written, "Are you sick to your stomach?" There was no response, and I realized she was paralyzed on her right side as well as her left side now. I wrote: "hospital?" again, no response. I don't think she even knew I was there. I only realized that in retrospect weeks later. How could this happen in a matter of seconds?

I flew to the phone and called "Alice" the nurse practitioner who lovingly cared for Phyliss all these years. – Oh God, a damned answering machine! Thankfully, she called back immediately, as she did on so many other occasions. She immediately concluded that Phyliss was having a hemorrhagic stroke (bleeding of the brain). She said to call for an ambulance. Barbara stayed with Phyliss while I ran to turn on the outside lights, opened the front door, cleared a path for the stretcher, and got my crash bag that I had taken to the hospital so many other times. I was hyperventilating and my mouth was so dry, I could not part my lips and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth as it was when she had her stroke eight years before.

My mind raced, and I thought I was going to faint. "Was my sugar too low?" I could not think of that now. There was no time to take a glucose test. I immediately downed a half bottle of sweetened soda. That would do it, just in case.

The ambulance and crew came and left with military precision almost like magic. God bless them, and most are volunteers. I left in our recently serviced car in pursuit of the ambulance, not obeying a single traffic law.

When I arrived at the emergency room, my dear Phyliss was there, without a single change; it did not appear she knew what was happening or knew I was there. I felt helpless and hopeless. "What must she have been thinking, alone, in the ambulance?"

They quickly put her in an exam room, she closed her eye, went limp, and peace came over her face. I gave her a tender kiss on the lips, and she kissed me back! I embraced her hand and she responded with a feeble squeeze! "Maybe, Alice was wrong." But, she never was before. The doctor came, they disconnected her from the monitors, and they whisked her away for a CAT scan.

My darling came back remarkably quickly. Maybe her swift return was a harbinger of good news. But, she was still lifeless. The look on the doctor's face dashed any possibility of good news. "It is a massive bleed in the brain, so massive I cannot tell where the source is," he said.

My heart broke, "Was he telling me my Phyliss was dead?" "I will call for an ambulance to take her to Capital Regional Hospital in Trenton. We can't do anything for her here." "She needs a neurosurgery facility" he continued. It was hard to comprehend the words. I felt sick and unstable.

I tried to regain my composure and asked, "What will they do for her at the other hospital?" He told me they would relieve the pressure on her brain and try to stop the bleeding somehow. Somehow? "Would there be more brain damage?" "Almost certainly, there will be." His mood was deadly somber. He was giving me answers that I already knew.

"What are my other options, doctor?" "We can take her to the second floor Hospice, and make her comfortable." I wanted her to be comfortable. I knew my decision would certainly mean she would die. It frightened me that I could, so quickly, decide to let my heart and soul go for a second time. There would be no more suffering, my dear, and you will not have to live in this hell any longer. I knew for certain she would go to Heaven. "If she didn't, who would?" I had to make the decision that she could not herself make. The doctor quickly agreed that heroic efforts would not have a pleasant outcome, and made the necessary arrangements for admittance to the Hospice facility. Phyliss and I had never been in favor of heroic measures in hopeless cases. Of course, neither of us ever pictured ourselves making such a decision for the other. It always seemed to be an abstract concept that effected others, not your love.

There were no available rooms in the Hospice wing that evening. They were going to have to transfer her to the general care wing on the fifth floor until they had a room available in Hospice.

* * * * * * * * *

The room in the general care wing was a double room with a huge woman in the window bed. She was connected to an intravenous bag on a dolly and watching and listening to Jerry Springer. She was evidently hard of hearing. Phyliss was in a coma and deaf, so it was only Barbara and I who had to endure the television through the night.

There was no change in Phyliss' condition during the night. The next morning was filled with loud television and coming and going of the other patient, nurses, and doctors. It was a circus. I began to realize that no one was concerned with Phyliss. It was as if she were invisible.

I rubbed her legs and arms and went to kiss her. Her lips were all cracked and her tongue fissured. I got a mouth swab and a lip moistener and questioned the nurse at the station about her lack of care. She said there wasn't much they could do until Hospice was ready for her, since she was not "officially" their patient.

Oh, that was the wrong answer. I quickly came out of my stupor and checked my memory for the actions of Phyliss being a patient advocate for dozens of family and friends over the years. She had taught me well, indeed, and now she needed an advocate herself once again.

I flew down to the second floor Hospice wing and read the riot act to the poor receptionist. When I was told that my love was waiting all morning for a doctor to sign a piece of paper, I lost it. "You are telling me that my wife is upstairs dying, you have a bed, and we are waiting for a doctor to sign a piece of paper for her to get Hospice care?"

(Forgive me, God) "Tell me where the son-of-a-bitch is, and I will get his signature myself." I was loud, discourteous, and angry. It was not one of my finer moments. I am so sorry to say. She was just doing her job – not well I might add.

Without waiting for a response, I went to the fifth floor nurses' station and did likewise. Before I was able to finish my tirade, I turned and saw a gurney approaching in the hall with two staff members to take Phyliss downstairs. When we arrived at the room in Hospice, four nurses were waiting to transfer her to the bed. Finally, she would have some peace and care. But, why did I have to get so angry to get the system to function?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It would be unfair and inaccurate to imply that this is what Phyliss taught me. We learned over the years that many good people work in hospitals, but the health system is broken. Every patient who enters the system needs to be accompanied by a full-time advocate to survive.

She taught me many times, through example and observation, what to do as a patient advocate, and how to do it. I mastered the "what" part, but was not a good student on the "how" part. If this had been a war, Phyliss would have defeated the enemy by cutting off their supplies lines and waiting for them to peacefully surrender. Unfortunately, I would have nuked them. I am so sorry Phyliss. I got the job done, but I claim temporary insanity for my technique. I could not watch you suffer any longer, my dear. Now I have to go to confession again, sorry reconciliation.

* * * * * * * * *

After Phyliss was "comfortable" (what a misnomer that is) in Hospice and being cared for, I sincerely apologized for my outbursts to both groups of nurses. Surprisingly, they agreed that her treatment was substandard and my demands were justified. I still think they had their fingers crossed behind their backs when they told me this. At least they would have something "unusual" to tell their families when they went home that night. I am sure they had quite a discussion about my behavior when I left, but it was of no importance to me. There was only one thing that was important to me.

That evening, one of the Hospice nurses came in and explained that they would make Phyliss as comfortable as possible in the next three to twelve days it would take her to die. "Sweet Jesus, have mercy on her." I thought – "How could we suffer for twelve days?" The most horrible thoughts went through my mind. I could not let her suffer for twelve days.

The nurse left the room, and Phyliss answered my question. My dear took her last breath fifteen minutes later.

Phyliss considered the nurse's comments and decided on her own how to leave this world. She never did anything without perfection. Her last moments were no exception.

* * * * * * * * *

This was the lowest moment of my life among many too many moments. I was inconsolable, and I thought of my first encounter with death at her father's viewing, fifty-one years before. The same words echoed in my mind, "Death is so final and irreversible." I was thankful that we were not alone and to have dear friends be there at her side in her last moments. Thank you, Barbara, Cathy, Larry, Amy, and Kiana. It was devastation that I would never again see her compassionate face, hear her sweet voice, hold her tender hand, or kiss her soft lips.

She was gone. It was a horrible feeling of loss and emptiness. "God bless you, my love, may you rest in heaven for eternity." "I pray that He will have the mercy to allow me to be reunited with you soon."

All of my life from a teenager to the present, God instilled in me the wonder of being an architect and an engineer. I could design and build anything I needed to. I could and did fix anything I put my mind to. It was such a sad irony in these last eight years I could not fix the one person that meant the most to me all my life. It was the most difficult lesson in life for me to learn.

Some things, oh so many things, cannot be fixed, Joe.

In the months that followed and even now, the words from the song "Fix you" by Cold Play would echo in my mind.

When you try your best, but you don't succeed  
When you get what you want, but not what you need  
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep  
Stuck in reverse  
And the tears come streaming down your face  
When you lose something you can't replace  
When you love someone, but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
I will try to fix you

High up above or down below  
When you're too in love to let it go  
But if you never try you'll never know  
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
I will try to fix you

"Fix you" – Cold Play

Composers: Christopher Anthony John Martin, Guy Rupert Berryman,

William Champion, Jonathan Mark Buckland

* * * * * * * * * *

Six months after my love died, I was sitting on the couch with Rusty. He had transferred his not-so-quiet purr and his constant, amatory stare from Phyliss to me. He generously comforted me, but I was still very depressed and tearful, thinking of Phyliss' passing and all I had lost. A strange dreamlike string of thoughts circulated about my mind about the finality of her last breath, and curiously, about the first day we met.

That day in her eighth grade classroom, when I showed her one of my pastel paintings, and she first became aware of me, I imagined an angel tapped me on the shoulder after I went back to my seat. I had a broad smile on my face. The angel reached back and removed from behind one wing a tiny debit time card with a lighted display. I thought this was very strange, since there were no such things as debit time cards with lighted displays in 1957. For that matter, I don't think there are any today, either.

I was very confused since I had not seen many angels around the school and not one tiny debit time card with a lighted display. The card showed the number "30,062,880." The angel saw my bewilderment and began explaining that Miss Crudo and I were destined to be together for the rest of our lives. That pleased me, but, truthfully, we just met. So, my confusion continued. My goodness, we barely knew each other. "How was this possible?"

She then further explained that the number "30,062,880" represented all the minutes the two of us would be together starting with the moment she first saw me. Since I was so enamored with Phyliss from before I met her, this overjoyed me. I said to the angel, "That number of minutes is really big and must represent an entire lifetime." The angel responded, "Exactly, Joseph, that's precisely the intent."

"You and Miss Crudo will be together until one of you dies." She gave me no further explanation or details. I looked down at the card again in disbelief, and when I looked up, she had disappeared as mysteriously as she appeared. There wasn't a gust of air, a sound, or even a feather left from her wings.

I didn't like the sound of the dying part, but then again, those were lots of minutes. After all, at that point in my life, I had only been alive for 7,358,400 minutes. The amount of minutes on the debit time card was huge in comparison. The possibility of the number of minutes running out was nothing to worry about. It was so far into the future. My young mind could not imagine that amount of time. It seemed like forever. It was forever to me.

It appeared that Miss Crudo did not see the angel and did not know about the card. I thought that was strange, since she always knew everything that went on in her classroom. It became my secret and no one else's.

Over the years, I treasured the card and looked at it often. Even though the minutes were constantly passing, it always had lots and lots of minutes still left on it. As life progressed and became more complex, I didn't look at it as often, and then, very rarely, and finally, not at all. Eventually, I actually forgot about the tiny card. I could not even remember where I put it. All that was important was the angel was right. Phyliss was always with me for every one of those minutes.

* * * * * * * * * *

Fifty-six years after the angel appeared, I was standing by Phyliss' lifeless body in the Hospice wing of the Memorial Hospital in Mt. Holly. Her only movement was the slow, silent, gentle rise and fall of her chest. She was peaceful, but her breathing became somewhat labored for a few minutes. She arched her back ever so slightly. She took an unusually robust and deep breath. For ten seconds, there were no additional breaths. It was frightening. Then followed an even deeper breath, as if she knew it would be her last. It was. She took no more breaths. I stated the obvious in a feeble and unsteady voice, "I think Phyliss just died."

The nurse appeared, as if by magic, and put his finger to her neck. He said, "Her heart is still beating." His statement took me by surprise. It gave me a strange, impossible hope that she had not died. The beat he felt was from the same heart that had caused her stroke eight years prior.

It seemed it wanted to continue giving her life to make up for the suffering that was caused by its brief malfunction eight years before. It had only gotten tired just that once in eighty-six years, but so much damage was done in the short time it lost its steady rhythm. Fifteen seconds later, the nurse announced that her weary heart had stopped as well. My senses had not fooled me. My life-long love was gone. I knew this moment was coming for oh so long. But, nothing could prepare me for when it did. I am at a loss to express the darkness of the sudden void that was left. There is no escape from the emptiness. It never leaves. It never diminishes. It never heals.

At that terrible moment, I felt someone reach into my pocket from behind. When I turned, no one was there. But, there was something in my pocket. I reached in, and to my amazement, I pulled out the tiny debit time card with a lighted display that I had misplaced a half-century before.

The display was still lit and blinking . . . but all the numbers were zeros. At that moment, I realized, I had used up all of my 30,062,880 minutes with my love without even being aware of it. The seemingly infinite number of minutes was gone, and there were no instructions about how to obtain more. With no warning, after exactly one more minute, the display stopped blinking and ominously turned black. There were no buttons to push, no way to turn it back on. It was dead, and Phyliss had left me.

You know, my friends, there was no angel, and there was no tiny debit time card with a lighted display. In life, however, all of us who love someone deeply are, in effect, given a form of tiny debit time card with a lighted display. We just don't know it was given to us, and we are not privy to how many minutes are on the display. We will never know in advance when the display turns to all zeros, starts blinking, and turns ominously black.

Use every one of your minutes with your dear love wisely and lovingly.

You will not know how many minutes remain until they are all gone. I know. I did not.

But, one thing is unchangeable and inescapable for all us mortals.

When they are gone, all the riches on Earth will not buy you . . . one . . . minute . . . more.

* * * * * * * * * *

**HOME ALONE WITHOUT PHYLISS - BURN OUT**

I believe that the sorrow of the death of someone you love all your life cannot be described adequately in words, or in any way, for that matter. But, the "fact" that something cannot be done, is largely a concept in one's mind, not a statement of reality. That is the only reason I will attempt something that seems cannot be done.

The vision of standing, helpless, next to Phyliss as she took her last breath haunts me every day and every night. It was a horrible sight that never lessens. It never goes away. The image seems more horrible as time passes.

While I did not want to let her go, God forgive me, I welcomed the only way her suffering could end, and that was for her life to end. The contradiction was overwhelming, and the realization that I knew I could not have both, did not comfort me. I realized at once, that for the first time in my life, I could do nothing to help her, and I was without Phyliss. I could not fix her.

It is hard to believe. I was not expecting her to die. I guess, after eight years of cheating death, it fades into a word or concept, not a reality, not for my love. But in that moment of loss, reality struck, unmercifully.

I was grateful dear friends were there for comfort; they helped and distracted me from the terror. Returning home, I was left with Barbara and Rusty. We parted ways, Barbara to her bedroom, I to mine, and Rusty to his favorite chair. He had no idea what had happened, as if I did. At least the house was not empty. I made the terrible mistake of visiting the room where we cared for Phyliss during the night. It felt like death itself until a friend emptied the room for me, months later. I tried; I could not. I had to leave quickly and retired.

The house was not empty, but for me it was void of life, including my own. I was breathing, my heart was beating, but, I really, was not "alive." It felt like being on the Moon, grey, without color, empty, desolate, lifeless and removed from humanity: alone and lonely, without a future. The earth was there above. I could almost reach up and touch it. But, there was no way of ever going back.

There was no sleep, again that night, not even a touch of slumber. There were only tears and sadness. I turned the light off, then back on, and finally back off. It really, didn't make any difference. After all it was just a double coil of tungsten, inside an argon-filled glass globe, glowing because an electric current was running through it. Nothing would change the fact that she was gone.

I "survived" her funeral, her burial and the next three weeks with the help of Barbara, friends, and angel Kiana who flew off when her task was done.

I was surprised I was still upright as the distractions of what had to be done those three weeks wore off. The reality of Phyliss' loss then enveloped me and would not let me go. That started the long road of depression and darkness. Unshakeable thoughts of leaving this world, uselessness, and hopelessness followed me everywhere.

Barbara had difficulty finding another job. By assisting her in her search, it helped maintain a level of distraction for me. I had some usefulness. This continued for three months of searching and interviews and an assignment was finally found here in Medford.

Now the despair became truly unbearable. I was left in the empty home Phyliss and I built and enjoyed, only now she was not here and would never be back. When her stroke occurred, we rushed off to the hospital, without a thought that this was the last time she would leave our house, never to return. There was no ceremony for such an important event. There were no nostalgic or melancholy thoughts. There was not even an awareness of the event. This thirty-seven-year haven of love and happiness now became my tomb.

I felt I had awakened from a deep sleep in the darkness and opened my eyes and yet the darkness did not depart. I could feel the softness of silk and the mixed smell of flowers and formaldehyde all around me. I was in my coffin, buried deep beneath the earth, but, much to my dismay, I was still "alive."

The sorrow inside the house was too much to bear, but the sorrow followed me outside. There was nowhere to hide. It was my constant and insidious companion.

The feelings of anxiety I inherited from my encounter with the MRI machine four years previously returned with a vengeance and triggered sleep depravation. The two monsters joined to feed on me. The more they fed the stronger they got and the more debilitated I became.

I am afraid I cannot give my readers any useful advice to fight off these two parasites of anxiety and sleep depravation, since I have not been successful myself in defeating them. If I had won this war, or even the battle, I would be able to patent the remedy and sell it for a fortune for I know I am not alone. Stay tuned, but don't hold your breath for the remedy. Many people who were much more intelligent than I have tried and failed.

I know nothing of being at war. I don't even begin to claim I know what it is like. But, I felt like the last eight years of protecting Phyliss was like a mini war, fighting the enemies of suffering and death for both of us.

While a real war rages on, the fear of death and returning to your loved ones motivates you and adrenalin keeps you going. There are no days and nights, no evenings, no breaks, no week ends, no holidays, only the fight. There is no thinking. There is only reaction to the latest crises around you and doing what needs to be done, to keep your love alive. It seems you are always on the defensive. There is no such thing as mounting an offensive attack. The enemy is always there waiting for a weakness to surface and taking advantage of it. It seems you and your loved one are always the victims of a surprise attack.

After Phyliss died, my war ended. There was nothing left to do, no enemy left to fight. There was only the rubble of the battlefield to clear for the next war. The enemy of death thought he won, but the real victor of eternal salvation had actually prevailed for my dear Phyliss.

Then the thoughts and torment began. The second guessing started, what did I do, what didn't I do, what should I have done, and what should I have not done. Circumstances change who you are, who you think you are, and what you have become and what you will become. You reevaluate who you are and more often than not, you don't like what you see. Now I am left with fighting my own war with death, only now knowing the horror of what to expect since I have fought that war before.

I believe the experience that I just described is a manifestation of what I understand of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I think the long-term care of a loved can produce a mini version of this awful affliction. If what I am feeling is only a slight form of that terrible ailment, then I cannot even begin to imagine what the real thing is like. God help our returning heroes.

* * * * * * * * *

Forgive me, but I become so furious with our current national "leaders" for dishonoring our heroes who come home and are denied the care they need to survive this second war they are fighting. May any one of them who participates in this disgrace of our them meet his final judgment. We know who they are and who their enablers are and if we do nothing about them here on Earth, I can assure you, God will dispense their punishment when they leave this earth.

I can only advise that those who are providing long-term, serious care to a loved one at home, do all you can. Persevere, but meter your efforts. It is only when the care is over that you feel the full impact of the trauma. Be prepared for it. It will be a difficult road back and most likely a long one. When the pain of daily care is over and leaves, your suffering will not. The suffering will just be joined by grief, loss, second-guessing, and regret.

The final result of this entire trauma is complete exhaustion, burn out. I don't believe that burn out can be avoided in cases similar to mine. The only thing I could hope for was that the circumstances did not kill me before Phyliss. I thank God my burn out did not occur while she was alive. God allowed me to succeed on both counts. I stayed alive, but my burn out occurred three weeks after she died and continues now. Maybe getting "Professional Help" will be successful for some. It was not for me as I described in that previous chapter. It is a long and difficult road back, but for me, writing this book along with earnest and concerned friends, have been my best therapies.

* * * * * * * * * *

**EPILOG: "TIME WILL HEAL"**

Phyliss' death has made me inconsolable, despondent, and depressed for an unending period of time, in fact, to this day as I write this, those feelings have not diminished. The haunting memories of horrible events that transpired during her thirty years of brain tumors and eight-year stroke ordeal parade through my head day and night making the torment even worse.

I have been wondering why. Horrific visions mask and override the decades of what, at the time, seemed would be unending heavenly memories of mutual love, friendship, devotion, and camaraderie. There is no place to find peace and solace anywhere.

"Time will heal," it is said. I am not so sure. I have not seen this concept manifest itself in any manner. It seems to be something people say when they cannot think of anything else to say to relieve your mourning. After a while they speak, but you do not hear. If you hear, you do not understand. And, if you understand, you refuse to accept the reality that you have been left alone.

I bought supplies for her care for at least a year ahead. I feared that a crisis that would interrupt my ability to get the supplies would adversely affect my ability to meet her many needs. I never once considered what to do with them if she died. I guess I pushed the possibility out of my mind and thought she would live forever. I didn't want to think of her dying. Maybe I thought that if I were prepared well into the future that there would be a future.

I haven't had the courage to do the work I know needs to be done. Every part of the house was customized for her care and comfort. The supplies accumulated for her well-being are everywhere. She is everywhere.

It seems the process is going to take a year. Every time I attempt to return the house to normalcy, I feel like I am losing her all over again. Everything I remove is a memory of her that is gone, albeit, sometimes an unpleasant memory, but a memory of her nonetheless. I fear that when I am done, the memories will all be gone, and she will be gone. It has been a slow and agonizing endeavor. This writing is an attempt to preserve these memories after all her things are gone and every person she touched is gone.

I do not want to forget her. I cannot forget her. I refuse to forget her. I refuse to have others forget her.

I concluded that this was the reason the pain would not leave. And, this was partially true. I decided that the way to deal with this dilemma was to document the remnants of my care for her. Only then could I remove the vestiges of her presence and still be able to remember her last eight years with me. But, it seemed there was always more causing the pain. My conclusion was this. My pain was being caused not from losing HER, but losing THEM. I surmised that recovery from losing a loved one was very difficult, but recovering from losing many loved ones would be monumental.

What triggered this realization was looking at photos and writing about the Phyliss that lived before I met her. I was lamenting not knowing her each of the thirty two years that she was alive before I knew of her existence. I deeply regretted losing all that time when she was young, healthy, and vibrant and we did not know each other. I was desperately missing and lamenting something I never had, and would never have. I thought if I were so passionate about loosing this vision of her predating our union, is it any wonder that I desperately grieved the loss the contentment of the years that I did know her.

I found that I was not alone in my lamentation of meeting Phyliss so late. None other than Dame Alice von Hildebrand, the Catholic philosopher and theologian, equally lamented not knowing her, much older husband Dietrich von Hildebrand and wanted to know of his life before they met. To satisfy Dame Alice's curiosity he proceeded to write his autobiography and stopped after five thousand pages. I will not test your patience with even a fraction of that amount.

I believe that what I was mourning was the loss of all the Phyliss's that I knew, over the years, not just the one I knew those last years, those last days. While most of them were only a memory before she died, now the loss was final, permanent, and irreversible. There were no more memories to come. Her leaving was making each Phyliss I knew and loved before become a vivid memory, again. She was impossible to forget and to let go. I didn't want to let go of the memories, not one. I discovered that the apparitions of her I was mourning were many, indeed.

The devoted person who toiled to care for her parents is already a distant memory to most everyone alive.

The diligent and persistent student who managed to pay her way through undergraduate and graduate school while dovetailing her accomplishments of her overwhelming responsibilities was no longer around.

Miss Crudo, the young, energetic, tireless, and talented first-year teacher vanished, as did the school where she first taught, the two houses where she lived, and the churches she attended. Even the all priests and some of the nuns she generously mentored and supported are gone.

Gone is the Miss Crudo I admired in seventh grade, before I even met her: dignified, refined, perfectly dressed, and coiffed and always such a lady and role model.

The master teacher with whom I fondly interacted in her home room, Spanish, and English classes is just a ghost in the hallways. They are the same hallways we walked together the last day of school. Just the four walls of her classroom are left. Not even the echo of her voice remains.

Miss Crudo, my mentor, supporter and cheerleader throughout all my life's trials and at my graduations from high school, and college has disappeared.

The woman I fell in love with more each college year that I rushed home to each summer and holiday and who gave me an impassioned welcome each time I returned, is gone, forever.

The loving companion who gave up everything she worked for at home to arrange our impossible marriage in Rome to become my wife, partner, and honeymooner in Tunisia no longer exists.

My partner in marriage that stood beside me building our home, and our lives, no longer is beside me to build anything, and never will be again.

The Mrs. Badame who shaped all those children's lives in Catholic Schools has now left them only with memories, never to return to teach their children, or anyone's children.

The courageous woman whom I admired and had endured decades of suffering has left this earth. It was suffering done without complaint or self-pity, and always with concern for others, especially me, more than her.

The love of my life whom I watched so, heartbreakingly, take her last courageous breath has departed my company forever.

It is possible for me to envision healing from the loss of one of these loves, but healing from the loss of all of them will be most difficult. This is why the pain is not quick to leave. I am finally realizing. I must heal from each of the losses, one at a time to fully recover. I believe I have not yet recovered from one of these losses.

My hope is that by describing to others the remarkable underlying life, character, and substance of these amazing visages of my love, Phyliss Marie Crudo Badame, she will receive the true recognition and admiration she never sought, but so deserves. Maybe only then will I be granted, by my forgiving God, the solace I seek.

This is my fervent prayer, hope and desire.

Maybe time will heal. But, how long will it take, my dear Lord, how long?

* * * * * * * * * *

**ABOUT FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN**

After a fulfilling relationship of fifty-six years including a joyful marriage of forty-five years, a person can know one's partner better than anyone else. All those years of association through life's joys and trials, can acquaint each with every aspect of the other person's character so they are able to think and act alike and predict each other's actions.

Yet, no matter how close the relationship is, there are still many aspects of each other's life that remain unknown or undiscovered. Interest and communication are the two factors that determine the depth of your understanding of your partner. If there is no interest and you don't communicate then you will know little about each other. That is so sad. Why would two people join in holy matrimony if they are not and remain intensely interested in each other?

Phyliss and I certainly had intense interest in each other's lives before and after we married. Likewise, the communication between us was equally as intense and continuous. But, as time passed, there was a natural tendency to concentrate on the present and future and assume that the past is distant and knowledge of it is complete. Attention begins to be concentrated on life in real time and on future aspirations and plans.

Regrettably, the past imperceptibly fades into the shadows and becomes blurred. It soon becomes a "fait accompli." Certainly, the past becomes less important. It would have been impossible for this to occur, if the principles outlined in the "Wise words" in the appendix had been observed. This fading or ignoring the memories of the past contravenes rule number ten - "Never forget the happiness and joy of early love."

* * * * * * * * *

It seems that every tragedy somehow presents new, positive opportunities. Phyliss' stroke presented the welcomed and unexpected opportunity to return to "the happiness and joy of early love." This was an opportunity that may not have developed without the tribulations that befell us.

When Phyliss had her stroke, her short and medium-term memory were somewhat compromised, but her long-term memory remained completely intact. Discussions about distant memories seemed to give her comfort and were stimulating to her, and for that matter, to me as well. They encouraged her to recount events of the past, motivating her to speak extensively about them. A number of times, her voice became hoarse from talking continuously. It was a small price to pay to hear her comforting voice, watch her enjoyment in recalling events of the past, and realize how the experience was keeping her mind active and alive.

The sessions became a perfect therapy for her since her recollecting, thinking, and speaking abilities were intact even as her hearing ability was rapidly diminishing and finally disappeared. The discussions distracted her from the physical and mental torment of her disabilities and kept her love nearby. I could ask or write a question in a sentence or two, and that would invoke an extended and detailed, page-long response from her, well-composed, of course, and complete. I just needed to be an excellent and avid listener. That was a role I enjoyed and welcomed.

But, an unexpected thing happened while practicing my "therapy." At first I would ask questions of times and events of which I thought I already knew the answers. For some time, that methodology proceeded well as I planned and anticipated. I was so pleased. It was a successful endeavor. I was proud of my accomplishment.

But, as Phyliss began speaking in detail to answer my questions, much to my surprise, she explored and revealed areas and subjects of which I had no knowledge. I listened eagerly to fill in details I never knew about her life and parts of her life of which I knew nothing at all. I was quite astounded. This, I did not anticipate. The stories were fascinating and my interest was intense. After all, the main character of the stories was the woman I loved and cared about so much. The detail she remembered was quite remarkable, yet she was so casual and unassuming. She recounted events as if they had occurred the day before.

Even more remarkable was the humility with which she recounted these stories and events. There was no anger, regret, or animosity, but rather forgiveness for transgressions, and gratitude for kindnesses. Above all, she expressed touching and fond remembrances of us, some which I never knew or realized. I loved these memories best of all. That unexpectedly became my therapy. She was again, giving more than she received. Listening to her was almost like reading the latest, new and anticipated novel that was just released by a favorite author. The theme was the same, the characters were familiar, and the settings were recognizable. The difference was it was an entirely new and interesting story that I never heard before. It encouraged me to want to know more, much more. In fact, the sessions with Phyliss inspired me to want to know much more.

* * * * * * * * *

I enthusiastically started researching for information that was missing from the discussion or eluded our memories. I asked questions, conducted interviews, searched the internet, and foraged for documents, letters, and photographs. The research spawned new questions.

The research was sometimes difficult, since so many of the characters were no longer with us and as memories faded. The process constantly reminded me of how little we relate to those who shape our lives while they are still with us on Earth. At a family gathering, resist having the men watching "the game" in the family room and the women cooking and washing dishes in the kitchen. While all the time, everyone talks of trivia or maneuvers to rehash old grievances and grudges.

* * * * * * * * *

When your grandfather or aunt, or cousin recounts a story for the fifth time, don't roll your eyes, and wish you were somewhere else, while telling them they already told you that story. Ask questions; redirect the tale to maintain interest. You may learn something captivating or even invaluable. No one knows everything and many know nothing. You might even show them how much you care about them. They will rejoice that someone cares and will revel in reliving their memories to a family member. Don't be so cold-hearted. Some day you may be in their shoes. Leave your damn "smart phone", "I-pad", or your wearable computer or whatever insidious device they create in the future to distract you and destroy the family, at home.

If you can't bear to live without electronic companions, then just stay the hell home, alone where you will remain for the rest of your life in your solitude and embracing your beloved technological marvel. It's inhuman. Soon, people will be asking to be buried with their smart phones. Maybe, they already have. Look, folks, they are truly marvels, but give them a break. Look up the short feature: "Look up," on your phone, listen to it, learn from it, and then turn it off as the narrator suggests.

* * * * * * * * *

Calm down Joseph, ahem, Sorry Phyliss. Now, where was I, my love, Oh, yes, talking about "Falling in love again."

The research process with Phyliss was captivating, engrossing, and fruitful to both of us. It added immensely to our peace, energized us, brought us even closer to each other, and made possible the completing and coordinating of our story.

The revelations and research had such a profound effect on me that it was the first time that I seriously thought that I needed to create a permanent record of what I was learning. That awareness and encouragement from a number of dear friends, one in particular, Kathleen, triggered the desire to write this book. Phyliss and I thank you, dear.

While the book is centered on my recollections and impressions of my life and experiences with Phyliss, much of the content and detail of the story came directly from those priceless communication sessions with Phyliss. In a very real way, through the inspiration of her remarkable life and her recollections of that life, she became a joint author of the book. Again, Phyliss had planted another seed, and instigated a teaching and learning experience effortlessly and without my even being aware of it. Now the fruits from those seeds have grown and ripened into to literary memoir long after her departure.

* * * * * * * * *

In a book about two married lovers who were separated by death, a chapter entitled "Falling in Love Again" invokes thoughts of how the bereaved spouse finally accepts that death and moves on to find new love and happiness. That would seem like a natural and reasonable assumption. However, the more I learned and the more I wrote I realized that such an assumption would be grossly inaccurate.

I found that the more knowledge I garnered about the captivating and affectionate woman who married me, the more I became aware of an undeniable truth:

**I was falling in love with Phyliss all over again**.

* * * * * * * * * *

" **NO MAN IS AN ISLAND"**

Reference from "The Meditation XVII" by the English poet John Donne, 1624

In a previous chapter entitled "Joseph's Beginnings," I describe in detail how my childhood was formed by the love of four nurturing, selfless, and loving women:

My first mom, my birth mom:

I was given the gift of life and my first measure of love and comfort by my birth mother, Jenny. Try as she did, and beyond her control, her nurturing was quickly interrupted, by an insidious interloper, Tuberculosis. It was her sorrow to endure the pain of childbirth, only to have her cherub cruelly plucked so quickly from her grasp.

Dad was not around to step in. I really don't know why.

My second mom:

I had the good fortune to be loved by my second surrogate mother, Mary, who had a smile and a heart as big as our Blessed Mary for whom she was named. Like Mary she was humble, tireless, and devoted. She was buttressed by her husband, Matthew, appropriately named as well after the saint, and with an equivalent spirit. Mary soon stumbled into the darkness of illness as well.

My third mom:

Standing in line for duty was mother number three, Lucy, equally, tireless, devoted, and nurturing. She picked up the torch of my upbringing without missing a step and without the assistance of a supportive spouse. Childless, she relished the opportunity to care for me and love me. But, alas, more illness crept in and sidelined still another of my many mothers.

My fourth mom:

Grace volunteered from many years of reserve duty to join the ranks of active-duty mothers after many years of "retirement." What she lacked in physical capabilities and youthful energy she more than compensated for in wisdom and experience. She already loved me dearly. There was no question of that. After all, she was my Grandma.

Finally, my birth mother, Jenny, having recovered, reentered my life to complete the circle of my nurturing quartet of mothers.

The love of my life:

At fourteen, I had been molded so beautifully by all my mothers through adolescence, but I had ever increasing needs to prepare me for the future that awaited me. God sent me that essential mentor to enhance my skills and to survive an unforgiving and difficult world and its challenges. The main purpose of the chapters of this book is to reveal the tribulations and joys of those gifts she bestowed on me as well as so many others. This book can only describe a fraction of those gifts which can never be repaid. But, as with my quartet of mothers, my love had to unexpectedly leave as well, to join our Father.

* * * * * * * * *

Phyliss asked our Father to send me more Angels, lots of Angels in her absence:

It would seem that being granted the assistance of five devoted females should have been enough to guide anyone through his life. But with the devastating loss of the love of my life, I descended into, again, needing the emotional and nurturing needs of my boyhood. In many ways, my needs became like those of the child I had once been.

As well as Phyliss prepared me, I could not shoulder her loss alone and the trials of my life, and she knew that.

Realizing this, Phyliss asked God in His mercy and Grace, to send me an army of Angels to help me carry my crosses. It was a gift I considered to be undeserved, but which I freely accepted. Not surprisingly, all are nurturing females and most are mothers. The angels that appeared as if from Heaven are listed in random order:

Angel Theresa:

A devoted sister of Phyliss and life long partner, with common history and memories, who provided what Phyliss needed the most: friendship and companionship. Her regular visits helped Phyliss through her eight years of trials and loneliness after her stroke.

Angel Rose Ann:

Rose Ann was a dedicated and compassionate niece who immediately and selflessly flew to her aunt's aid from Florida upon hearing of her illness. During her two-month mission of mercy, I regretfully ruffled her angel feathers a bit. She ignored my rudeness and lack of manners, and executed her task with love and devotion. We parted friends and she came back to help once again only to return home and die the next day. She is now in Phyliss' arms.

Angel Emily:

Despite her youth, and lack of experience as a mother, was sent to remind me of my debilitating losses of my youth, enthusiasm, and optimism and how to regain them. Her constant concern and communications never cease to uplift my spirits and make me smile. She came to provide Phyliss and me strength when we needed it the most. Emily did this in person and now, by necessity, does all of this from afar with an effortless sophistication and maturity not revealed in the least by her dearth of years.

Angel Lisa:

This is the mother of Emily. Supported by a rock-steady spouse, having raised three beautiful children together, was sent to provide me with the wisdom and counsel to overcome the darkness and self-destructiveness of grief, despair, loss, and loneliness. Lisa arrived to guide me at the moment of my greatest need and even beyond. She always provides profound answers to my difficult questions and solutions to my sometimes seemingly impossible problems.

Angel Kathleen:

Also paired with a wonderfully supportive spouse, in the process of raising three darling children and rekindling advanced academic pursuits, appeared from one of dear Phyliss' classrooms from not so many years ago. She arrived from the past, to enrich Phyliss' difficult life and to provide me with advice and courage to want to continue living without my beloved companion. Kathleen gifts me with the incentive to achieve my dedicated purpose for this life: to remember, document, and disseminate the story of Phyliss' remarkable life.

Angel Cathy:

Initially she was sent to us merely to provide physical therapy for Phyliss, a laudable, but not unusual service which she provided in an exemplary manner. During eight years, she and her husband and three grown children, Amy, Benjamin, and Carrie, morphed into continuously and generously providing us love, comfort, companionship, and spiritual support to navigate our darkest moments. They made Phyliss and me loved members of their own family, and they are quite good cooks, too.

Angel Mary Alice:

Like Cathy, Mary Alice was sent to provide the usual routine home nursing care. The care she gave was not routine by any standard. After executing that task flawlessly, she and her family provided support far beyond mere medical care. Her common sense and holistic approach to Phyliss' devastating conditions and my own, as well, kept us alive for that first impossible year. The fellowship of that year blossomed into an enduring association and friendship that has been unwavering. She and her husband made it possible for Phyliss to make one last visit to Québec and the Basilica of St. Anne de Beaupré - an act of benevolence that will not be forgotten.

Angel Alice:

With her encouraging and competent spouse at her side, Alice became the lifeline of Phyliss' survival. Common, customary and routine care was sprinkled with regular miraculous acts that were nothing short of lifesaving for both of us. Ever present, she appeared when needed like an actual angel to solve any problem that arose for us and hundreds of others. She was our salvation for eight long years.

Angel Barbara:

She arrived unceremoniously, transplanted from a distant foreign land. A well-intentioned, rocky start as my care-giver companion, developed into an indispensable team member for Phyliss' well-being for eight demanding years. The years produced a loyal cohort and support to lean on through seemingly insurmountable trials and despair. She is now a best friend with a deep and personal bond.

Angel Mary Lee:

Along with Bill, husband and wife, lifelong friends, provided almost daily assistance of every sort for decades, without limitation or condition, truly from her generous heart. Despite quite devastating personal challenges, her beneficence has been sincere, and perpetual to me, her family, and the community. She and her family literally saved Phyliss and me on many occasions from certain tragedy.

Angel Karen:

She was a resident angel, always with a kind word, companionship, flowers, plants, female chatter, spiritual peace, and even birthday and Christmas parties and gifts.

Angel Stephanie:

Stephanie is a nearby angel, always with a concerned call or visit and desire to give Phyliss and me support. She has been perpetually concerned with my well being and is also a superb cook.

Angel Kiana:

Came unselfishly to volunteer and give comfort to Phyliss in her last months, and strength to me at her death, Mass, and burial. Her task being admirably completed, as quickly as she appeared, she flew away to comfort another.

Angel(s) ???? :

I have no doubt that God is not finished sending me additional Angels as I need them. As new Angels arrive, the existing Angels always stay. There is one small problem with having so many of these Angels helping me.

First, it was only dealing with the cat fur and the chicken feathers,

Now, it's oh, so many angel feathers, everywhere.

* * * * * * * * * *

**WHAT WAS? ; WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN? ; WHAT WILL BE**

Sometimes, actually oftentimes, I reminisce, looking at the few photographs I have of Phyliss as a child and a young lady. As I do, I cannot help but imagine myself with all my memories and knowledge of Phyliss from this life, transported back to be a friend and companion to this remarkable young lady.

How marvelous it would have been to have followed her through her development and to witness her flower into the remarkable adult that she was to become. I would have been able to see every event and influence that molded her into the woman that would eventually mentor me into adulthood and become my devoted and beloved wife, companion, and friend. What a marvel that would have been.

I lament every moment I missed of those formative years. I would have been able to write those early parts of this story from the perspective of an involved eye witness and participant and not a researcher. I would have loved that, immensely.

* * * * * * * * *

But, I return to Earth and realize that I wasn't even born then. I think, "How greedy you are, Joseph." God allowed you to have most of your life intimately intertwined with hers in every way possible, and yet, here you are lamenting and wishing you had more time with her. This lost time would have been especially precious when she was not burdened with the litany of responsibility, hardship, and disability she was later to endure.

Another thought comes to my mind as I meander through these miracles of paper and chemicals that capture a lost moment in time, forever. I realize this was an image that was only witnessed in real time by one person on Earth, most often a person who has passed long ago, as well. This was a person not known to me, and I not known to him . . . or her. And yet here it is, a precious moment, gone forever, never to be recreated or seen again, but preserved, and gifted to me by an unknown photographer, in my hand, for always. Certainly, this fine gift is a poor substitute for the reality, but a meritorious substitute, none-the-less. Thank you, Mr. or Mrs. Photographer.

* * * * * * * * *

Almost since the beginning, mankind has searched for the power to know the future. As it is said, we should take care in what we wish for, lest we receive it. God had such Devine Wisdom, in not allowing the future to be revealed to us mortals.

Could Phyliss and I have reveled in our paradise here on Earth all these years, knowing the trials that lay ahead? Phyliss could, most definitely. Could Joseph do it by himself, maybe not so much? Could Joseph with Phyliss to lean on do it, well? Most definitely, he could. But, what we don't usually realize is that God actually does reveal the future to us . . . only in the future. We need to realize, the future of our past is being revealed to us today. I thank God. He had the wisdom not to reveal it to me yesterday. Thank you, Lord.

Fortunately, if I am to believe my core teachings, most of which were generously endowed to me by my dear Phyliss, my journey, and our story is not yet finished. Soon, I pray, I will not have to rely on these marvelous photographs, nor these digital files, nor even my memories to remember my love.

I am not sure if we will be standing, holding each other's hands, and joined to each other for eternity with bodies that are ageless and have been perfectly restored to youth and health, or we will be free spirits joined with mere thoughts, or some other form that God has created that is beyond the understanding of my mortal mind. I have no idea now, but my prayer is that Phyliss does, and I soon will, as well.

All that is important is that we will be united in happiness, forever.

I have learned, the only way for this journey to end in this way, is to accept that Our Maker will decide the time, the place, and the manner of my departure. To allow this to pass, I know that I must have courage and patience, two qualities that Phyliss had in abundance and I often lacked and of which I continue to possess a woeful shortfall.

I pray my Lord, "Bestow these gifts upon me as I humbly wait as an imperfect mortal on Earth to be joined with You and reunited with Phyliss." But, please my dear Lord, don't make me wait too long.

* * * * * * * * * *

" **WHEN I GET TO WHERE I AM GOING"**

My final thoughts of my life on this earth,

Paraphrased from Brad Paisley's lovely song:

"When I get to where I'm going"

Songwriters George Teren III and Malvern Rivers Rutherford II

(I didn't do as good a job as they did, but then again, I am not a song writer)

Lord, when I arrive at Your golden door,

After I take my very last sigh,

The first thing I am going to do,

is look into Your Eye

I am going to land beside you Jesus,

and rejoice and sing Your Name.

And I might just find out what it's like,

to be free of all this earthly pain.

Lord, when I arrive at your golden door,

there will be no more tears.

I will leave the sins and struggles

that have haunted me all these years.

Lord, when I arrive at your golden door,

do not cry for me way down here.

Phyliss will have her arms wide open,

I shall never again have this terrible fear.

I am going to walk beside my dear love,

and she will again match my every step.

And I will tell her how I missed her

every eternal minute since she left.

So much pain and so much suffering,

through this world I bumble through.

All these tests that are left unanswered,

and oh too much work left for me to do.

But, Lord, when I arrive at Your golden door,

and I see my darling's face.

We will stand together in the light,

of Your amazing Grace.

Lord, when I arrive at Your golden door,

there will be no more tears.

And gone will be these endless, heinous fears.

Then, as if the first, we will join our tender lips,

As we did in the very first moments of our Heavenly courtship.

My Lord with Your Grace, if I finally arrive at Your golden door.

* * * * * * * * * *

JOSEPH'S AND, YES, PHYLISS' ONE LAST THOUGHT

Many times in life, an insignificant and chance event becomes the most important moment in one's life. For Phyliss and me, that moment was the last day of school when I carried her belongings to her car and she offered to show me her new house. If that moment had never happened, surely, we would have never seen each other again. At the end of our life together, I asked, "What if that moment never happened?"

That question entered my mind after writing the last chapter of our book. I stepped back, surveyed and pondered the entirety of our lives together. Completing that task, an observer might ask of us, "Having loved each other so deeply throughout all your lives, and now, knowing the terrible suffering you both endured in the last years of your long romance, would you both do it again?" "Would you have forgone your life together and your love to avoid the years of pain and suffering that were to come?" Phyliss is gone, but I know what her answer would be. It would be, most, assuredly the same as mine.

* * * * * * * * *

The question is an important and thoughtful one. It would appear that it is not a question that would uniquely be asked of us only. It might be one that many people would ask of their own lives, especially if tragedy and sorrow befell them during their years together. The question can be partially answered with another question: "If the suffering were inevitable, would you want the one you love to suffer in solitude or would you rather be at her side to help absorb and lessen that suffering?"

Because the question is so significant, I would wish to answer it in the most perspicacious manner possible. I would want to answer it profoundly, much as a talented poet might, yet I am certainly not he. I am not even a poet of any type. The truth be told, I am not even a legitimate or gifted author. So, I have concluded that I must leave the answer to be conveyed by one of the world's greatest poets.

Alfred Lord Tennyson.

The poignant answer to my question can be found in his famous poem, "Memoriam A.A.H.," which he completed in 1849 after seventeen years of thoughtful writing and refinement. The poem was written as a requiem for a dear friend who coincidentally died suddenly from a cerebral hemorrhage as did Phyliss.

A short, but most relevant excerpt from the poem reads:

"I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all."

Phyliss and I would not have given up a single one of our

**30,062,880** **minutes with which we were bestowed by God.**

* * * * * * * * *

**IS THIS THE DEATH OF AMERICA?**

Here are some undeniable truths that may answer that question.

We, as a nation, have not begun to acknowledge our fatal problems.

We, as a nation, are broke.

We, as a nation, are a country of individuals in unrecoverable debt.

We, as a nation, are in exponentially increasing debt.

We, as a nation, have most of our allied nations in increasing unrecoverable debt.

We, as a nation, have states in unrecoverable debt.

We, as a nation, have counties in unrecoverable debt.

We, as a nation, have large and small cities in unrecoverable debt.

We, as a nation, have major companies leaving the country.

We, as a nation, have record numbers of citizens renouncing their citizenship and leaving.

We, as a nation, have financial giants leaving the country.

We, as a nation, are divided.

We, as a nation, are unpatriotic.

We, as a nation, punish patriotism.

We, as a nation, vilify the just citizen.

We, as a nation, praise and exalt the lawbreakers.

We, as a nation, are dispirited.

We, as a nation, have no equality of opportunity.

We, as a nation, have protected classes.

We, as a nation, promote division, racism and bias.

We, as a nation, dishonor our veterans.

We, as a nation, do not value life.

We, as a nation, do not value children.

We, as a nation, do not value family.

We, as a nation, do not value marriage.

We, as a nation, have a destroyed educational system.

We, as a nation, are uneducated.

We, as a nation, are stupid.

We, as a nation, cannot think.

We, as a nation, are uninformed.

We, as a nation, are misinformed.

We, as a nation, are self –centered.

We, as a nation, are self-absorbed.

We, as a nation, are Godless.

We, as a nation, are indifferent.

We, as a nation, are distracted.

We, as a nation, are unprincipled.

We, as a nation, are selfish.

We, as a nation, are legalizing dangerous drugs.

We, as a nation, are addicted to illegal drugs.

We, as a nation, are addicted to prescription drugs.

We, as a nation, are addicted to alcohol.

We, as a nation, are addicted to sex and pornography.

We, as a nation, are addicted to government largess.

We, as a nation, are unemployed.

We, as a nation, are lazy.

We, as a nation, are obese.

We, as a nation, have no self control.

We, as a nation, have no privacy.

We, as a nation, have a massive domestic military.

We, as a nation, have militarized our local police.

We, as a nation, don't have a viable national military, patriotically lead.

We, as a nation, have corrupt governments at every level.

We, as a nation, have a world on fire.

We, as a nation, have no allies.

We, as a nation, have no viable economy.

We, as a nation, have no sovereignty.

We, as a nation, have no secure borders, and don't care.

We, as a nation, have no industry.

We, as a nation, have an enemy within.

We, as a nation, have abandoned religious values and teachings.

We, as a nation, have no freedom.

We, as a nation, do not value freedom.

We, as a nation, have inequality.

We, as a nation, have no just judicial system.

We, as a nation, have no monetary stability.

We, as a nation, have a corrupt stock and commodity market.

We, as a nation, have no health system.

We, as a nation, have enemies everywhere.

We, as a nation, have our enemies "leading" our nation.

We, as a nation, have no enemies that fear us.

We, as a nation, have no friends that respect us.

We, as a nation, do not honor our founding institutions.

We, as a nation, do not honor our founding principles.

We, as a nation, have no morals.

We, as a nation, have no common sense.

We, as a nation, cannot think independently.

We, as a nation, are gullible.

We, as a nation, are governed by politicians with no principles.

We, as a nation, do not follow our own laws and constitution.

We, as a nation, have no secure electrical grid.

We, as a nation, have no energy policy.

We, as a nation, have our economy run by junk science.

We, as a nation, have no security.

We, as a nation, have a massively decaying infrastructure.

We, as a nation, have a worthless currency.

We, as a nation, have a massively corrupt banking system ready to fail.

We, as a nation, have a massively corrupt stock market.

We, as a nation, have a massively corrupt commodities market.

We, as a nation, are woefully unprepared for a pandemic.

We, as a nation, are woefully unprepared for a foreign attack.

We, as a nation, make war on language and definitions.

We, as a nation, borrow money to pay interest on borrowed money.

We, as a nation, create new bureaucracies to regulate existing bureaucracies.

We, as a nation, have no gold reserves.

We, as a nation, have no foreign policy.

We, as a nation, ignore evil in the world.

We, as a nation, have our heads in the sand.

You decide if our nation is dead.

* * * * * * * * * *

**ABOUT FIREMEN**

The nature of social interaction with others before and after a substantial misfortune is not discussed much, at least not by those directly afflicted. They and their care givers are usually too occupied with trying to cope or just trying to survive or both to proselytize about the nature of their misfortune. The subject cannot be generalized easily, since the circumstances, the individuals, and disabilities are so widely different when the change in life occurs. And, make no mistake, misfortune can be life transforming or even life destroying or ending. Therefore, these comments are made only in light of experiences which Phyliss and I had. Nonetheless, I believe that by expressing them, they may personally help some of those directly affected and those that love them. So, I will give it a try.

* * * * * * * * *

Most individuals, couples, or married partners have their own social life and interactions that include family members, friends, acquaintances, neighbors, etc. These interactions occur by design, by accident, or sometimes even by imposition or coercion. (A necessary, but unpleasant engagement and a visit to obnoxious in-laws are examples of coerced social experiences)

For various reasons, things change after tragedy strikes. Many times, maybe most times, the changes are not for the better. Sometimes they profoundly compound the tragedy for the loved one and for the primary care giver and sometimes they profoundly ease the pain of the tragedy. What seems to determine the negative or positive course of the change is whether the social relationship was established before or after the misfortune occurred.

Generally speaking, pleasant social interactions, even long standing ones, suffer when tragedy strikes. Those social relationships that were established after the tragedy strikes tend to be positive and more intense. It seems to be illogical that the long-term and established relations fade and falter while the newly-established relationships blossom.

However, there seems to be an explanation for this phenomenon that I have hypothesized. I have concluded that for most, social interaction between humans is a form of unwritten contract. The contract is founded on some set of commonalities between the parties. The commonalities may be similar hobbies or passions, religion, tastes in foods, political views, sports participation or pursuits, travel or even the pursuit of the opposite sex or pleasure. The foundation could be anything or any combination of things – legal or illegal, moral or immoral, for good or for evil.

Sometimes the parties engaging in social interaction erroneously interpret the bond of their association to be more expansive than it is. Those involved are many times not aware of how narrow and weak the bond is. I will address the social bonds that formed before the misfortune occurred first.

* * * * * * * * *

Becoming disabled often violates the unspoken contract. It can be a major breach of the agreement. In our case Phyliss could not help others as she did before. In many circumstances, maybe most, Phyliss and I could not participate in former activities at all. Major readjustment was necessary for others to associate with us. Phyliss and I were no longer "fun" to be with. The violation was compounded and the fate of the social contract was sealed when Phyliss died. I am certainly no "fun" to be with without Phyliss. Who knows, maybe I was not fun to be with when Phyliss was alive.

Saying that some people had become "uncomfortable" associating with us is a caustic and unkind comment, but I believe a true one. Certainly Phyliss would not have expressed it quite so harshly, but she was always painfully forgiving. I have not been so forgiving, I am ashamed to say. Give me even a fraction of Phyliss' understanding, Lord. Have I learned nothing all these years with her?

Previously effortless and enjoyable encounters, full of joy and good cheer became laborious and lacked their former attraction. As I said, it was not "fun" anymore. Encounters with Phyliss and me became awkward, nothing to anticipate with joy. Few seemed to know exactly what Phyliss' modified capabilities and handicaps were. Even detailed explanations seemed to produce glazed eyes. Sometimes there was detached, polite concern expressed combined with "thank God it was not I" thoughts. There was a sense of uneasiness, not lightheartedness.

I lacked energy, was less understanding, quick tempered, and was constantly overwhelmed with heartache. I was always immersed in my own world of "What crisis will befall my love today" mode. I was just not the same person who entered our formal contracts. The contract had been violated. My violations were mostly self-inflicted, Phyliss had no choice.

After all, look how little it takes to break a legal and formal contract like marriage, sworn before God Himself. On the other hand, the social contract was never agreed to and certainly not written, was not ordained by God, nor did it normally have legal consequences. Most do not even know an unspoken contract exists. What contract?

In today's self-centric world, many times, the violation, whatever its cause, it is a deal breaker. But, no one will admit that or talk about it. So, some of our former social partners slowly withdrew from the relationship or social connection. This was done as quietly as possible without a formal declaration. The parties slipped serendipitously unnoticed into the night, sometimes never to return.

* * * * * * * * *

I know the nurse at my physician's office quite well, a kind, competent and caring person in every way. She attended to Phyliss and me for many years. Her husband died in a tragic accident at quite a young age. She had two young boys who are now young adults. One very good friend stopped by the house months after the accident to express his sympathy for her loss. Just before leaving, he turned at the doorway and said, "I will be back to see you in six months, Judy." This perplexed the nurse, and she inquired, "What is the significance of visiting me in six months?" He responded, "Almost everyone will stop visiting you in six months, except your true friends, like me." His prophecy was fulfilled for her, and for Phyliss and me. What wisdom and insight into human nature he had.

* * * * * * * * * *

Conversely, social interactions that begin after the misfortune occurs have an entirely different nature and character. Since there was no association with Phyliss and me before the tragedy, there was no knowledge of that former life and no contract existed or was broken. From the beginning, Phyliss and I were different people, fully visible for others to see. For a bond to form there had to be a new contract or association. The association was made freely knowing precisely who we were and what our new capabilities and limitations were.

The choice to associate was made based on who we were, not our condition or what our interests were. The new social contracts were founded on compassion and the desire to reduce our pain and isolation. These were admirable traits, not trivial pursuits to form the basis for a contract. The lofty conditions of the new associations made the bonds more permanent, and meaningful. The motivation was one of benevolence, kindness and empathy. The majority of our "angels" arrived and stayed after our misfortune occurred.

* * * * * * * * *

I present this subject so that others can prepare themselves for this aspect of their adversity when it appears. I assure you, it will appear. While this phenomenon is difficult to accept, it is unfair to be judgmental about those that disappear into the night. It seems to be a part of the human condition to distance ourselves from calamity. I know I have been tempted to flee from it myself on a number of occasions. Very few of us are immune. One of the few people I have known who was immune from this human affliction was Phyliss.

When I observed this phenomenon of distancing and abandonment negatively affect her life, it became the source of great consternation after having observed her self sacrifice all her life to always help others. My heart bled for her isolation, loneliness, and her perceived feelings of uselessness that they engendered. I desperately attempted to convince her that her mere presence in my life and her love were the prime sources of my happiness and emotional health – a laudable goal and achievement, I thought. It helped give her solace, but I don't think it was enough for her. She wanted to do more. She always did more.

**Somehow during the aftermath of the stroke, I may have erroneously placed my emphasis on making my dear's life** bearable and comfortable **rather than making it** fruitful and useful. **The two sets of goals are equally essential, are certainly not the same, and are not mutually exclusive. My attempt at the former I consider a stellar success. My achievement in the latter was not so much, partially due to my own shortcomings and ignorance, and partially due to an unforgiving world - how sad. I so wish I were given the opportunity to do it all over again, knowing what I know now. What a tragedy that I had to learn at the expense of my darling. That is why, if you love someone dearly, you must make yourself aware of the issues I had to learn in the most unfortunate manner. Learn from our experience.**

It is so simple when it is brought to your attention: You must be successful in making your dear love's life fruitful and useful as well as bearable and comfortable – not a bad idea handicapped or not.

* * * * * * * * *

When the horror of the World Trade Center attacks occurred and the masses fled the buildings, brave firemen fought through the smoke and masses and ran into the buildings to save victims in need with no thought of their own condition or personal safety.

All of her life, Phyliss was always one of the brave firemen fighting the masses and running toward adversity to help anyone in need. This was done many times without regard to negative consequences to her personally. The firemen died in their heroics as she bravely jeopardized her own well-being regularly trying to help others.

I just wish there were more brave "firemen" who unselfishly rushed to her aid when she needed them the most as she had done throughout her days among us. That would have made her life so much more fruitful and useful and have been oh, so much more comforting for both of us as her minutes slipped away.

* * * * * * * * * *

**TRY THIS AT HOME, "the discussion"**

This chapter needs a few words of introduction. The assumption, of course, in writing this chapter is that a health calamity has occurred to a loved one in the household, as it did with Phyliss and me. It gives very basic insights on how to cope with that calamity. But, something is woefully missing from all our lives prior to the calamity –Preparedness. None of us even considers the most rudimentary thinking of this subject until it is forced upon us.

It is not a pleasant thought of preparing for a major illness to befall a loved one. "Of course, it will never happen to us." But, really, look around you. Sudden tragedy, illness and suffering are everywhere we look – family, friends, neighbors, coworkers, acquaintances – everyone, everywhere – and somehow we convince ourselves that we are immune. We are not immune. In fact, the chances of a grave illness, an accident, or similar emergency visiting you or those around you are quite probable.

I know we never want to believe that we are susceptible. But, unfortunately we all are. We don't want to think of such things, but we should. We give more thought to what smart phone we are going to buy or what color to paint the living room, or what car to purchase, with what options, than what we would do if such a life threatening tragedy strikes. How strange is that? Humans seem to naturally avoid unpleasantness regardless of the seriousness of the consequences. Preparedness is something for the "Boy Scouts."

Do this. Sit down with your spouse for just a few hours or an evening, free of distractions. I know lots of luck. Formulate a plan for addressing a serious illness befalling one of you. Where would the money come from, short term and long term? Who would you contact and rely on in the immediate crisis and a long term crisis? What happens to dependents? How would your home be maintained? How could care take place in the home? Are you and your spouse interchangeable regarding major issues? If not, become interchangeable. This part will only take a few hours.

Remember, when a crisis befalls your spouse, one of you will assume the full burden of maintaining the family at precisely the time you are dealing with the crisis. It is not a crisis. It is multiple crises. For me, it was an overwhelming task that was physically and emotionally debilitating, and life threatening. I lost thirty pounds in less than two months without even realizing it.

Make a list of physical resources and human resources.

Label them with their usefulness, complete with their locations and with contact information. Inform the children, family and neighbors, and involve them in the process. Load the information on everyone's smart phone. Password protected, of course. The children can be your most valuable resource. It is remarkable what their capabilities are. Think of the boost to their self-esteem. "Mom and dad want to rely on us in a crisis, wow."

Make a plan, even an incomplete or sketchy plan.

Just start thinking and give it serious attention. Don't obsess or try to completely document a plan. You will remember the discussion when the time comes, believe me. The first thing you will say to yourself when a crisis strikes is, "Thank you, Joseph!" Then you will mobilize and take action instead of being paralyzed with fear and uncertainty. This is just a little advice from an engineer and planner who did not engineer and plan. Who would know better? This must be a military operation.

If your marriage has been based on true and unconditional love and your spouse falls victim to a serious and debilitating stroke, accident, or illness, brace yourself to absorb daily heartache. You must be strong or become strong and develop superhuman fortitude for both of you and all of your family members. You must make up the strength that your partner has lost and add to that which you already have. You must do this on your own; very few can help you perform this monumental feat. After maintaining your own health and capabilities, the following needs must be met to make life bearable for you both. It will not be easy.

A cute quip is commonly heard: "Don't try this at home." As with many cute quips in life, this one is actually the antitheses of what is required in reality. If you love your spouse, you must, above all, make every effort to **"try this at home,"** the title of this chapter. Try everything to make that happen. Institutionalization of your loved one after the initial crisis is managed is usually a death sentence for you both.

Avoid institutional care like death, because most times, it is the specter of death.

If it is unavoidable, prepare to make yourself a fixture at the facility. You must make alliances with the good staff and become the spouse from hell with the bad staff. There will be bad staff. Learn to differentiate them. It is not easy. Evolve yourself from the polite and docile good citizen you have been all your life into a Drill Sergeant in the Marine Corps. Train yourself to be a pain in the ass if that's what it takes.

Maintain Physical Wellness:

Above all, your physical wellness and that of your spouse must be maintained. After all, the other factors are irrelevant if you or your loved one dies.

Maintain Mental and Emotional Wellness:

Mental and emotional wellness is almost as important as the physical wellness since extreme mental and emotional stress will negatively affect the physical wellness of you both. This is a monumentally important task for you, because mental and emotional wellness is usually not addressed at all in the treatment of a crisis by traditional medicine.

Meet Creature Comforts:

Creature comforts are most important to be maintained since, many times, these may become the only enjoyments that your spouse has left. These comforts will certainly change from those that would satisfy before the illness. Try to discern what the new comfort needs are and strive to meet them.

Some examples may be increased sensitivity to temperature changes, light levels and sounds, tightness of clothes and restrictive garments, beds and chairs, food and drink, and changes in long standing preferences and likes and dislikes. Be prepared to observe and accommodate. Only you as the primary care giver and the person who is most knowledgeable of your spouse can effectively execute this role.

Maintain the Feeling of Usefulness:

Of all the factors to consider this is one of the most important and one of the most difficult to execute. It will establish the positive attitude needed to get well. Do not confuse providing creature comforts with the feeling of usefulness. They are not the same. One is primarily physical and relatively easy to fulfill. The other is mostly psychological. Both can be like building a sand castle on the beach. Every time you achieve success, a wave washes it away. Stay flexible.

You must evaluate what your love enjoyed and was capable of doing before the illness and meld that list with her capabilities after the health crisis. This is not an easy task. I am sorry to say that my efforts produced little success. The first deterrent was my own confusion between creature comforts and the need to be useful. You have a distinct advantage having read this. You saved all the time and effort that I expended.

Once you have exhausted tasks of real usefulness, resort to contrived tasks of usefulness. Think of usefulness in terms of a young child. Most times it is much easier to "do it yourself" to expedite the task. Don't do it. You must maintain a feeling of usefulness and accomplishment for your love. Her enthusiasm, her zest for life, her healthy mental state depends on meeting this need. Failure will kill her as surely as a massive stroke. The difference is it will not be a quick passing. It will be a slow, depressing, and painful death of deterioration, confusion, detachment, and loss of desire.

Observe, Evaluate, and Change:

You, as the spouse and the primary care giver are most qualified to fill this role. You must be observant, evaluate what you observe, and implement the changes necessary to maintain the above goals. Circumstances will be in constant flux. Nothing will remain the same. Techniques, methods, routines, diet, and medicines – everything will continually change. You must change with them. Go with the flow.

What worked perfectly in the past, may even be harmful or deadly today or in the future. You must remain alert always. This is extremely difficult since routine and complacency inevitably creep into your life and your routine, especially for an extended period or indefinite period of care. Catastrophes occur when daily routine crashes head-on with radical changes that happen without our awareness. Stay alert for these happenings.

Love, Understanding, Compassion, and Caring:

Love is its own category that cannot be rated. It must be present for all the other needs to be met and for your spouse to survive and recover. The other objectives cannot be met without unending and unconditional love in abundant measure. Even if you normally had not been a particularly loving couple, become one during the crisis. Who knows? Maybe it will stick when the crisis is over. "Nah!" I am showing my age. I guess I should say, "Not!" I must be dreaming, sorry.

I pray that you never need to use these guides to help a loved one. But, we have so many we care deeply about the odds are not in your favor. Even if you are not the primary care giver, your awareness of these factors can be passed on to another who has been thrust into an awful predicament. "Pass it on."

Get involved, if only as an advisor. You will receive your reward. But, don't do it for the reward. Do it because you are a good and compassionate human being. Do it because it is the right thing to do, even if no one is watching.

Good luck and God be with you. You will need Him.

* * * * * * * * * *

**THE MAGIC OF HER LIFE OF TEACHING . . . LOST OR NOT? , WE MUST DECIDE**

If you have had the patience to stay awake reading my ramblings, you probably have gotten the hint; I was quite fond of Miss Crudo, Fay, Toots, and Mrs. Badame. Throughout my writing, I use words like accomplished, caring, skillful, and industrious when referring to her in-classroom and out-of-classroom success.

But, during the two years I was under her formal tutelage, I had the good fortune to have had, literally, a score of other superior teachers in a wide range of subjects. Good, dedicated teachers were in abundance during my schooling. Despite the fact that many teachers were dedicated, Miss Crudo seemed to stand out even among such an array of talented and dedicated individuals.

One day I began asking myself some questions. "What made her stand out?" "Why did I think she was so special?" "Was it my infatuation?" I concluded that no, I do not believe so. "Was she special as a teaching force?" Most definitely, she was. I then asked myself, "Why?" In retrospect, over the years I concluded that she was unique and excelled above the others for some of the following reasons. Despite the fact that she was my wife for 45 years, I tried to be objective. I know. It was a difficult task.

I do know through letters, e-mails, and personal discussions over the years from former students and colleagues that it was not unusual to learn that some, if not many, declared that they had modeled their teaching and professional careers, if not their private lives after the standards they learned from Miss Crudo's teachings and her example. I know this well. I was one of them. In documenting her career in teaching I am hoping that not only those of us who knew her personally but now those who are only reading about her can absorb some of her wisdom and incorporate it in their lives. How wonderful it is knowing she is still teaching, even after she is gone. This is my reason for honoring and writing about her. I hope you can benefit from my unique perspective of her life.

" **Miss Crudo" - Caring**

I believe children sense and respond to the sincere concern and caring of another person better than any age group. They instinctively detect these very human emotions and, more importantly, the lack thereof. These two feelings have the power to soften the heart of the most abused and hardened children and the ability to amplify those feelings in children who have already been showered with them.

They can sense, usually through deeds, the spoken word, or example when another person truly cares about them. Phyliss exhibited these qualities so strongly and universally among all the students that her true love for them did not go undetected. This caring and love formed the foundation of the trust she engendered in them.

I have direct knowledge of Phyliss' teaching for about twenty-seven years, either as a student or as her husband. I do not remember a single day she missed school. There was no such thing as staying at home for a "sick day" or "personal day." She had a service to render to her students, and she could not render that service if she were not there. Her needs were secondary to her obligation, and she considered it an obligation – even a privilege to shape young minds.

Her priority was to provide a stable and constant environment for the children on which they could rely. She observed that every day, one or more of the children had a need to be addressed, some serious, some not so serious. She felt it was her duty to be there to meet those needs when they arose, not at some later time. Many times the needs were urgent and could wait until the next day or possibly over the weekend. She was always right.

Were there some students who did not respond to her caring? Of course there were a few. She never scorned any one of them. It made her redouble her efforts on their behalf. If they still did not respond positively, she quietly moved on, always making it clear that she was still available and accessible in case of a joyous change of heart. There were some who did have such a change of heart. For the few remaining, she accepted the fact that she could not help some who did not want to be helped. She did not let that detract from helping the others.

Were there some truly difficult cases? Yes, there were a number of them. The concerned treatment of those unfortunate children discarded by the system and labeled as "juvenile delinquents," "undesirables" or "trouble makers" revealed her most treasured talents. The rehabilitation and salvation of these souls were among her finest achievements. I witness many of these "rescues."

To Phyliss, there was no such child as a "trouble maker," only a troubled, misunderstood, or an abused child. This group made up her most fervent followers, because they sensed the caring she had that was absent in most others with whom they had contact for most or all of their lives.

* * * * * * * *

One day, most abruptly and unannounced, one of the "delinquents" whom Phyliss had "rehabilitated" entered the classroom. He had not come alone. His "companion" had not entirely arrived voluntarily. He was, shall we say, "escorting" by the arm, one of the other female teachers who I was to find had been a college rival of Phyliss' in her undergraduate work at Rutgers.

He asked. Actually, that is too meek a word. He demanded that she repeat the rumor to Miss Crudo that she and her uncle were spreading around the school about her. This confrontation was not an event that one witnessed often in a middle school classroom especially in the 1950's.

The rumor that was being spread was that Miss Crudo was secretly having an affair with one of the other teachers, a married man. Anyone who even casually knew Miss Crudo would have immediately been aware that this was one of the most preposterous stories ever. It was so unbelievable that the student did not even ask Miss Crudo if it were true. It could not be.

Miss Crudo, always unflappable and probing for the truth, questioned the student about his claim. He insisted that he was telling the truth. She knew from previous counseling that he loved his mother intensely and was devastated by her death. When he swore on his dead mother's grave that his claim was accurate and truthful, that was enough for her to believe him.

He was big and strong for his age, and was visibly disturbed and angry. As a person she knew him to have great courage and integrity. It appeared the other teacher feared for her life. Maybe her fear was justified. Miss Crudo asked to hear the teacher's side of the story, but she timidly refused to repeat the rumor. Her silence further convinced Miss Crudo that she was involved in the falsehood.

Frustrated, the student again took her by the arm and disappeared with her down the hall apparently on the way to the principal's office. What exactly happened in the principal's office, I am not sure? I do know that the next week, the teacher's work at the school came to an abrupt end.

This incident illustrated how Phyliss' caring and passion toward the students created such a loyalty in at least one, who was labeled "troublesome," that on his own, he risked expulsion, or possibly arrest, to challenge authority and to end the besmirching of the character of his respected and beloved teacher. She had that ability to recognize and build character. I have never met someone who could ignite this level of allegiance in her students.

This monumental display of student loyalty that she engendered was apparently just a footnote in her career not even worth mentioning. I discovered this story by chance while interviewing her for this book, after having known her for fifty years and being married to her for thirty-eight of those years. She recounted the story without even a hint of animosity or vengeance toward the teacher who attempted to ruin her life. Such was the depth of her character and humility. Most would have attempted revenge or carried a grudge for life.

* * * * * * * * *

She never approached any child, or person, for that matter, using the labels placed on them by others. She had no preconceptions or biases. Her actions were based on her uncanny ability to determine character and true motives of the person standing before her. She then treated them with respect and civility and expected, no demanded the same in return. There was no gray zone when interacting fellow human beings.

The students, and everyone who associated with her, knew that deception would be immediately detected and would not be tolerated. She was a human lie detector. Nothing got past her, and the students respected her for it. They realized very quickly that deception and pretense were futile since they would be discovered immediately. They learned that deception was punished and honesty was rewarded. Truth and honesty became the standard in their behavior in and out of the classroom.

This was an admirable standard for them to learn for use later in adult life in friendship, business, and in marriage.

Industry

The world today is filled with laziness, waste, and sloth. A common sight is the congregation around the water cooler or the coffee maker discussing future plans or last night's game. The work day becomes one endless "break" and nothing is accomplished or learned.

For Phyliss, there was no such thing as taking a "break" in the teachers' room, at her desk, or eating a snack or even having a cup of coffee or tea. There was no such thing as doing her "own work" on school time. Her "own work" was the education of the children.

Stopping for lunch, what was that? Lunch was when she advanced a student having a hard time with spelling. It was a time for talking to interested students about the Opera, the Ballet, or our adventures in Tunisia to open new horizons.

The learning of the school day was not completed when the last class was over. It was completed when the last student's questions were answered or his problem was solved. And, it was not all talking. There was as much listening, especially when there was no one else who would listen.

She was always there for them. She was there for them individually, in a group, around her desk, before or after school, or during lunch. This did not go unnoticed by any of them or their parents. They knew they were most important to her, and they learned from her example as a role model.

The secretary at one of her schools wrote: "You were one great teacher. I don't think I ever remember you taking a lunch hour. It was always spent helping the children."

Trust

As in every human association, successful teaching relies on trust, a covenant between the teacher and the student. The superior teacher vows to direct her talents, training, and efforts, without distraction, to maximize the learning experience. The student, in turn, vows to be diligent in applying himself to the best of his abilities to participate sincerely in the presented learning experience.

One solitary and simple question from Phyliss, the first day of class, immediately laid the foundation of that trust that she engendered for the duration of her association with each student and beyond. From the isle in the middle of the classroom, she spoke, rotating and making eye contact with every student. She outlined, in detail, what she required of each student to successfully complete his tenure in her class. This discourse from a teacher the first day of class was unusual, but not totally unique.

Then, much to the surprise of the students, she asked, "Now, you tell me, what you require of me." I am sure, most, if not all, had never been asked this question before. Certainly it was not a question to come from their teacher.

Immediately, the foundation for trust and caring between her and the students was formed. It is highly likely that most students would think, "Here was a teacher concerned with my well-being, my wants, my welfare, my future." How unusual, how refreshing, how reassuring this was. My parents don't even ask me that! I know that's what went through my young mind that day.

Most important, Miss Crudo's question was not rhetorical. At the end of the session she knew more about the aspirations of each child than almost anyone. Many were encouraged to think about their aspirations for the first time. Within reason, and after considering relevance, she incorporated their responses into her management of their education.

Each class, each student, got similar subject matter but from the unique perspective of his own goals. This exercise took the entire first lesson. It became their most important learning experience of the year. They had organized their thoughts, envisioned their future, and presented their aspirations to their fellow classmates, something most of them had never done before.

From where did Miss Crudo find and develop this disarming and effective technique for teaching? I have no idea. I have been in awe of her capabilities since before the day I met her. Another incident comes to mind that perfectly illustrates the formation of trust between Miss Crudo and the students and class:

It was Monday morning, a school day. There was water everywhere. The school was flooded. Vandals had broken into the school sometime over the weekend and turned on the faucets in the boys' room on the third floor. It created a mess. After a great deal of effort, it was cleaned up, order was restored, and school resumed. The principal and the vice principal/truant officer immediately mounted an aggressive investigation to find and punish the culprits.

It was strongly suspected that they were students who wanted some days off. They pursued the goal with vigor. They were effective, persistent, and strict disciplinarians. When thinking of the principal and the vice principal, the term, "Geheime Staatspolizei," comes to mind. More "affectionately," shortened to the "Gestapo." They were skilled, decisive, and pertinacious. You would be tempted to say, "These boys may have picked the wrong school." But, surprisingly a week went by to no avail. With all their skills and vigorous pursuit, they could not find who the perpetrators were.

Frustrated, infuriated, and with a damaged ego, the vice principal secretly approached Miss Crudo, to work her magic. This vice principal previously sent, on multiple occasions, and with surprising success, "troublesome" students to Miss Crudo for "serious behavior modification."

Within several hours, Miss Crudo arrived at the Vice Principal's office. She did not have the names of the perpetrators. She had brought the culprits themselves. Many students who knew what had happened, feared coming forward and dealing with the vice principal or other teachers.

They had trust in Miss Crudo, that their best interests were her priority, that she would keep their disclosure in confidence, that she would support them in their honesty, and would defend and protect them, if necessary.

They had no doubt of her sincerity and her abilities to keep her pledge. She was the rock of the school. The students observed her behavior and character and emulated them from then and into their adulthood. They, in turn, passed these principles onto their fortunate children.

Originality and innovation

Originality and innovation have always been important engines that advanced mankind. But these two qualities of human endeavor are not absolute. They are not always beneficial.

A square wheel is certainly original and it is quite an innovation, but its use to mankind would be quite limited. I am sure it has some use, somewhere, but if it were declared by law to replace all round wheels, mankind would not be well served. Although, I think some of our laws come close to this absurdity.

Phyliss' classroom was the crucible for useful originality and innovation. Somehow, she emerged from college a polished and accomplished master educator from her first year of teaching. I cover the innovations and originality of her teaching in the chapter "Her early years of teaching."

" **Movin' on up," about judging**

Life is filled with people of all stripes. Some are more accomplished than we. Some are less accomplished than we. Some are the best role-models, some are good role-models, some are not-so-good role-models, and, alas, some are the worst role-models. We will encounter them all.

Our politically correct world today, tries to indoctrinate us not to judge, especially, not to judge individuals. Attempts are even made to twist Christ's own words to make the point not to judge. When you die, what do you think Christ will do when you stand before Him? Why to you think they call it the "Last Judgment.

This concept to be non-judgmental is preposterous. Every one of us judges everything, and everyone, every day, all day, every night, and all night, throughout our entire life. Judging is the centerpiece of our value system. When these individuals criticize, condemn and reprimand us not to judge, are they not judging us. They are hypocrites of the worst type.

Judgments and opinions are a part of life and of the human experience. Judgments of things, circumstances and, yes, even people, are necessary for a civilized society to exist, for us to exist. This is indisputable. Anyone who says they do not judge is being dishonest with us and themselves. It is not the act of judging that is wrong. It is uninformed judging that is harmful. Good grief, in court, why is the presider called "the judge."

To make an informed judgment we must first educate ourselves, and then apply what we learned to formulate our judgment. But before we make our judgment, we must make part of our being, one of Phyliss' favorite quotes, listed in the "Appendix."

This quote was gifted to us by Nicolaus Copernicus centuries ago. (You know, the guy who determined the earth orbits around the sun) Yet, few of us know the quote, or even that it exists. I know I didn't know it until I sat in Miss Crudo's classroom. Now, what subject or class do you suppose she cleverly introduced this gem of a quotation? It was the subject of life that she taught all day, every day, starting over sixty years ago. Many of her students, who wrote her, still remember and use it today. I know. I just did. Memorize it. It might just be the best definition of "Humility."

" **To know that we know what we know, and to know that we do not know what we do not know, that is the sign of true intelligence."**

Nicolaus Copernicus (1473-1543)

The lesson is: no matter how informed we think we are, we must acknowledge that there are things we don't know. And more importantly, we must know that we don't know them. That is the more difficult part. We must incorporate that reality into making our informed judgment. Why is it so important to make informed judgments? What does all this verbiage have to do with "movin' on up?"

Phyliss "taught" in her classes that for her students to better themselves they must at least partially associate with those who are more accomplished than they. We may ask ourselves, "accomplished in what?" This may be, and probably will be multiple persons, each accomplished in a different discipline. One may be your "role-model" for math, another for morals, and yet another for a particular sport.

The important issue is we must make informed judgment of others to identify the best of role-models, and then observe and learn from them. By choosing those more accomplished than we as our role-models, we insure ourselves that we will advance and rise above our current level of achievement. We will definitely move up.

One word of caution in seeking out the "accomplished" as described above. Not all those who are "accomplished" are interested in "movin' on up." They may not want to put forth the effort. They may want to make us interested in "movin' on down" for their own reasons or their own advancement. We say that can't happen? We are motivated to "movin' on up." Every day "movin' on down" takes place more often than not.

A dear friend of mine from the past was in the Marines. During training, sometimes, there was a soldier that was, shall we say, "not performing up to standard." The technique that was used was to place him among a group of excellent performers to have him move up to their standard.

When training was over, he noticed that the under performer succeeded in causing the group to "move on down" instead. The under performer was able to manipulate the group down to his level of underachievement. The under performer was no longer designated such. He had become, in effect, the cool leader. Peer pressure and wanting to fit in and be "cool" can work for good or for evil.

Fifty-seven years ago, I made a most important and informed judgment.

God in His infinite wisdom chose for me a single role-model, excellent in just about everything that mattered.

This individual was such an excellent role-model, I lost my head, and I decided to marry her.

Now, that's what you might call "Movin on up," folks. Oh, gee, I have to admit, I guess I loved her too.

I know I got the better deal! This was another well-informed judgment on my part.

Who you choose for your friends, cohorts, and yes, your spouse, will determine who you become.

Thanks, Phyliss for "movin me on up."

Now, you go out there and "move yourself on up."

The dotted line

For any authority figure, I think it is commonly held that it is prudent to draw a line between themselves and those for whom they are responsible. This is especially true in the education of children. To maintain discipline, the teacher cannot become one of the students and the students cannot challenge the authority and control of the teacher. Whether the line is bold, medium, or thin is usually the only consideration. The line should exist, but should not be crossed by either party.

The concept of the nature of the line of demarcation presents another of Miss Crudo's unique teaching qualities. Again, I know, not from where it came or how she so expertly crafted it, undetected by the students.

As I lived it in her classroom and contemplate it now, I believe Miss Crudo maintained, not a bold line, not a thin line, but rather more of a dotted line that allowed excursions into each others' world. The line was definitely there. There was no question. Was it impermeable? I think not. She had the unusual and remarkable and undetected policy of allowing occasional excursions through the line for herself and for the students.

When the appropriate opportunity presented itself, she seemed to be able to slip through the dotted line and relate to the students as one of them, while always maintaining her unquestioned authority position. It is hard to explain, and I am having a difficult time putting it in words. How was this possible?

It was so subtle that few would have noticed it. Before they were aware she was among them, and one of them, she had slipped back through the line. I think the proper way to describe it is she moved effortlessly through the line and back without crossing it and without being noticed.

I must say in retrospect, in my case, I remember it to be the thinnest of dotted lines and the excursions to be frequent and of considerable duration. I am so thankful they were.

Likewise, Miss Crudo allowed occasional trips for the students to penetrate the line, again without crossing it. While they were there in her realm, she was able to impress upon them the gravity of her position and responsibility. When they returned through the line, they had a greater appreciation of the great effort she made, the fondness she had for them, and of her accomplishment in their behalf.

These trips of the students through the line and back facilitated many students to advance to positions of responsibility and authority in adulthood. Many times students were called on successfully for leadership roles, sometimes in Miss Crudo's forced absence from the classroom for other matters.

Proper decorum was maintained with or without her presence. This was not so in most other teachers' classes. The students' respect for her was there in the classroom, even when she was not.

Another way of understanding the relationship of the dotted line that existed in Miss Crudo's classroom is to use the example of a "möbius strip" to describe the phenomenon. Hold between your thumb and index finger each end a strip of paper. Form a circle and have the ends meet. Turn over one end of the strip and join the two ends with tape. You have just made a "möbius strip. Pick any point and start drawing a line along the strip. After one rotation you will find the line on the opposite "side" of the paper or the "back side" from where you started. Continue the line and you will return to the point of origin. Yet, you never crossed the edge of the paper once.

This was Miss Crudo's method in the classroom. She started in her world as the teacher, joined the class or individual in their world and gracefully returned to her position as the head of the class. She allowed the children to do the same. All the time, neither she nor the students crossed the edge of the paper, maintaining order, respect, and discipline. She was not your friend. She was your trusted and respected teacher who was your friend. As a testament of how marvelous her system functioned under the most extreme and difficult conditions, it even survived the daily confrontations presented by her most exasperating and challenging student.

Sometimes these trips though the dotted line or around the "möbius strip" by students were not for a learning moment but for quiet counsel and comfort.

One of her students expressed her deep gratitude almost fifty years later in a letter to her saying this: "That was a traumatic year for me (Miss Crudo), but I always felt so secure when you would walk up and down the aisles and . . . stand by my desk."

"I was so scared, and your presence by my desk gave me such peace." "I would look up at you, and you discreetly would slowly nod at me, and I would see the corners of your mouth turn upward ever to slightly." "Those moments are like a Kodak moment in my memory . . . I longed to stay close to you for protection - I bet you never knew that." "Thank you for the peace you gave me . . ."

Phyliss didn't cry much, but as she read her letter, she did, as I did then and now. Phyliss said "she is so right, I never knew that. I had no idea of my impact. I was just doing what I thought was right" Phyliss had permeated the dotted line with her compassion, become part of this young girl's life and security, returned, and never even knew herself that she had made the excursion. It was an excursion that lasted a lifetime, even beyond her death.

Summary

You may or may not have noticed. I have described Miss Crudo the master teacher for the past ten single spaced pages and not once mentioned educational curriculum or subject matter, teaching aids, lovely surroundings, facilities, computer equipment and books, gymnasiums, libraries and facilities, budgets, salaries . . . and so on, and so on. Was the content of her teaching superior? Indeed it was. But it was secondary to the factors that determined the students' character. Once the child was molded into the best possible motivated human being to the limits of their God given talents and abilities, the rest came so easily. Competing successfully in the real world and contributing to the community and to humanity were forgone conclusions after leaving Miss Crudo's presence.

The next time your local school board or teachers' union claimers for higher salaries, more and better faculties, shorter days, astro-turf, a stadium, lower teacher/student ratios, more administrators, more programs, more computers, more . . . more . . . more . . . of everything without a corresponding increase in excellence . . .

Just remember Miss Crudo

Just remember her in a rudimentary building in the middle of a grassed field with a single room that was the Cafeteria, gym, and auditorium. Remember a dedicated Miss Crudo, standing alone with only her fertile mind to guide her in the middle of a room with four walls and no air conditioning among 42 motivated, attentive, and loved students, with four walls, a twelve-foot black board, and a few books, pencils and erasers.

And then remember those students leaving her magic at the end of the year to become those who make our country work and continue our traditions. Most of them are still around passing on the goodness to the next generation even though Miss Crudo is now only present in the synapses of their grateful minds.

* * * * * * * * *

In our "sophisticated and modern" world we have become masters of technology and imbeciles of morals, logic, and common sense in every human endeavor and at every level, almost without exception. We seldom seem to effectively think and plan, we only react.

Since a reaction is always after the fact, it is usually too late, excessive, massive, unnecessarily financially debilitating, and done with incompetence, ineptitude, corruption, and devoid of any practically. The reaction is defined, a band-aid solution is formulated, and it is implemented, and forgotten. There is no follow through to verify the efficacy of the exercise, or attempt to learn from past experiences, whether they are perceived successes or failures.

When we do plan well, the plan is formally presented, "shelved," the authors vilified, and the plan ignored to gather dust and cobwebs. Priceless thinking and human resources were wasted and continue to be wasted in this destructive process. Admonitions of impending crises predicted by previous planning are ignored or disbelieved. We live in a "Pandora's world." The errors and foibles of history are not learned and corrected, only to be repeated over and over. Is it possible that mankind has been able to make any progress at all over the ages?

I cannot help but feel sadness that our country and much of the world are living by the antithesis of the principles Phyliss espoused in her life. Certainly, she and those before her and after her, planted wonderful seeds in the minds of students that grew into fine humans and citizens that I know she would be proud to call family and who will carry the torch of her excellence into the future.

But, because of her one-on-one approach and her later disabilities, her reach was necessarily limited, by time, energy, and inevitably death. It is my hope that by documenting her remarkable life, I can, by some small measure, extend that reach, even after she has left us on this earth. That is a purpose of this book and others I have written about her.

How sad it would be if we wasted the goodness and excellence she embodied. How joyous it would be if we could spread that goodness to those who follow us. It would cost us absolutely nothing. The only expenditure would be a change in attitude and mind set of enough individuals to emulate the principles of her life, and reject those principles that contradicted it. This could reverse the malaise that has consumed us individually, consumed this, once great country, and consumed our world.

Wouldn't it be wonderful, if the life, so well-consummated, of one educator and remarkable person, could make such a difference? "It is not possible," You say? It has happened before. Why don't we give it a try?

This, then, is the answer to my previous question. "How is it that mankind has been able to make any progress at all over the ages?" Mankind has been able to make progress over the ages because, occasionally, a great person is born, and lives a life that can advance the condition of mankind, and that life is acknowledged and emulated by other fellow human beings. Progress is made during these brief and rare moments of enlightenment in proportion to the number of lives affected. Join those lives.

Phyliss was born, developed into a great person, and lived a life that can advance the condition of many on Earth. She did her part nobly, quietly, and with humility. It is now up to us to acknowledge that life and emulate it.

She provided the spark and the start. It is up to us to: "Pass it on"

She would be so pleased for each life that was saved and enriched because of her precedent. What a marvelous legacy it would be for each life advanced to contribute to her angel's wings.

Phyliss' life:

Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on;

'Twas not given for thee alone, Pass it on;

Let it travel down the years,

Let it wipe another's tears,

Till in heaven the deed appears - Pass it on.

Did you hear a loving word? Pass it on;

Like the singing of a bird? Pass it on;

Let its music live and grow,

Let it cheer another's woe;

Have you have reaped what others sow? Pass it on.

Be not selfish in thy greed, Pass it on;

Look upon thy brother's need, Pass it on;

Live for self, you live in vain,

Live for Christ, you live again,

Live for Him, with Him you reign - Pass it on.

Henry Burton, "Pass it on"

Clergyman, writer, (1578-1648)

**APPENDIX**

The "beautiful people"

An elaboration on the chapter "Joseph's "never-ending" years of college":

I put mention of this subject in the chapter of my college years because attending college was the first time this phenomenon came to the surface of my consciousness. The subject had materialized early in my childhood, adolescence, and grammar school days without my understanding, and festered for years until I had the maturity and the time to absorb the reality of it. It was my attendance at Penn State that triggered my awareness and my ability to evaluate it.

The subject was too long and distracting to place my coverage of it fully in the recounting my college years, so I placed it in this Appendix to allow more comprehensive coverage of my evaluation of the terrible manifestation of this unfortunate and destructive human behavior.

It was difficult to be a student of Miss Crudo, even for only a year, and not leave a better person. I am able to write this book because of what I became from her teachings. I am certain every one of her students could write his own chapters on the "beautiful people" with similar stories of observed indifference and cruelty toward those not anointed by society's elite. One could not pass through her classroom without becoming a person that gave goodness to everyone they contacted. These few stories attest to the profound effect she had on those she taught directly and how they transferred her teachings onto the next generations that followed.

In this chapter, I am talking about the fabricated chasm, the abyss if you will, between "the beautiful people" the fashionable, the glamorous, the elite, and the privileged of our society and we masses of "not so beautiful people," the scorned, the less fortunate, the unglamorous, and the downtrodden. I am referring to and comparing "Starbucks" caffeine free, no high fructose corn syrup, "Fizzo," Handcrafted Spiced Root Beer Soda, versus Hires Root Beer. Do all those words make a difference or are they the creation of the marketing department to make one product "the beautiful" and the other the "not so beautiful." I implore you to read the subject. It may save someone you know a lifetime of pain, and suffering. The person you save from torment may be you.

I am so sorry to say that I was to learn that this defect in mankind was not uncommon and spanned all the stages of human development - even to my dear Phyliss in her years of greatest need. I feel it happening more each year to me, as well. As a person ages, even if they were a member of the beautiful people when they were "useful," they enter the realm of the not so beautiful people.

As they age, the physical beauty evaporates. They become less capable, more forgetful, "boring", and more detached and isolated. They are not fun anymore. They become a "burden." They are, in effect, jettisoned and blotted out by society. They are "cut loose" from society's luxury liner to drift in the harsh sea of bias, elitism, prejudice, and cruelty until they meet an ignoble death. They become ignored and invisible. They fade into the fog of the discards of society.

The damage from this phenomenon is twofold since it harms both groups involved. It harms those who are in the elite group since their place in this group is often not of their own doing. So, they delude themselves into thinking they are special and do not develop their potential and abilities on their own. Their claim to fame and fortune is many times a mirage, a mirage that could disappear in a moment when society "tires" of them. Most times, the elite obtain their special status through inheriting beauty, talent, fortune or fame by a circumstance not created by them.

Those not in the elite group become outcast, diminishing their self-esteem, suffocating their development, and relegating them to a lower status in society, more and more as time passes. As more time goes by, the more permanent the station in life becomes. Some have the character and strength to pull themselves out the morass. But others remain there for the rest of their days. These are some observations I have made over the years:

* * * * * * * * *

Dearest Mom

The first victim I became aware of consumed by this insidious caste system of social stratification was my own mother. Instigated by social norms of the time, she was ashamed of being Italian, and longed to be a member of the beautiful people: the rich, beautiful, and famous actresses of Hollywood. But, idolizing these fabricated, illusions she neglected to develop and fully appreciate her real talents which were impressive. No one could live up to the standard of the mirage that she idolized. The system was so self-destructive since even the idols could not live up to the fabricated image of themselves. Individuals at both ends of the spectrum were harmed as well as those stuck in the middle. My mom died believing she had never reached her mirage of fame and fortune – the beautiful people. And yet, she could not see the substantial contributions she did make in life, not the least of which was being a great mom and a remarkable woman of good taste, a superior cook, elegant demeanor, inventive interior decorator, and a loyal friend.

* * * * * * * * *

David

Living in our neighborhood when I was a child, was a contemporary of mine named David. He was quite intelligent and academically competent. But, he was awkward, clumsy, and overweight. His strengths were considerable but in other areas. Pressured by a lack of self-esteem and peer expectations, he decided to try out for the football team. I attempted to politely discourage him, due to a real fear I had that he would get seriously injured. It is not a sport for the timid. He was ridiculed on the field and targeted for harassment. A week later, he received a severe leg fracture, in practice. He was not one of the beautiful people. And, he paid dearly trying to achieve that status rather than concentrating on developing his own strengths which were considerable.

* * * * * * * * *

Bonnie

Dear Bonnie Rummel

I was involved in many extracurricular activities in high school especially those pertaining to art. It was common for me to be excused from class for special projects. I would go to my regular class, get my assignment and homework from the teacher, and make my way to the assignment of the day. Everyone was now ensconced in his classroom pursuing excellence. The hallways, which were teeming with students only moments before, were eerily still and empty . . . except for Bonnie.

Bonnie had numerous and frightful health problems. She was tiny and frail. As a friend, she had a golden heart that shined so brightly, but it refused to serve her well since birth. She was always pleasant, well-dressed and coiffed but had horribly poor eyesight. She was oh, so studious. But, alas, Bonnie was not one of the beautiful people.

Each day she would have to ascend the endless stairs with her heavy burden of books. I would usually encounter her pausing on the landing gasping for air. It was so difficult for her to hold the railing and the books as well. She was so spent and intent on her task that she usually did not notice me. When she became aware of my presence, despite her overbearing load and physical encumberments, she always managed to beam a smile and a pleasant greeting for me. I would return the greeting and converse with her as I carried her books to her next class

Her relief that her burden was temporarily lifted was at once gratifying and heartbreaking. Even without her books to carry, she had to walk so slowly. She was always so grateful and thankful for the meager help I gave her. As I made my way to my assignment, I always thought, "My God what courage."

She was a dear. A lifetime later I thought of her often as I watched my sweet wife every day those last years, carry her own crosses with equal resolve and dignity. I could not help but think of how similar they were with their dysfunctional bodies, their poor eyesight, their failing hearts, their compromised hearing, and, most of all, their mutual determination, optimism, and will to persevere. Neither ever gave up no matter how challenging life had become for them.

One day, I mentioned Bonnie's name in our weekly yearbook meeting, suggesting she might be able to help write text. A popular fellow, most certainly one of the beautiful people, commented,

" **Is that thing still crawling around here?"**

My God, it floored me. I could not absorb the inhumanity of his odious interrogatory. I was speechless in my disbelief.

Thank God Bonnie was not there to hear his comment. He was not on the yearbook committee the next week.

Despite her substantial trials, Bonnie, finally made it successfully to graduation day. God bless her ailing heart. At the ceremony, she, slowly, but so proudly, climbed those steps onto the stage of the Stanley Theater in front of more than two thousand people and accepted her diploma and a special award for extraordinary achievement. I am sure most did not take particular notice, but her accomplishment was so far greater than all the rest of us combined.

Surely, I was crowned the Valedictorian of the class, but she was the most accomplished student of the 1961 class at Woodrow Wilson High School by a huge measure. I am so sorry to say, I guess I was too absorbed in being one of the beautiful people that day to pay particular notice myself – a gross and haunting oversight on my part. Not one of us could have achieved what she did while enduring a fraction of her encumbrances.

I am sincerely sorry that I did not get to know her better. I so wish I had done more for her. I regret that, deeply. It is far too late to remedy that now. But, I hope I can redeem myself by some small measure by telling the world, now, about the extraordinary character of darling Bonnie. A few years after graduation, her tired heart could no longer sustain her. With her goal in life admirably achieved, she left this Earth as quietly and humbly and she arrived and lived on it.

For a few shining moments on stage, that graduation day, in front of us all, this tiny treasure of diminutive stature, but immense substance, was one of the beautiful people.

If you search for her name on the internet, you would think she never existed at all. Well, now you all know that not only did she exist, but she lived a humble life of accomplishment, courage, and humility.

I know she will always be beautiful to me, and, I hope, to you as well. Please don't forget her. For certain, she and Phyliss are well acquainted by now without the trials of their lives here on Earth. If only some of us could be their equals, what a wonderful world it would be. May you rest in Peace, my dear Bonnie Ann Rummel. I am so certain; you are looking down on us together with our Lord and my dear wife. Say, "Hi" for me.

As you travel through life, look for the "Bonnie Rummels" on your path. There are many. When you discover them, rescue them from our cruel society; and cruel it is. Show them kindness and assist them in coping with their hardships. Do it face to face. Do it anonymously. Do it often. Do it seldom. But, do it. Some day it may be you struggling with your own burden in need of help. But, don't do it because you may be in need of help some day. Do it because it is the right thing, the compassionate thing, the human thing to do.

If we each do a little; together we would do a lot.

Bonnie: "Here is a person (who was) dedicated to minimizing the ripple she made as she passed through the world. She took up such little space, made such little impact, that in comparison I felt like an _oaf_ of consumption, a wasteful giant, lumbering heedlessly through life."

Rand Richards Cooper, _The Commonweal_ , 8 Jan. 2016

* * * * * * * * *

Maria

Maria deserves her own special place in the "beautiful people," I bestowed upon her an entire chapter.

* * * * * * * * *

The cafeteria at East Halls, Penn State

How does a room deserve mention in the "beautiful people?" We usually think "race" when we think of segregation. But, in groups, there is segregation of beautiful people and not so beautiful people. It has nothing to do with race. They each have their own realm, even their own tables. They are like oil and water, they just don't mix.

Somehow I did mix, or at least I tried. Some days I had the misfortune of dining with the beautiful people and other days the privilege of dining with the not so beautiful people.

I eventually stopped sitting with the beautiful people, thus making the separation between the two groups complete. I had been upsetting the laws of nature. Equilibrium was established and the world was back in order; and the globe could begin spinning once again.

It appeared that the separation had to be strictly maintained; and as a result a mongrel such as I had to choose one group or the other or be eliminated. That was so sad. The negotiator bearing the white flag is always the first to take a fatal blow in a conflict.

* * * * * * * * *

The common construction laborers in Tunisia

These men were certainly not members of the "beautiful people." I was going to describe them as persons at the bottom of the social ladder. They really were not even on the ladder. They were the dirt under the feet of the ladder.

They owned nothing. They were dressed in rags. Their shoes were rags. They had no education. They had no family. They had no home. They seemed to have no past. They certainly had no future. They had only today.

I have no idea where they went at night. They just disappeared at the end of the day into the darkness and reappeared the next day at daybreak. Well, most of them reappeared the next day. If they did not, no one noticed. Other nameless and faceless beings seamlessly slipped into their places without leaving a ripple in the grand plan of life.

They were valuable to keep the society functioning, but they had no value to society.

I know, that sounds confusing but tragically accurate. If one of them disappeared, no one wondered what happened to him. He was just replaced by another, "ouvrier," another link in the chain, another cog in the wheel, another brick in the wall. They were expendable and replaceable. Actually, I suppose we all are. I think the industrial revolution coined the term, "interchangeable."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I was overseeing the construction of a house for one of the beautiful people on the beach of the Mediterranean Sea. It was a beautiful, pristine place. It was a place and a house worthy of one of the beautiful people.

All construction in Tunisia is made of masonry. There are no trees and no wood, except for imported furniture wood. Long ago, the Romans and the encroaching desert relentlessly marching to the sea insured there would be no trees for all the generations to come.

The walls of the house were all completed. The wooden formwork for the concrete had been reused so many times that the corners were all rounded. It was time to pour the concrete on the clay tile second floor. Piles of cement, stone, and sand were placed adjacent to the structure the day before. The laborers appeared out of the darkness of the night like the early morning summer sun. There was no shade. The workers numbered about fifteen. Their coming and going eerily felt like a zombie movie. The only implements were shovels, pails, and bare hands.

The work began mixing and placing the concrete by manual labor, moving it to the second level with pails, and depositing it into the formwork. It was an exhausting, continuous, uninterrupted, symphony of silent efficiency, teamwork, and organization. It had no script or score; it just happened like magic. There was no foreman or boss. It was a human chain, an assembly line with no beginning and no end under that relentless blazing ball in the sky.

This continued from morning to midday when the work was about half complete. It was then customary for he owner to arrive with a half liter of milk and a loaf of bread for each worker. This was their pay for a day's work.

Despite the huge disparity between the status of the owner in the society and their meager existence, he denied them the pittance they were to receive for pay by not appearing at midday. It was an unthinkable act of inhumanity. The workers were already emaciated. This was to be their meal for the day.

When I realized the owner's treachery, I rode my bike home. Phyliss and Jamila (جميله,) (appropriately meaning "beautiful" in Arabic, God bless the young lady who helped wash the laundry by hand) were there. The three of us set out in the market to find as much bread and milk as we could that late in the day.

Miraculously, we were able to purchase eighteen loaves of bread and twenty-two half-liters of milk. It would have been almost biblical, but for the fact that we found no fishes. We brought our bounty to the work site and distributed it among the grateful workers without telling them neither of the owner's despicable deed nor from whence the bounty came. (Good deeds are best when they are done anonymously.) Besides, it was so wonderful to see the bewildered look on the cruel owner's face when confronted with the "miracle of the milk and the loaves." He believed his treachery went unnoticed. But we know he will or has found out that it was not. Pray for him.

The incident has stayed in the back of my mind all these years, until it just resurfaced while writing this chapter. I still cannot comprehend how insensitive and cruel we can be to each other, and how our greed blinds us to the plight of others. Are our earthly possessions so important to us that we must deny our fellow man the most basic decency? It appears so.

* * * * * * * * *

This behavior happened all around Phyliss and me. No matter how hard we tried we could not break the harsh treatment of some of those less fortunate than we. The only thing we could do was display acts of kindness and compassion to balance the scales and hope the examples would instigate emulation through shame.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It appears that we were not successful in our pursuit. Just one evening of news from that part of the world shows that not only has the cruelty to the downtrodden gotten infinitely worse, but their numbers have multiplied unimaginably.

The true tragedy is that our insensitivity to the truly needy in our own country is not much better. With our social programs we have created a permanent class of entitled, professional poor who game the system and rob the truly needy that stay in the shadows to suffer and receive no help at all.

This did not happen when benevolence was dispensed at the community level directly face-to-face from the heart through the benevolence of individuals and private groups. It does not happen? Just look around. Kindness, generosity, and benevolence are all around us. They are quiet, stealthy and effective. Remember, government is a horrible benefactor. Actually, it is obscene to use the words, "government" and "benefactor" in the same sentence. Forgive me for my obscenity.

If each member of our current generation had been required to spend two years in another less fortunate country maybe this phenomenon of "beautiful people" would not have propagated here and spread like a cancer.

What a misnomer it is – "the beautiful people."

There is nothing beautiful about them.

* * * * * * * * *

Phyliss and Joseph's favorite quotations by others

Phyliss used the truths expressed in these quotations to guide her own actions, and applied them frequently in her daily teaching of the students with profound effect. I have added a few she would have liked after she died.

" **Heavy is the head that wears the crown."**

Shakespeare's "Henry IV, Part II, 1597."

" **Familiarity breeds contempt."**

Aesop's Fables - "The fox and the Lion" (620 BC-560 BC) Classic Greek Fable

" **Many truths are spoken in jest."**

Geoffrey Chaucer - "The Cook's Tale, 1390."

" **Absence makes the heart grow fonder."**

Sextus Propertius (50 BC-15BC)

" **To know that we know what we know, and to know that we do not know what we do not know, that is the sign of true intelligence."**

Nicolaus Copernicus (1473-1543)

" **The only way to have a friend is to be one."**

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

" **There but for the grace of God go I"**

John Bradford, (1510-1555)

" **The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."**

Edmond Burke (1727-1797) Irish Statesman / Charles Aked (1893)

" **You can fool some of the people some of the time and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time."**

(With today's uninformed citizenry, the veracity of this quote might be successfully challenged)

Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865)

" **America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves (from within)."**

Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865)

(One hundred fifty years after his death, it has come true.)

" **Do unto others what you would have them do unto you"**

The "Golden Rule" (Do unto others) - Multiple origins

" **Do not do unto others what you would not have them do unto you"**

The "Silver Rule" (do no harm) - Multiple origins

Evil is never satisfied with mere toleration – it progresses to ratification, then celebration, then co-participation and finally ends with the inevitable destruction of the participant's soul."

Paraphrased from Ann Elizabeth Andrew Barnhardt – 2014

" **And if the devil thinks that ANYTHING some dimwitted narcissist says or does, even if that dimwitted narcissist is the pope, is going to drive me away from Our Lord, His Church, the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the Eucharist, or the sacrament of confession, then Old Scratch has another thing coming . . . And now my eyes have sprung a leak, so I'll finish this later."**

Ann Elizabeth Andrew Barnhardt – 2014

" **Believe none of what you hear, and only half of what you see."**

Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790)

" **A person swayed against his will, is of the same opinion still."**

Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790)

" **Death does not extinguish the light of man; it is the harbinger of the dawn."**  
after  Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)

Phyliss and Joseph's quotations

" **Everything in life makes sense, when you know the full truth."**

Phyliss Crudo Badame (1927-2013 . . .)

" **Ask questions profusely when you are a young, formative, student . . . so you can . . . answer questions when you are no longer young and formative, but rather a wise teacher"**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943-?)

" **Never use the words "always" and "never." "Always use words that are not so unequivocal"**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943- ?)

" **At his side, every great man, has an even greater woman"**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943 - ?)

(In February, 1946 Meryll Frost was voted "Most courageous athlete of 1945." In his acceptance speech he said, "behind every great man there's a woman..." This thought, in its various forms, has been adopted and repeated often for almost seventy years. But, he got it wrong. At least his sentiment was well-intended.)

" **If ignorance is bliss; I pray I am never contented."**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943 - ?)

" **Most "ordinary" people are some bodies that nobody knows. Most "famous" people are nobodies that everybody knows."**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943- ?)

" **Acquaintances who disparage others from their past, will disparage you when you are in their past. Quickly remove them from your present, and make them a part of your past."**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943 - ?)

" **Confiscatory wealth redistribution by governments always results in the wealthy fleeing, the masses becoming more entitled, the middle-class disappearing, the poor permanently remaining poor, and the government enriching itself, increasing its power, influence, and control. The misery of the people becomes universal and permanent. Tyranny and rebellion eventually follow and society resets to do it all over again. The masses never learn the game. Such is the human condition."**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943 - ?)

" **One who shuns wisdom shall be destined to have none."**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943 - ?)

" **It is true that from adversity comes strength. The quandary is that the strength comes after adversity not before it when it is needed. The trick is to survive the adversity."**

Joseph Philip Badame (1943 - ?)

Phyliss' favorite poem

"If" by Rudyard Kipling, 1895

Rudyard Kipling was a British Nobel laureate. He was a short-story writer, poet, and novelist.

It was written in the form of the wisest paternal advice to his son.

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run;

Yours is the earth and everything that's in it,

And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

1865-1936

Phyliss often used the essence of this deeply meaningful poem as a teaching moment for transgressions of proper classroom decorum. This exercise usually incorporated writing the composition multiple times, as well as memorization and mandatory, real comprehension of the meaning of the composition. (Yes, corporal punishment!)

Many former students have written her, recalling the experience later in life as a laudatory and positive learning experience on their way to responsible adulthood. They universally agreed that the profundity and relevance of the lesson were not fully appreciated until much later in life when they had the occasion to teach it to their own children.

The subtle planting of a seed in the minds of her students to beneficially grow and blossom later in life was the hallmark of this superior educator. But, I believe that not even her most devoted and attentive students were aware of her most subtle method for them to learn life's essential lessons:

The true monument to her remarkable ability and character was that she was, once again, effortlessly educating us, by example, by living every word of Kipling's poem flawlessly, in front of us each day we were in her presence.

And, yet we had no idea.

How devoted was she.

How fortunate were we.

Phyliss' favorite prayer

" **The Serenity Prayer" by Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971) American theologian**

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;

Enjoying one moment at a time;

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

Taking, as He did, this sinful world

as it is, not as I would have it;

Trusting that He will make all things right

if I surrender to His Will;

That I may be reasonably happy in this life

and supremely happy with Him

Forever in the next.

Amen.

I believe that "The Serenity Prayer" and the poem "If" epitomize the essence of Phyliss' life. Every one of her actions and behaviors appeared to be molded by the principles embodied in the poem and the prayer, whether consciously or subconsciously. Is it any surprise that they were her favorites? They are the description of how she lived her life.

The first part of the "Serenity Prayer" oversees and brackets the ideals expressed in the poem "If." She had serenity in everything she did. She readily accepted the things she could not change and had the courage to change the things she could. The things she could, and did change, grossly outnumbered the things she could not. Her most remarkable trait, in my opinion was her effortless ability to know the difference. This is a quality with which most of us are not blessed to possess. I know I am not. I usually relied on Phyliss to kindly and gently tell me the difference.

Most remarkably, however, the second part of the prayer exactly describes Phyliss' frame of mind and courage in the eight years after her stroke. She did live one moment and one day at a time, never rushing, never pushing, never pressuring nor questioning God, always submitting to His Will.

Her serenity in accepting her hardships as a path toward her eventual peace was remarkable. She faithfully trusted in Jesus and the Blessed Mother and daily, freely surrendered to His plan for her. Even with all her disabilities, of which she had many, she managed to achieve reasonable happiness in this life and, I am certain, eternal happiness with Him in the next. I was honored to be an instrument of God in helping her achieve that small happiness here on Earth.

If only we all could be so fortunate to possess her serenity, faith, courage, and intimate relation with God, Jesus, and the Blessed Mother. She would be pleased, indeed, to know that we would accept this as her final gift and lesson to us all.

Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971)
Phyliss' favorite musical composition

" **Ave Maria" by Franz Schubert, 1825 (Latin Catholic Prayer version)**

Franz Schubert's "Ellen Dritter Gesang" was based on the narrative poem "The Lady of the Lake" by Sir Walter Scott in 1810 and was later adapted to the Latin "Ave Maria." Ironically, Phyliss' favorite composition was based on "The Lady of the Lake" poem: this name was reflected in the name of the last school where she taught: Saint Mary of the Lakes.

Still another irony is that the "Ave Maria" was the last live musical composition that Phyliss was to hear before going deaf to music. It was so kindly sung to her by Ciarán Sheehan (the "Phantom" in the "Phantom of the Opera" on Broadway) during a concert she originated at St. Mary of the Lakes Church. It was as if she knew that the insidious and lonely world of silence would soon envelop her, and she wanted to hear it one last time. She never lamented the eventuality that she would never hear it again.

Besides serving the Lord, being by my side, and helping and teaching others, nothing gave Phyliss more joy than the performing arts of classical music, Broadway musicals, operas, and the ballet. About a year after the Ciarán Sheehan concert, I took Phyliss to a local performance of Rogers and Hammerstein's, "Oklahoma," one of her favorite musicals.

The performance and the music were extremely well done, professionally executed, and true to the original we enjoyed many years before performed on Broadway.

When we arrived home, I naturally asked Phyliss if she enjoyed the performance. I was blind sided by her response. It devastated me to my core. She said she was favorably impressed. I was so pleased.

She said she enjoyed it a great deal . . . **but what a pity. There was no music**. I was overwhelmed with sorrow and grief. I had to leave the room and cry in my solitude. I am sure she noticed my hasty departure, but she never mentioned it.

I rarely could listen to or enjoy any music after that day, and still cannot, and most likely never will. Phyliss was among those who truly were aware and appreciated the genius and timelessness of these priceless compositions. The thought that she would have to spend the rest of her life without ever hearing them again in total silence and solitude, was more than I could bear.

It was the saddest of days knowing this was still another affliction foisted upon her that I had no power to remedy. There seemed to be no end to her increasing hardships, and her courage to accept them.

Her belief was it was God's will, and she graciously accepted it without pity or anger.
Phyliss' favorite opera and favorite flower

" **La traviata" by Giuseppe Verdi, 1853**

"La traviata" is an opera in three acts based on La dame aux Camélia composed in 1852, a play adapted from the novel by Alexandre Dumas-fils.

This opera and play are evidently the origin of Phyliss' love of camellias, the flowers we always admired at our many visits to "Longwood Gardens," the flowers she wore on her blouse, the flowers she carried at our wedding, the flowers she cultivated at home, the flowers that were the subject of our art work on our walls, and finally, sadly, the flowers she held in her hands at her funeral.

Ironically, the evergreen plant grows naturally on the slopes of Nepal, my first choice for Peace Corps service, and was named after Georg Joseph Kamel who did extensive work documenting the native plant in the Philippine Islands, my second choice for Peace Corps service.

Everything and everyone in her life had a quiet and meaningful significance, many times known only to her. Often, she intertwined two or more of her loves in subtle ways, always understated and dignified.

I never knew the source of her love of this most unusual and lovely flower until I conducted my research for this book. She never talked about it, and I regret deeply that I never asked.

One of her many distinctive hallmarks, among others, especially in her early years, was wearing a perfectly ironed, pure white, blouse, beautifully monogrammed with her initials "PMC", always neatly buttoned at the collar, and a solitary silk flower or sometimes a trio of lovely silk flowers, carefully and expertly made by a family friend, pinned over the button.

Of course, it was a lovely camellia

The poem that captures Phyliss' character

" **Self-pity" by DH Lawrence, early 1900's**

DH Lawrence wrote a tiny poem in the early 1900's entitled "Self-pity" that perfectly describes Phyliss' character during her life and especially in the twenty-nine years after her overwhelming disabilities began.

Lawrence's poem is short and to the point:

" **I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop, frozen dead from a bough, without ever having felt sorry for itself."**

In the 56 years I had the privilege to have known her; Phyliss never expressed a word of self-pity, despite the infinite reasons she had to do so. I pondered this many times and concluded that it was impossible for her to have pity for herself when she was forever concerned more for the well-being of others than for her own well-being.

Yet, unlike the small bird that died without self-pity because of instinct, Phyliss was given free-will by God.

She consciously and purposely chose to reject self-pity as her mantra.

She was truly a remarkable woman who led a devout life to be revered and emulated.

It was an honor to be able to walk with her and be by her side, even after she could walk no more.

DH Lawrence 1885-1930

### Phyliss and Joseph's Marriage Credo

### "Wise Words for Married Folks"

The original-facsimile of the following document was saved by me from the weekly church bulletin from St. Joseph's Pro Cathedral in Camden in 1955, when I was twelve. The original author was listed as unknown, even so long ago. I have seen various abbreviated version of this, but none so complete since we have added to it over the years.

Please don't ask me to explain why a twelve-year-old boy would want to read, save, and keep an article entitled, "Wise words for Married Folks." I don't have a clue.

I really didn't even know what marriage was. I never met my father, and didn't "meet" my mother until I was about four or five. After she got out of the hospital, she arrived with a fellow who was my "dad." Sure there were "couples" in the neighborhood with children, but there were also women living alone with their children. I had never even been to a wedding that I could remember.

Maybe it was the mystery of what marriage was that piqued my curiosity about the words, "married folks."

I carefully cut out the part of the bulletin with the "Wise Words" on it, pasted it on a cardboard insert from a "Tastykake" package of cup cakes, and covered it with clear "Contact" shelf covering to protect it and folded it in half. Years later, when I showed the dog eared little book to Phyliss she agreed that the meaning of the words were significant. We used the words to govern our early friendship and eventually guide our married life.

It was modified, expanded, and edited extensively by us over many years together. For the past fifty years, Phyliss and I have **each** carried this credo on our person. Our agreement was that when one of us violated a principle, he or she would acknowledge it and correct the offending behavior. If not self-recognized, the other would bring it to his or her attention for discussion, correction, and forgiveness. We believed, accurately, that almost every friendship or marital problem originates from the violation of one or more of these principles.

It is essential that both the husband and wife understand and agree to honor the principles and carry a copy with them at all times. When we did it that meant carrying a hard copy with us. Today with smart phones, having them with you always is a simple matter.

Violations were common at first, but quickly slowed to a trickle, and then eventually stopped as our love grew and matured. As years passed, much to my chagrin, I came to realize that every violation of these guidelines was mine alone. Phyliss had effortlessly never breached one principle. But remarkably, humbly, and so characteristically, not once in all our years together, did she remind me that the transgressions had all been mine.

I was dismayed that I needed to be taught the song of love.

But, I quickly rejoiced that, from a master, I did learn the refrain so well.

For you see, I had married a remarkable woman, who already knew the song of love, flawlessly, performed it for me every day, and then lovingly and patiently taught it to me, allowing me the honor to play it back for her.

The resulting symphony, created a beautiful, lifetime harmony.

It can be yours, as well, if you only try.

### The "Wise Words"

### FOLLOW THESE ALWAYS:

### Always

### Make the best of what is.

"God, give me the strength to accept those things I cannot change." The "Serenity Prayer" says it all. Once all options to change what "is" have been exhausted, accept it and move on to those things that can be changed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

### Strive to reach an equitable compromise over differences.

The easiest compromise to achieve is when there is no need for a compromise. Start from there. Attempt to settle differences without having to resort to compromise. Try a solution that satisfies you both without having to give something up. Work hard at it, be imaginative. You will both be happy you did.

Change places and advocate your partners view; you may learn something and find you have no differences. Remember, you are not attempting to reach a compromise with a street vendor or a business competitor. After all, it is your spouse whom you love and cherish across the bargaining table. That makes a difference – or most assuredly it should.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

### Strive to yield willingly to the wishes of the other.

Love and self-sacrifice are the keys to the kingdom. She wants to go to the mall; you want to go to the game. Go to both. They are at the same time? Offer to go the venue of your partner, with a smile. He or she may be shocked and may just offer to go to yours instead.

It is called love, guys, remember? It is not just a noun. It can be a verb also – a word of action. Do this for little things, big things, for everything.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

### Let self-denial be your daily aim.

Also practice self-denial for the little things, big things, for everything. Little thing: give her the tenderest cut of meat for dinner, without her knowledge. Big, big thing: She wants kids, you don't. Have kids with a loving and supportive heart. No one said it would be easy. Self-denial is very hard to go down in our world of self-gratification. Swallow hard, and don't choke. You must love her more than you love yourself. You have to say that, believe that, and express that for as long as you both shall live. It is a lifetime warranty with no returns allowed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

### Neglect the whole world rather than one another.

This is a potentially dangerous one, folks. When differences occur, there is a tendency to retreat and regroup with reinforcements of a like mind and then resume the attack. Don't. Remember living in the bubble. It shall always be the two of you in your bubble and "them." Don't step out of the bubble and don't let them step in. Don't be tempted to side with others against your partner. You didn't marry the others; you didn't pledge to the others; you don't have a solemn contract with the others. They have nothing to lose; you both have everything to lose.

### Always

### Once a day, say kind and loving words to your life's partner.

Make it at least once a day, please. This should be an easy one for those in love. A cost benefit analysis on this one would be off the scale. Do it and show it.

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### Always

### Respect and be tender to each other.

If you love your spouse, folks, this is another easy one. This should be a reflex action, an automatic response. You should both be on automatic pilot when it comes to tenderness and respect. This plane should fly itself. If it does not, guess what happens to the plane. You are right, it crashes. Don't let your marriage plane crash or your love boat sink.

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### Always

### Value each other's friendship and companionship.

Your spouse must be your best friend, confidant, and companion. No wiggle room on this one. Just realize that friendship and marriage are different but both are very hard work to maintain and sustain. If you don't think they are different recall how many friends you had before you got married. They are different. Research it.

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### Always

### Admit it when you are wrong; and ask for forgiveness.

This is difficult for us guys. We are always right, but we must make our wives think they are right. It is a tough thing to do, knowing you are right and not only admitting you are wrong, but then having to ask forgiveness! I am just kidding, of course. Seriously, generally the wife is usually right, at least in my marriage that was the case. Suck it up, guys and be a man. It takes a real man to admit he is wrong. It takes an even greater man to ask forgiveness. It's not really that difficult to ask forgiveness, guys. Just do it when nobody else is around. Then it's "he said, she said." You know I am just kidding, again. Humor, always solves everything.

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### Always

### Grant forgiveness willingly, sincerely, and generously.

When your wife is wrong always grant her forgiveness, willingly, sincerely, and generously. Really, it does go both ways. Do this for the little stuff and the big stuff. Granting forgiveness is so paramount in a marriage because forgiveness is so important to be received by the offender to properly heal from a transgression. Look your partner in the eyes, say it tenderly, sincerely, and clearly – no mumbling and no crossed fingers. "I unconditionally love you and forgive you, dear."

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### Always

### Be humble, and non-confrontational.

Humility comes hard for some. Work on it if it does. It is a wonderful trait to have in a marriage. It is so easy to love a person who is humble. On the other hand, it is so destructive to be confrontational. It is a trait that is so clearly visible through body language before a word is spoken. It poisons the well for everything that is tried afterward. A confrontational stance is as glaring as a black cat hissing and hunching its back with its fur and tail in the air. Nothing constructive can be accomplished starting from this terrible beginning. Actually, most times it is not the real beginning, but more accurately the beginning of the end.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

### Be loyal to your sacred vows.

I am amused at a wedding when the pastor or presider presents the vows to the couple. He or she usually asks them to repeat two or three words at a time. It can be a stressful time. It is an important moment and everyone wants to get it right.

But the words of the vows are so very important they should be read to each other many times before the ceremony just for the fact that they are so very important. They really should be memorized by both parties, including deep discussions about their implications. They are the greatest promise you will make in your life. Don't have the time? Let someone else pick the napkin colors.

"I, Joseph, take you, Phyliss, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

"I, Phyliss, take you, Joseph, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

The vows are so simple, and concise, but profound. Possibly, the simplicity conceals the monumental pledge to each other that is made with this one sentence. Give this sentence your complete attention and both agree that you understand this commitment. It is not trivial. Once this is done and the promise is made, move Heaven and Earth to keep it. It is not an easy task. It is not a singular task. It is a continuous series of tasks for life. Remember that.

Immediately following in various forms the presider says :

What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.

Not religious? Have him say it anyway.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

### Be honest with yourself and your partner, and avoid deceit.

Next to love, honesty is the foundation of your union with your partner. Honesty is synonymous with trust. If you lose the trust of your partner, all is lost. If deceit is displayed just one time, the doubt will always exist in your partner's mind, "What else has he lied about?" "Did he lie about our vows?" You will never be believed again. Uncertainty and doubt will infect your marriage, and it will die from that infection. This one needs a "911" call.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

### Reject self-pity and self-absorption.

Since Phyliss died, I have had a great deal of practice in this category. I have found that the best way out of this spiral is to remember, "No matter how much you are suffering, there are literally hundreds of millions, possibly billions who are suffering more than you. We just don't see them. Most suffer in silence. Suffering on this Earth may even be the norm.

One of the most profound realizations that came out of Phyliss' disabilities was the fact that it is everywhere. It only becomes apparent when the suffering presents itself to us or those we love. So, my friends resist self-pity. It gets old quickly to those around you and it is not a pretty picture.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

### Grant and welcome constructive advice lovingly

Advice given or received to or from loved ones can be valuable, constructive, and insightful. But it can also be problematic. Don't let it be. There is a desire to accept the advice of your spouse out of love and respect. However that desire conflicts with the human instinct to reject the advice to retain autonomy. This internal conflict between compliance (showing love) and non-compliance (asserting freedom) can create frustration. Frustration can lead to anger and conflict thus negating any anticipated value of the advice.

Discuss this issue openly with your partner while applying a copious dose of the "advice" given in the other "Wise Words." Your union will be so much better if you do.

This concept was drawn from the profound wisdom of Peter Gray, PhD, Professor of Psychology, Boston College. "Free to Learn" Thank you for your insight, Dr. Gray.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Always

Remember God ordained marriage; only His grace can make it what it should be.

You caught me, so I did manage to sneak in a little religion under the last "Always" item. Well, since I have been "exposed", start applying these "Words" and grant me absolution with the rule about forgiveness under the "Always" rules. There, that wasn't that hard? Was it? Now you are getting the idea. I bet you feel better already.

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### NEVER COMIT THESE

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Both be angry at once.

Singular anger can be destructive. Double anger can be fatal. One of you must maintain calm for reason and tranquility to return and to prevail. Are we so arrogant that we risk diminishing our love for the sake of "winning" an argument? No one "wins" an argument in a love affair.

You both always lose – sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, and so sadly, sometimes you both lose it all. Maybe this item should read, "Never be angry." Wouldn't that be nice?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Speak loudly, angrily, or disrespectfully to one another.

These three directives are placed in the order of their potential damage. You would not think that just speaking loudly would have a negative impact. It does. I have personal experience. In the last two years of Phyliss' life, her hearing got progressively worse, until it was completely lost. My instinctive response was to speak progressively louder.

Loud speech just seems to instigate anger. I found it almost impossible to convey loving thoughts, kindness, and compassion while raising my voice. The louder my voice, the more the perception of anger materialized. I felt I had conveyed anger and she had perceived anger regardless of the content of the words. The message is don't ever yell at your love.

Loudness and anger are damaging and involve movements, intonations, and facial expressions regardless of content. Verbal content, vicious language and nefarious behavior invoke disrespect. This conduct is serious and presents a very difficult place from which to recover. Never disrespect each other. This is the man or woman you selected and who selected you to love for life. There is no room in that union for contempt and disrespect. You don't know what respect is? Don't get married. You are too far gone to rehabilitate. Live alone with your pet goldfish.

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### Never

### Find fault, unless it is certain that a fault has been committed;

### And

### Always speak lovingly.

Finding fault implies making judgment. Try not to judge your love. Intensely learn about each other. You will find that each of you will have a list of behaviors that are not tolerable. Avoid those behaviors. Certainly, the best way to avoid having your spouse find fault is to not commit a fault in the first place. You can achieve that by thoroughly discussing what behaviors are out of bounds and abstaining from them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Taunt with a past mistake.

"Taunt with a past mistake" is a double violation. Taunting is ridicule or mockery. This is something you do as a kid, not with someone you love. To do it with a past mistake is dredging up something in the past that has been hopefully resolved. If it hasn't been resolved, resolve it and move on, children! This is destructive regression, not advancement.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

Allow a request to be repeated **.**

If your love makes a request of you, it means she has a need. Fulfill that need. Don't force her to have to ask again. If it is a request that cannot be fulfilled, discuss it, resolve it, and move on. By all means, do not ignore the request. If you are the one making the request and it has been agreed it cannot be fulfilled or is unreasonable, then drop it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Make a remark at the expense of the other, even in jest.

This is a biggie, dears. The rule implies, "to another person." Do you really want to disparage the one you love to others? The first thing that will go through the listener's mind is, "Is that what he thinks of her?" "Why did he marry her?" "What a dope he is." And, you know of course, they will be right about you, you dope. Also, this action causes deep seated pain and hurt that cannot be healed easily, maybe not ever. Caution with this one. Stay away. This is sleep on the couch - at your parents' place for a month or more territory.

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### Never

### Meet without a loving welcome.

A loving welcome says, "I missed you terribly, and it is so wonderful to be back with you, dear." All of that is accomplished with just a hug and a kiss – what energy conservation. You did this every time when you were courting her. Why not now? Remember, giving a loving welcome when things are "peachy" is so easy. No points for that pal, sorry.

When things are tense between you, that's when a loving welcome is just so important. That shows character. It melts ice. It melts the human heart. Always make the first move. Be magnanimous. Look it up if you have to.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Part without loving words to think of during absence

This goes without saying. What if this parting is your last? We never know. We kissed, expressed our love for each other, and parted - an hour later Phyliss had a fatal stroke. What? You both have a smart phone. Come on! You know it is not the same. Nothing beats the image of your darling wearing a lovely smile, radiant eyes, and lips delectably moist from a recent kiss to sustain you both during absence. Go for it!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Let the sun set upon anger or grievance.

God really knew what He was doing when He made the Earth rotate once every twenty-four hours. He did a few other things right too. He made me write this list for you, didn't he? Twenty-four hours is just enough time to dissolve anger and grievances, unless you are obsessed with staying angry forever. You don't want to do that. Do you? I know you don't. Again, this is destructive regression, not advancement. Talk about it, drop the anger and move on. Sin no more. It will get you off the couch and back into bed.

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### Never

### Forget the happiness and joy of early love.

These are the best times of your lives. Remember them, recall them, relive them, and extend them. Never let them go. They are the affirmation that you will always adore and honor each other and nothing has changed with time. Defeat that nasty entity we call "time." Turn it into a positive and just let it make your hearts grow fonder. Einstein theorized that time slows as we approach the speed of light. Kick your marriage into overdrive and let it approach the speed of light and never leave this most wonderful time.

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### Never

### Hesitate to be supportive and give a helping hand

Support your spouse in everything he or she does. If they cannot rely on you to be their most enthusiastic cheerleader, then on whom can they rely? Make their goals your goals; make their dreams, your dreams; make their aspirations, your aspirations. Don't make them ask for help. Anticipate their need. When they are in pain let them look up from their torment to see your smiling face and your outstretched helping hand. What you cannot accomplish alone, you can accomplish together.

Think it. Believe it. Do it. Let them know it. Got it?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Lament over what might have been

What might have been is now a long lost fantasy. Sometimes that fantasy, that dream can be resurrected. If it is possible, and you both agree to that, give it another try. If it cannot be, then don't lament over it and move on. Create a new dream and pursue it together.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Blame the other for your own shortcomings.

The first step to not blaming your shortcomings on your partner is recognizing and admitting to your own. Once you have identified them, be honest to your partner and to yourself and assume responsibility for them. You will like yourself for it and so will your loved one. She will shout to the world, "What a guy I married," rather than, "What guy did I mary?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### Never

### Be content until you know that you are walking in the same narrow way.

When your relationship or marriage is in the middle of stormy seas, it is not nearly enough that you are both rowing frantically to get to land. You must be both rowing in the same direction. You're rowing to "Banana Island" because you like bananas while he is rowing to "Coconut Island" because he loves coconuts (no puns intended) gets you nowhere but at the bottom of the sea. At least you will be together forever but without bananas or coconuts.

You must be one with your spouse. Once you recognize that fact, you cannot take separate paths, you should not take separate paths, and you should not want to take separate paths. Agree to a destination and make the trip as the couple you promised God you would be with a willing heart. Be a single being. A single being can only take one path. It will be painful if you do not . . .

Those are the "Wise Words." I warned you it would not be easy.

Please don't let them scare you. If you sincerely love your spouse or your future spouse, you probably have an excellent understanding about some or many of the "never's" and "always's" already. The others you may not have thought about, but as time passes they will all become second nature to the both of you. They will. And, won't that be wonderful when the time comes that these principles will come automatically.

Read them again and imagine being married to someone who possesses all of those traits. It will be Heaven. All the energy that other couples expend dancing around these issues and making no progress and wasting time, you will have avoided. The saved energy from you both can be directed to solving the problems of life and making it better. How wonderful that will be. I know it from experience. It was wonderful.

The following condensed version without notes is to print out, keep, record, or distribute.

Save it as an electronic file.

### Phyliss and Joseph's Marriage Credo

### "Wise Words for Married Folks"

Always, make the best of what is.

Always, strive to reach an equitable compromise over differences.

Always, strive to yield willingly to the wishes of the other.

Always, let self-denial be your daily aim.

Always, neglect the whole world rather than one another.

Always, once a day, say kind and loving words to your life's partner.

Always, respect and be tender to each other.

Always, value each other's friendship and companionship.

Always, admit it when you are wrong; and ask for forgiveness.

Always, grant forgiveness willingly, sincerely, and generously.

Always, be humble, non-confrontational.

Always, be loyal to your sacred vows.

Always, be honest with yourself and your partner, and avoid deceit.

Always, reject self-pity and self-absorption.

Always, grant and welcome constructive advice lovingly.

Always, remember God ordained marriage; only His grace can make it what it should be.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Never, both be angry at once.

Never, speak loudly, angrily, or disrespectfully to one another.

Never, find fault, unless it is certain there is a fault; and always speak lovingly.

Never, taunt with a past mistake.

Never, allow a request to be repeated.

Never, make a remark at the expense of the other, even in jest.

Never, meet without a loving welcome.

Never, part without loving words to think of during absence.

Never, let the sun set upon anger or grievance.

Never, forget the happiness and joy of early love.

Never, hesitate to be supportive and give a helping hand.

Never, lament over what might have been.

Never, blame the other for your own shortcomings.

Never be content until you know that you are both walking in the same narrow way.

The Beginning

Part three: Life's Priorities, Loyalties and Allegiances

Sometimes, especially when we have known someone for a long time, we think we know everything about them. This exercise will help avoid "gaps" in your knowledge of your loved one prior to or after making the big decision. The exercise is not difficult nor time consuming nor involved. It involves listing major categories of life's allegiances and placing them in the order of importance to each of you and then comparing and discussing differences and commonalities. Simple?

As an example let us say you have a best friend and you value that friend's advice above almost every one or every thing. Your future partner should know this because the high placement of this person on your list might be a cause of concern for them – or maybe even a deal breaker.

The categories presented are not exclusive or all inclusive. You can make you own. Also the categories are listed generally. You may want to personify the categories by using "Mary" instead of "Sibling."

You and your love may find some surprises on the list. If that is the case, some serious discussions may be in order to resolve the issue. Better now than later. Please be aware that this list is neither permanent nor static. It will change as your lives change and you mature and as individuals and groups move in and out of your lives.

Assure it is updated and refreshed to keep your love refreshed. Keep your eyes open for other aides that can help to side step dangers to your bond.

How important are the following allegiances to each of you? List them with the most important priority or allegiance at the top of the list and the least important at the bottom of the list. Compare your list with your love's list and discuss over a quiet dinner, alone.

Your reading device hasn't gone crazy or your vision failed you. I tried to mix them up so that my arrangement and your arrangements won't influence your choices. I am not sure how these will print out on your device. So be patient with me.

If you can't negotiate this little exercise, how are you going to get along for a life time?

No wine.

Be nice.
SPOUSE GOD / DEITY / DIVINE LAW

WEALTH, MATERIAL GOODS, COMFORT

MORAL LAW ETHICAL LAW

JUST LAWS OF GOVERNMENT

CHURCH or RELIGIOUS DOCTRINE

POWER, INFLUENCE COMPANY / EMPLOYER

NEIGHBOR CLUB OR GROUP SELF

ACQUAINTANCE

STRANGER

ARCH-ENEMY, SATAN

OPPONENT

ENEMY PARENT / OFF-SPRING

SIBLING

BEST FRIEND

OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS

BUSINESS ASSOCIATE / PARTNER

FRIENDS

### Part eight: the Marital Danger Signs

In the first part of this book I stated, "It is important to be cognizant of the two groups of forces that will potentially destroy your marriage. They are forces that come from within your marriage and forces that come from outside your marriage." I introduced the "Wise Words" to help strengthen your bond to counter these forces. But, we are all flawed humans susceptible to human frailties. If internal or external flaws form cracks in your union they most likely will appear as one of the manifestations listed below. Early detection and remedy may be valuable in avoiding deterioration or dissolution of your marriage.

Any appearance of a number of these signs may be a cause for concern for the health of your relationship, but be cautious they may just be attributed to "having a bad day." However, continued occurrences or more severe behavior will necessitate serious discussion, and a search for a possible remedy or remedies for the behavior. Increases in the number of different behaviors and greater frequency indicate more immediate attention to find the source(s) of the problem. You may want to try it as a preventive aide to avoid disaster or a diagnostic tool to help remedy a developing problem.

The origin of this list, I am so ashamed to admit, are my own shortcomings and failure. Due to Phyliss' health, my health, work, and finances, the stress was causing me to become uncharacteristically impatient with Phyliss. (About the eighth item on the list) This was an impatience that was not justified, warranted, nor deserved. I knew there had to be a change.

One day, without Phyliss' knowledge, I sat down and developed this list as an adjunct to the "Wise Words for Married Folks." I would read it often until I no longer needed to read it to insure that I would not violate any of the principles again and cause my love anguish. It worked. I was not perfect in my goal, but I tried my best and made remarkable improvements. It was such a feeling of accomplishment. It was so rewarding. I did it on my own. I restored our private heaven. And, I returned Phyliss to the life she gave me and deserved. As always, Phyliss didn't need the list, and I never showed it to her. She was truly remarkable. It was one of the few secrets I kept from her. I guess she knows now. I am sorry, my dear. (See "Wise Words" and my needing to be "taught the song of love.")

Speaking of songs . . . Sometimes we can receive wisdom from unlikely sources. In this case, it is gifted to us by a twenty-year-old lass named Janet Devlin, from a tiny hamlet in Northern Ireland. In her debut album called "Running with Scissors," she writes and sings a work entitled "Things we lost in the Fire" she says . . .

"There's no smoke without reason; It's a sign there's something wrong  
In my lungs there's a poison; I've been breathing in too long  
There's no I, No I in we  
And there's no you, No you in me  
Cause I've been burned way beyond the third degree"

Making you aware of these danger signs may help you avoid Miss Devlin's premonition. You don't want to even get close to "There's no I in we; and there's' no you in me."

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ai5lCfZnNlc>

  The red flags

### That can cripple matrimonial harmony

### A beginning of criticism of small, then larger issues

"Why do you always have to wear your hair like that?" "I don't like it like that."

"Why are you always over your mother's when you know I need you here?"

### A rise and increase of him vs. you arguments

"Why did you have to rearrange the furniture?" "It was just fine before."

"You have nothing to do all day." I have to go out and work all day."

### A realization special occasions / quiet moments no longer are mutually shared

Traditionally pleasant outings become a source of conflict not enjoyment.

### An unwillingness to allow you to grow and improve

"Why spend all that money on sewing lessons when you can buy the stuff cheaper?"

"Why do you need to go back to school to get your degree?"

### A habitual or even occasional mocking, especially in front of others, even in jest

"When Susan is in the kitchen, she needs a warning label on her back."

"Harold doesn't know what end of a screwdriver to use."

### A difficulty or uncomfortableness being "you" in her presence

Suppressing effervescence for fear of criticism of being too outgoing by your partner

"I'd love to do karaoke, but Harold doesn't want me to."

### An expression of unkind behavior toward you, the children, others, or pets

"Susan is so skinny, she disappears when she turns sideways."

"After we got married, Harold turned into a fat slob."

"All the gals in your card club are witches."

### An uncharacteristic and increasing impatience with you

Didn't you hear the phone; do I have to do everything around here?"

"How long does it take you to get dressed? We are going to be late."

### A reluctance to be alone with you or your family and friends

"I won't be here when your family comes" "I have a lot of other important things to do."

### A rise of criticism of your family, friends, habits, or behavior

"Your whole family is so annoying." "It's embarrassing having them around"

"Can you stop putting your clothes in my closet?" "Don't you have enough room?"

### An abruptness and annoyance are the norm. Patience is a lost sentiment.

### A loss of tenderness and intimacy

Communications previously beginning with "dear," "honey," or" sweetheart" no longer do.

Touching, caressing, fondling, kissing, and eye contact are thing of the past.

### An inability or unwillingness to see your viewpoint or your pain

"So you didn't get the promotion." What's the big deal?"

"Why are you so uptight when the boss yells?" "Suck it up. Everybody has problems."

### A disregard and dismissal of your thoughts or opinions

"That's a stupid idea." "That will never work." "What do you know about it anyhow?"

"You really don't know what you are talking about"

### A disinterest in your activities, affairs, goals, achievements or trials

"Since when are you taking swimming classes?" "Why would you do that anyway?"

### An appearance of accusations that you can't do anything right

"No matter what it is you do, you make a mess of it." "Can't you do anything right?"

### A significant increase in disputes over finances or other serious issues

Heated discussions occur frequently of making, saving, and spending money all the time.

"You are spending too much money on clothes and shoes."

"You are spending too much on your car."

"What are all these items on the charge card, again?"

### A disappearance of former thoughtful gestures and kindnesses

Forgetting birthdays, days of endearment, and special days for the two of you

Disappearance of little gifts, surprise dinner's out, staying with just you, not the boys.

### A cessation of expressions of mutual admiration and praise

No more, "You look especially beautiful today," or "I love your hair like that."

No more, "You are a marvelous wife (husband)." "I am so lucky to have you in my life."

### A parting or ignoring of formerly mutually agreed goals

"What do you mean; you haven't been taking your birth control pills?"

"I thought we agreed we would have two children, not five?"

"I've decided we should sell the house and move into an apartment."

### An increased desire to participate in activities with others, especially without you

"Didn't I tell you I'm in a bowing league?" "I am positive I did." "Yeah, every M,W,F night plus tournaments all around the state every month.

### A loss of the early moments of love and respect

No more rushing home to be with his love – no sadness when separating – no more thoughtful acts of kindness and endearment – no anticipating your needs or pain.

### A sudden taking action on important issues without discussion or consultation

I decided to get a new car." I always wanted a Jag." "Do you like the color?"

"I've had it." "I quit my job." "I'm not sure what I want to do." "I've always wanted to be a long-haul truck driver."

### A making of new friends without your inclusion in the friendship

"Mark, Jean, and I went to that new restaurant." "Oh, I met them at the bowling alley."

"Didn't I tell you about them?" "Yeah, they are great and so interesting!"

### A newly found obsession with substance abuse or pornography

"Cocktails help me relax." "The gal on the cover is hot?" "You should see the centerfold." "Before you put out the trash, I'll have another scotch, little more ice this time." "That white stuff on my shirt?" "It' baby powder."

### A change in long-standing habits or routines

"I'm going out to get some cigarettes." "I'll be back in a couple of hours." "I told you I started smoking a while ago." "You just don't remember." "Don't you ever listen?"

### A suspicion that secrets are being kept

Question: "Who was on the phone?" Answer: "It was Jake, from State Farm."

Question: "What was that envelope from another bank?" Answer: "It was delivered to the wrong address." "Oh, it was the wrong number."

### An unwillingness to communicate, discuss or resolve conflicts or problems

"I am just under too much pressure right now to discuss it. Maybe later"

"Nothing is wrong. There is nothing to discuss. Why do we have to debate everything?"

"Why can' we just drop it?" "There is nothing more to talk about." "I am going for a walk to clear my head." Incivility is common.

### An inordinate concern of unequal work distribution and contribution

"When something has to be done, I always have to do it. You don't do anything."

"You walk the dog. That's your job."

"I have been doing all the work while you just sit around and watch."

"You can see I am struggling." "Why can you get up and help me for once?"

Hang up the gloves . . .

Or maybe put them on,

Whichever works better.

No low blows,

Well, if nobody's looking,

Why not?

Just remember,

You still love each other.

Don't you?

Not!
**A** **few notes about the danger signs:**

Please don't either of you go around the house being distrustful, paranoid detectives seeing a scoundrel behind every door. You are married; you are supposed to trust each other. Give your partner the benefit of the doubt. Many actions and behaviors can have completely benign origins. Occasional occurrences can be signs your spouse is just having a bad day.

But please don't be blind, gullible, or stupid. If many of these anomalies are present and considerable changes from the norm, keep on the alert. Be vigilant. Listen to the "little voice" in your head. It is usually smarter than you are.

Also, in communications between any two people, especially those in love, word content as described above is not the only factor that triggers a danger sign. What cannot be expressed in words, but equally, possibly more importantly are the tone, the volume, the attitude, the body language, the timing, the attitude, and the frequency. Many times these secondary characteristics of a response convey much more meaning and force than the actual content of the words. These all communicate to that little voice in your head that tells you something is not right. Look at the whole picture.

Once the alarm is sounded, calmly and lovingly discuss your concerns with the love of your life. Do not be accusatory. Be kind and no alcohol and above all follow the "Wise Words" in executing your discussion. Print out two copies, and subtlety put them on the table before the discussion. Just their presence during the discussion will give a message. Use them if you have to, but, sometimes just their being there can do wonders. It gets the attention of your spouse and says this is a serious concern that warrants serious discussion. It conveys the intent that the discussion and its outcome are important.

If she or he refuses to talk, add to the list of "danger signs." Absolutely nothing will get resolved without honest communication. The last item on the list about communications can scuttle all attempts at resolving all the others. This is very important and can be the biggest barrier to resolution of an important matter. An armistice cannot be reached if there is no one on the other side of the negotiating table.

Remember the timing of the discussion is important. Eliminate distractions. While multiple items on the list can be discussed at the same time, it may cause confusion and cross conflicts. If possible, limit each session to one or two items. If too many issues are covered at the same time, it may be difficult to tell which issue caused an unsuccessful encounter. By all means discuss multiple problems concurrently if they are related in some way.

At the end of a successful encounter, suggest a schedule for covering other items. Part with upbeat attitudes as the friends and loving partners that you are. Better yet, don't part, canoodle.

### A little levity

The subject matter of this book was so important that I may have made it overly serious to illustrate that importance. Even though the book is short, I am certain you said to yourself, this is good, Joe, but lighten up a little. I did not mean to imply that love and marriage should be devoid of frivolity. Happiness, silliness, levity, goofiness, playfulness, and just plain fun are essential. Laughter, childishness, tickling, and giggles are so important too.

But, I cannot write a book about how you achieve that happiness. Once two lovers have a rock solid union and a union that is unshakable, then from that point anything is possible for them. Come on, guys, you have to do some of the work. I can't do it all for you. Use your sense of humor and enjoy yourselves. You don't have a sense of humor? Get one, please! Enjoy every moment of your time with that wonderful spouse whom you picked to spend your life. Remember, there are no guarantees of how long your lives will be. Live each minute in happiness as if it is your last.

I am sure you have realized by now my engineering mind likes to make lists. It is my way of outlining an important issue for comprehensiveness and communicating it to those around me. Sure, follow the guidelines that are outlined, but don't forget the fun. Once you are secure in the essential stuff, the fun should come naturally. The following is a feeble way of injecting some jest or silliness into this monumentally important subject.

When is the right time to tell your wife you love her?

When your wife is angry with you

When you are angry with her

When you first see her in the morning

When you last see her at night

When you see her without her make up

When you see her with her new hair-do

When you see her without her hair

When you first see her after a long absence

When you first see her after a short absence

When you find a positive pregnancy test in the trash

When you find a negative pregnancy test in the trash

When your wife tells you she is pregnant

When the baby is born healthy

When the baby is born unhealthy

When your wife tells you she lost the baby

When your daughter tells you she is pregnant

When your son tells you he is going to be a father

When you going to have sex with her

When you had sex with someone else

When you don't have sex

When your wife works hard

When your wife relaxes

When your wife is joyful

When your wife is sad

When your wife is crying

When your wife is sick

When your wife tells you she doesn't love you any more

When your wife tells you she betrayed you

When you tell her you betrayed her

When you ask forgiveness

When your wife asks forgiveness

When your wife asks you to take out the trash

When she tells you to look through the trash for her wedding ring

When your wife asks you if she looks fat

When your wife asks you if her sister is more attractive than she

When your wife asks you if she looks sexy

When your wife asks you if you think your secretary looks sexy

When you get a new, better looking secretary who can't type

When you say you worked late

When you give her a birthday/anniversary/Christmas present

When you forget to give her a birthday/anniversary/Christmas present

When your wife gives you a birthday/anniversary/Christmas present

When her mother and father are getting a divorce

When your mother and father are getting a divorce

When neither is getting a divorce

When your wife tells you her mother is visiting . . . with her dog & new boyfriend

When your mother-in-law moves in with her dogs & her boyfriends

When your wife asks you to change the baby's diaper

When your wife asks you to change the babies' diapers

When your wife asks you to change her diaper

When your wife tells you she had an affair

When you tell her you had an affair

When your wife asks you, "what is a "ménage à trois"?

When your wife tells you she thinks Bill Clinton is cute

When Congress is in session

When your wife asks you if you would like to try "bungee jumping"

When you have lost your job

When you can't find a new job

When your children get their drivers' licenses

When your children don't come home

When your children do come home

When your daughter tells you she wants a "huge" wedding . . . in Paris

When your children live with you and they are thirty-eight

When the alcohol is missing from the cabinet

When your wife tells you that she needs a new kitchen

When you tell her you need a workshop

When your wife serves you snails

When your wife tells you she is going shopping and takes the credit card

When your wife says the car was towed to the shop, but nobody was hurt

When you take the car out of the garage . . . with the door closed

When you park the car in the garage . . . with the bikes on the roof

When your children are screaming

When your children are not screaming

When your wife is screaming

When you are screaming

When everyone is screaming

When the dog eats her wedding ring

When the dog eats your dinner

When you eat the dog's dinner

When the dog throws up your dinner on the carpet, or worse

When the basement floods

When the basement floods . . . again

When the roof leaks, over your bed

When you are ready to watch the "Super bowl"

When the "Super Bowl" is over

When you go (you fill it in) with the "boys"

When you return from (you fill it in) with the "boys"

When you're caught lying

When your wife burns dinner

When you burn dinner

When you both burn dinner on Thanksgiving Day

When it is bedtime and the sheets are still in the washer

When your neighbor buys drums for his boy for Christmas

When there is no hot water

When there is no water

When the power is out

When the sewer backs up

When you leave the toilet seat up

When you eat beans

When you don't replace the toilet paper roll

When the toilet clogs before Thanksgiving dinner

When you run out of toilet paper before Thanksgiving dinner

When the car won't start . . . again

When your daughter discovers boys

When you son discovers girls

When your daughter discovers girls

When your son discovers boys

When you discover girls

When you discover boys

When the police call

When you call the police

When you call the fire department

When you sleep on the couch

When you start going to confession regularly

When your wife starts going to confession regularly

When the city converts the house next door into a half-way house

When your wife asks you if you still like the house

When your wife asks you if you think the bathroom is big enough

When your wife tells you the neighbors got a swimming pool . . . and she likes it

When the swimming pool is above ground . . . and your dog likes it

When the cable TV is not working

When the ice maker doesn't make ice

When the heater doesn't heat

When the air conditioner doesn't condition

When the washer . . . and dryer won't work

When the internet is not working

When "Amazon" goes out of business

When you go into your tornado shelter

When you come out of your tornado shelter

When your wife asks you which tattoo you like and where

When your daughter has a lot of boy friends

When your daughter has no boy friends

When your daughter buys loads of clothes

When your daughter doesn't buy any clothes

When your daughter starts wearing flowers in her hair

When your daughter starts shopping at "Victoria's Secret"

When you find birth control pills on your daughter's bureau

When you don't find birth control pills on your daughter's bureau

When your daughter starts wearing her underwear on the outside

When your daughter doesn't wear any underwear

When your daughter gets a tattoo that can't be seen in a bikini

When your daughter gets piercings that can't be seen in a bikini

When your daughter elopes with the drummer in a rock band

When your son fails gym

When you find marijuana plants growing in your back yard

When a meteor is headed for earth

When your child is sick

When your child is dying

When you are dying

When your wife is dying

When you are both dying

When your wife bakes you something wonderful

When nothing in particular is happening

Every single day . . . for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, for as long as you both shall live

I love you, my dear.

Eulogy from her Mass of Christian burial

Saint Mary of the Lakes Roman Catholic Church, Medford, New Jersey

November 4, 2013

Phyliss Marie Crudo Badame

A Loving and devoted daughter, sister, niece, and cousin, an absolutely perfect wife, a steadfast friend, a comforting companion, a humanitarian, a master educator, a prolific administrator, a consummate student, a perpetual optimist, a knowledgeable counselor, an indefatigable advocate, an extraordinary chef, a compassionate listener, a committed and tenacious Godmother, an honorable public servant, an advocate of the downtrodden, a generous, kind human being, and a humble servant of our Lord.

Each generation produces a small number of individuals that society identifies as remarkable in some way, worthy of having produced some laudable, uncommon, and worthy achievement.

These persons are generally recognized, revered, and remembered as the giants of humankind, arriving like a tidal wave with great pomp and circumstance.

Unfortunately, these individuals are often without depth of character, and their achievement is often of questionable merit.

Once in a while, however, humbly with no fanfare, a person of true character and worth appears, not as a tidal wave, but rather as a subtle ripple in the ocean of humanity.

This person walks unpretentiously among us, quietly, almost unnoticed, spreading her goodness, not by lecture or sermon, but rather by example and deed. This person accepts no recognition, nor desires to be recognized, and because of that we are rarely aware that we have been touched by greatness. And yet, later, we realize that this person's accomplishments were truly worthy of adulation, having permanently and positively impacted those around her and extending into the future for generations.

Phyliss has been this person walking gently among us her entire life. Molded by an unknown force that is difficult to identify, she developed from an early age into an example of a near-perfect human being.

She was a child who knew right from wrong and possessed extraordinary wisdom and vision. As she grew, she followed an uncommon path of excellence, like a laser, without detour or deterrence. She was soon to become an accomplished adult . . . literally emulating and walking in the footsteps of her savior, Jesus Christ.

Utilizing an internal motivation, determination, and singular faith in God, Phyliss bypassed poverty, bias, and prejudice. Excuses and failure never entered her lexicon.

While her personal trials were kept opaque to those around her, she remained transparent to those who were sincere and needed her talents. No one in need was ever turned away. Her assistance was always the most thorough and the most professional. If she did not possess the resources to help, she was a master at heralding support from any source necessary. No call for help was ever left unanswered nor was any kind deed left unfinished.

Phyliss' pursuit of excellence was hallmarked by not merely superior intellect but also true intelligence. This was combined with uncommon patience, a remarkable sense of fairness and justice, nurturing kindness, uncommon humility, an undying spirit, fierce loyalty, rock-solid friendship, an unequaled work ethic, and an abhorrence of waste and sloth. She had an overwhelming ability to forgive, a copious measure of self-denial, and a reverend faith and piety. Finally, and most important, she had an infinite capacity to love, and also, to be loved.

Later in life, when burdened with seemingly insurmountable multiple disabilities, she continued undaunted in her quest for kindness, compassion and benevolence for everyone around her.

Through all of her trials she never complained, sought recognition, sympathy, or the limelight. She was a humble and private soul guided by Jesus and Mary, a rare human being for her entire life.

DH Lawrence wrote a tiny poem in the early 1900's entitled "Self-Pity" that perfectly describes Phyliss' character during her life and especially in the twenty-nine years after her overwhelming disabilities began.

Lawrence's poem says: "I never saw a wild thing sorry for it self. A small bird will drop, frozen dead from a bough, without ever having felt sorry for it self." In the fifty-six years I have had the privilege to have known her; she never expressed a word of self-pity, despite the infinite reasons she had to do so. I concluded that it was impossible for her to have pity for herself when she was forever concerned more for the well-being of others than for her own well-being.

Yet, unlike the small bird that died without self-pity because of instinct, Phyliss was given free-will by God and purposely chose to reject self-pity as her mantra.

I remember I was once asked why I married Phyliss,

shall we say, in such an uncommon and unorthodox union?

I replied, of course that I loved her deeply, but also:

"I married her because Phyliss brought springtime to my heart "

But, now, comes the realization that spring dissolves into summer,

Summer quietly fades into autumn,

and, alas, autumn slowly surrenders to the harshness of winter.

But sadly, this year . . . there will be no springtime.

If Phyliss were still here today, I would say to her these paraphrased words from Neil Diamond's "The story of my life." It truly is the story of my life:

My dearest Phyliss:

I was alone

You found me and made me your own

I was afraid I never could be the man that you wanted of me

You're the story of my life, and every word is true

Each chapter sings your name

Each page begins and ends with you

It's the story of our times and never letting go

If I die today, I wanted you to know

The story of my life - it's very plain to read

It starts the day you came

It ends the day you leave

We may thank God for Phyliss' compassionate passing which was unexpectedly sudden, peaceful, and dignified . . . in the same manner she lived her whole life.

I say, "My darling Phyliss, rest in peace forever, free of your pain, suffering and disabilities until I may be fortunate enough to join you once again."

Rest for eternity, protected in the arms of your beloved Savior . . . where you so deservedly belong.

Your adoring husband,

Joseph

Phyliss Marie Crudo Badame

Rest in eternal peace

August 28, 1927 -- October 29, 2013

Eulogy given at her funeral

Monday, November 4, 2013

(Edited, December 4, 2013)

Newspaper article about Phyliss

Tunisia, Returned Peace Corps Volunteer

Phyliss Crudo Badame wants to reconnect with former students

The Courier Post, Camden, New Jersey, Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Joseph Badame insists there are several stories worth telling about life with Phyliss Crudo Badame, his wife of 38 years. You could start with her long years as an English and Spanish teacher in area schools, or her principal role in the success of a Camden evening school. There are the two years the couple spent with the Peace Corps in Tunisia. Or you could reference the decades she spent voluntarily mentoring immigrant nuns.

But Joe and Phyliss' tale is more than anything a love story.

The 63-year-old architect knows it kills his wife to be disabled by a stroke, housebound and dependent on his care, devoted as it is. She wants to have a piece of her purposeful life back by reconnecting with some of the thousands of students she taught at Cramer Junior High School and Woodrow Wilson Adult Evening School in Camden, St. Stephen's in Pennsauken and the former St. Joseph's in Medford (now St. Mary of the Lakes).

And Joe was determined to put out the word by getting in touch with this newspaper. "This stroke is slowly killing us," he says. "To know somebody for 50 years who always put herself secondary to everyone else . . . and now to see her like this. She's hungering for things to do." "It completely changes your life," the Medford resident adds of his wife's disability and his own diabetes. "It can be mind boggling."

It is with a great deal of love that Joe often finishes his wife's sentences, keen thoughts and memories hampered by a speech impediment. "At this point in her life, why not have the opportunity to connect with people she taught?" Joe asks. Those "people" were students, he adds, who sought out his wife's classes even though Phyliss had a reputation for toughness. One of her favorite punishments for wayward students was making them recite from memory the 19th-century poem If, by Rudyard Kipling:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run

Yours is the earth and everything that's in it

And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!

"She was a giant," Joe says of his wife. "She was the strictest, most demanding teacher, yet kids flocked to her. It wasn't fun and games . . . but they sensed she had their best interests at heart."

One of the kids who flocked to Ms. Crudo was Badame himself; she was his home room teacher at Cramer. Like him, she was the product of an Italian-Catholic family in Camden, he an only child, she from a family of 11.

Phyliss mentored the self-proclaimed "C" student through the years and repeatedly spurned Joe's later advances because of the 16-year-difference in their ages. "She kept telling me, "I'll be an old lady by the time we can get married," he recalls. When they did finally marry in 1968, Joe was 26, Phyliss nearly 40. It was merely a formality when everyone said it wouldn't work.

"We've known each other for 50 years . . .," Joe says, proudly beaming at his wife. "And we've been married for 39. We proved them all wrong." So even if you were one of those kids who had to memorize Kipling,

Phyliss would love to hear from you.

Write to her at 9 Pinecrest Drive, Medford 08055

Or E-mail: jpbadame@verizon.net

Help a treasured teacher "fill the unforgiving minute, with sixty seconds' worth

of distance run."

Ties That Bind appears Tuesday. Contact Christina Mitchell at (856) 317-7905 or

E-mail: cmitchell@courierpostonline.com.

A note of gratitude: My sincere thanks to Ms. Mitchell and the Courier Post management for their kind and well-crafted feature. The overwhelming response generated by the article from her students and colleagues gave Phyliss and me a great deal of comfort and joy for years to come.

# Phyliss C. Badame

#

# Legacy guest book

#

This Guest Book will remain online permanently courtesy of Joseph Badame.

March 10, 2015

Joseph,   
There are only a few people in life that get to shape an individual. People that recognize individual talents within young people, nurture those talents, and discover a thematic chord that resonates with them throughout their lives. Your Phyllis was one of those people with these unique gifts. I read the words of Ernest Federici, Rose DeAngelis, and others who are expressed this sentiment, and I remember instances when she nurtured those individuals, as she did me and countless others.

For me, as a young man interested in the sciences, travel and adventure, I recall her exactitude and precision in all things from coursework, thought, grammar, and pronunciation, to her obvious thrill at traveling with you and being able to share those experiences with us. The chord that she struck in me was a curiosity and desire for travel and exploration, and for autodidactic learning, investigation, and mastery; as she seemed to thrill in and demand from herself.

Apart from the drills, devices, and pneumonics that I am amazed I still remember today and have passed on to my five children, was her strength of character and bearing that she possessed, and wanted us to possess. I still remember disappointing her in 6th grade that I was being foolish, not trying my hardest and doing my best work. It profoundly touched me. I always sought her approval.

I am saddened by the fact that as I grew and pursued my own careers, I failed to thank her personally for helping shape me, her influence on my choices, and academic and personal foundations. I sporadically searched a couple of times in vain over the years to find you both, and only now, after talking about her with my wife and daughter around the kitchen table, was I able to quickly find this page. She was a driving force at St. Stephens, and in my life.

So, I am glad to celebrate her life and to share these words with you: elle tait une femme merveilleuse. Que formidable!

-JEP

~

John Pitale,

Washington, District of Columbia

 Contact Me)

February 11, 2015

A Valentine wish for the lovely ladies  
that remembered Phyliss

From her lofty perch, wherever it may be,  
Phyliss sent a host of Angels so they could comfort me

I so wish I could compose unique and tender tomes,  
for all of them to read in the quietude of their homes

But, now my tired bones they begin to crack and creak,  
To all the Angels, this lone love song will have to only speak  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

For such a day of romantic love and deep, sincere concern,  
How strange it is it yields most certainly so much heartburn

So little is known of the chap with the lovely appellation  
Even the Church removed him from their official compilation

Still each year the droves frantically they scramble,  
Kindred to a brightly burning roman candle

They pursue and search high and low,  
For tasty sweets and lovely flowers grow

But not I shall tumble into that teeming bramble so,  
For I must softly pursue quite another mantle tho

For you see 'tis not the volume of the gifts that mounts,  
For my dears, it is only the lovely thought that counts.

Happy Saint Valentine's Day

May God bless you all  
And dry all your tears  
As you have helped dry mine

Joseph Badame  
February 2015

November 10, 2013

Mrs. Badame was an amazingly dedicated teacher. She taught me at St Stephens. Only as an adult could I appreciate her skill as a teacher. She really did teach us much more than any book. May she rest in peace. She will never be forgotten.

~

Rose DeAngelis,

Montreal, Quebec

November 08, 2013

Ms Crudo was my ninth grade Spanish, English, and homeroom teacher at Cramer Junior High. She was one of the finest teachers I ever had. I am saddened to hear of her passing.

~

Janice Susman Lehmann,

Yardley, Pennsylvania

 Contact Me)

November 07, 2013

Miss Crudo was an excellent teacher and set a wonderful example of dignity for her students. She was one of the best teachers I ever had. She taught me a lot more than Spanish!

~

Merle Winepol Lundy,

Cooper City, Florida

November 07, 2013

My dearest friends,

My heart-felt gratitude goes out to all of you and everyone who has expressed their love and admiration of Phyliss. There was not quite another like her in my life time. I will miss her sorely and hope I may join her soon.

I thought those who could not attend the funeral would find some comfort in reading the eulogy I gave.

Thank you all again, for your kindness.

Eulogy to Phyliss Crudo Badame

Each generation produces a small number of individuals that society identifies as remarkable in some way... worthy of having produced some laudable ... Uncommon ... and worthy achievement.

These persons generally are recognized ... revered ... and remembered as the giants of humanity ... arriving like a tidal wave with great pomp and circumstance.

Unfortunately ... these individuals are often without depth of character, and their achievement is often of questionable merit.

Once in a while, however... quietly... humbly with no fanfare, a person of true character and worth appears as a subtle ripple in the ocean of humanity. This person walks unpretentiously among us... quietly ... almost unnoticed ... spreading her goodness by example and deed with little or no recognition ... nor desire to be recognized. We are rarely aware that we have been touched by greatness. And yet ... this person's accomplishments are truly worthy of adulation ... positively impacting a wide range of individuals of multiple generations.

Phyliss has been this person walking gently among us for her entire life.

Molded by an unknown force or event that is difficult to identify, she developed from an early age into an example of a near-perfect human being.

A child who knew right from wrong, and possessed extraordinary wisdom - following an uncommon path of excellence, like a laser, without detour or deterrence. She was soon to become an accomplished adult ... literally walking in the footsteps of Jesus.

Phyliss by-passed poverty, bias, and prejudice with an internal motivation, determination, and singular faith in God. Excuses and failure were never in her lexicon.

While her personal trials were kept opaque to those around her, she remained transparent to those who were sincere and needed her talents. No one in need was ever turned away. Her assistance was always the most thorough ... the most professional. If she did not possess the resources to help, she was a master at heralding assistance from any source necessary. No kind deed was ever left unaddressed or unfinished.

Phyliss' pursuit of excellence was hallmarked by not merely superior intellect, but also true intelligence ... combined with uncommon patience, a remarkable sense of fairness and justice, nurturing kindness, uncommon humility, an undying spirit, fierce loyalty, rock-solid friendship, an unequaled work ethic, an abhorrence of waste and sloth, an infinite capacity to love ... and be loved, an overwhelming ability to forgive, a copious measure of self-denial, and a reverend faith and piety.

Later in life, when burdened with seemingly insurmountable multiple handicaps, she continued undaunted in her quest for kindness, compassion and benevolence toward everyone around her.

Through all of her trials she never complained, sought recognition, sympathy, or the limelight - a humble and private soul guided by Jesus and Mary - a rare human being for an entire lifetime.

We may thank God for her compassionate passing which was unexpectedly sudden, peaceful, and dignified ... in the same manner she lived her life.

If Phyliss were still here today, with some help from Neil Diamond, I would say this to her:

My dearest Phyliss  
I was alone  
You found me and made me your own  
I was afraid I never could be the man that you wanted me to be

You're the story of my life, and every word is true  
Each chapter sings your name  
Each page begins with you

It's the story of our times and never letting go  
If I die today, I wanted you to know

The story of my life - it's very plain to read  
It starts the day you came  
It ends the day you leave

I remember I was once asked why I married Phyliss ...  
shall we say in such an uncommon and unorthodox union.

I replied: "because Phyliss brings springtime to my heart"

But, now, comes the realization that spring dissolves into summer

Summer quietly fades into autumn

and, alas ... autumn surrenders to the harshness of winter.

But sadly, this year ... there will be no springtime.

My darling Phyliss, rest in peace forever, free of your pain, suffering and handicaps until I may be fortunate enough to join you once again.

Rest for eternity protected in the arms of Jesus your beloved Savior

where you so deservedly belong.

Thank you all, again.

Gratefully  
Joseph Badame

~

Joseph Badame,

Medford, New Jersey

November 07, 2013

Mrs. Phyllis Badame was my 5th grade teacher at St. Stephens in Pennsauken and she was the best teacher I ever had. I made a miniature violin for a class project and she liked it so much that she asked me if she could keep it. It was a pleasure knowing her. She will be dearly missed.

~

Ernest Federici,

Pennsauken, New Jersey

November 06, 2013

Joseph, I was saddened to hear of the passing of your wife, and of my favorite Teacher of all. She will always be remembered as a woman of grace and dignity, who could really teach and make you want to learn! I know she is with our Lord in heaven right now, and looking down at all the children she mentored and developed into fine upstanding people. I have mentioned her many times to my Grand Daughters, who I wish could have met her. The best compliment for her is she made a difference in our lives! God grant you his peace and comfort.

~

James Arcaini,

Marlton, New Jersey

November 05, 2013

Dear Joseph,  
You now have an angel in heaven who will watch over you. God bless you for all the care you gave Phyllis. She touched the hearts of so many.  
Pat and Bob Cerulli

November 04, 2013

To the family of Mrs. Badame,  
We are very sorry for your loss. Both my brother and I had Mrs. Badame in the 70's at St. Stephen's and we never forgot her. She was a very kind and generous woman and a wonderful teacher, one of the best. We truly enjoyed having her; she touched our hearts as a teacher and as a person. She was very special and will always hold a special place in our hearts.  
Love and Prayers,

~

Anthony & Diane Leone

November 02, 2013

Badame Family,  
My deepest sympathy. Phyliss was our neighbor in Pennsauken.  
Albanese family

November 02, 2013

Mrs. Badame was my teacher in 5th grade at St. Stephen's. She made such an impact on my learning. What I loved about her was that not only did she teach us academics, but she taught us valuable life lessons. May she rest in peace.

~

Domenica Cirasella-Pino,

Marlton, New Jersey

November 02, 2013

What a wonderful person! May she rest in peace.

November 02, 2013

With deepest sympathy to the family during your time of grief...God is for you a refuge and strength, A help that is there to be found during difficult times...May God provide you with peace and comfort to endure the days ahead.

~

John

November 02, 2013

Dear Joe and Family,

It was my pleasure to have met you and Phyllis many years ago at Lenape H.S. Phyliss' career of doing good was very inspiring. I am very sorry for your loss. Be assured of prayers for Phyliss, you and your family.  
Sincerely,  
Larry Danks

November 01, 2013

I was a student at Cramer in Camden - she was Miss Crudo at the time - remember her as a wonderful teacher - so pretty as seen through the eyes of a young girl - so elegant in stature - I can still remember her - may you find peace and comfort - Roberta Deitz Wagner

November 01, 2013

I taught with Phyliss at St Stephens School back in the 70's. She was an amazing teacher and I took with me some of her insights along my 35 year career. Extend my condolences to her family.

~

Maryann (Dougherty) Asher,

West Palm Beach, Florida

November 01, 2013

We are saddened to learn of the passing of Phyliss, but very grateful to her for her service to our country in the Peace Corps.

Our condolences

The National Peace Corps Association

November 01, 2013

She was a great teacher and a great lady when she was my teacher in Cramer in the late 50's. Her accomplishments after that time period are very impressive.

~

JOEL KORIN,

EUGENE, Oregon
A few notes about Longwood Gardens

An interlude for two souls in love

One of our favorite places

Longwood Gardens, one of the world's greatest gardens of today, was established by Pierre Du Pont when he purchased Peirce's Park in 1906 in order to save the trees in the park. The park owner had contracted a lumber mill operator to remove the all the trees from the park.

Du Pont was born in 1870 in Delaware, USA. He became president of the world famous DuPont Company from 1915 to 1919, and served on its Board of Directors until 1940. He also managed General Motors from 1915-1920, became GM's president in 1920 and served on GM's Board of Directors until 1928.

During his early years in Wilmington, Delaware, he was influenced by the area's natural beauty and by the Du Pont family's long tradition of gardening. His jobs took him to Europe many times, and he was always exposed to a wide variety of garden settings, fountains, grand architecture, and the latest technology.

After buying Peirce's Park at the age of 36, du Pont created a garden, which became the foundation for Longwood Gardens. He built the gardens piecemeal, beginning with the Flower Garden Walk, and he followed no grand plan or design. He added an open-air theatre in 1912 which was inspired by an outdoor theater near Siena, Italy.

As a wedding gift to his wife Alice Belin, he added a conservatory in 1915 – Longwood's first "winter garden" and planted exotic foliage and created a small marble fountain. In 1921, he opened the Conservatory, a perpetual Eden which used the latest technology of the day to heat, water, and power the complex. All the systems were hidden in tunnels so as not to detract from the grandeur of the glass-covered and surrounding rooms. He then opened the greenhouse to the public.

By the mid-1930s, Longwood had grown from the original 202 acres to over 1000 acres by purchasing 25 contiguous properties over the years. Today, Longwood Gardens has a yearly budget of nearly $50 million and a staff of 1,300 employees, students, and volunteers. Longwood is continuously evolving to maintain its position as one of the world's greatest gardens. The garden is open to visitors year-round to enjoy exotic plants and horticulture, events and performances, seasonal and themed attractions, educational lectures, courses, and workshops.

Longwood Gardens consists of twenty outdoor gardens. Twenty indoor gardens contain 4.5 acres of heated greenhouses, known as conservatories. They contain 11,000 different types of plants and trees, as well as fountains. The Gardens also have extensive educational programs including a graduate program, and internships. They hosts 800 horticultural and performing arts events each year from flower shows, gardening demonstrations, courses, and children's programs to concerts, organ and carillon recitals, musical theatre, fountain shows, and fireworks displays. They also host a daziling Christmas light display during the holiday season.

Longwood Gardens is renowned for its extraordinary fountains. The astonishing shows gather attention from far and wide, and are a favorite among visitors of all ages. Inspired by the success of the Italian Water Gardens and open air theatre fountains, du Pont unveiled the Main Fountain Garden in 1931. The goal was to rival the fountains he had seen in Europe.

Today, this open air theatre conducts fountain shows featuring "dancing" patterns. This showpiece comes alive with performances set to music. Since its 1914 Garden Party debut, this Italian-style outdoor theatre has expanded from its simple original fountains to the 750 jets that create the rainbowed curtain of water of today.

Tucked into a protected courtyard are ponds filled with aquatic plants from all over the world. The garden is open from late May through mid-October. Peak bloom occurs mid-July through September. The aquatic plants consists of lilies, lotus and incredible Victoria water-platters with leaves measuring up to four feet in diameter.

The Orchid House displays a fraction of the 7,500 orchids at Longwood Gardens. To ensure a continuous display, the orchid grower hand picks and replaces the plants three times a week with others from the five orchid growing houses.

Orchids were a passion of Pierre du Pont and his wife, Alice. Orchids were one of the first plant collections—started in 1922. In 1948, the collection was greatly enlarged when Pierre du Pont's sister-in-law, Mrs. William du Pont, donated her well-known and respected collection of more than 2,300 orchid plants to Longwood.

The Palm House opened on Palm Sunday 1966 with a landscape of palms in all sizes and shapes from all around the world. Du Pont preferred temperate houses because they were less expensive to heat and only the small conservatory in the Peirce House was warm enough for an occasional palm.

The Silver Garden houses the cacti collections. Through the glass roof the moonlight appears to bounce off the gray and silver-foliaged plants that fill this garden. This mimics the dry and arid landscapes found in Mediterranean and desert regions.

Slate, rocky outcroppings, and exotic plants combine to create this multi-textured garden. The gray-blue slate pathway gives the impression of a dry streambed that would be found in a desert. The greenhouse containing this garden was built in 1921 and was originally used to grow peaches and nectarines. Following a major structural renovation, the Silver Garden came into being in 1989.

Visitors may purchase daily tickets or discounted season tickets.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Please help our returning soldiers in need.

They and their families helped us.

Now, we need to help them.

Please.

<https://support.woundedwarriorproject.org/>

Phyliss' favorite and most wonderful recipes

It might seem a little unusual to include recipes in a love story. Phyliss always had an unlimited number of ways of showing her love for me. Cooking and baking were several of those ways. These are not really recipes just to make wonderfully tasty dishes. Each one is an expression of her love for me. For Phyliss, every endeavor in our lives became such an expression.

It only seems natural to record and preserve these love offerings as a further insight to her character and love. It is just a side benefit that others may use the recipes to show their love for their own spouses.

One word of caution: these recipes were mostly gathered and developed before I discovered I had diabetes. Proceed at your own risk. There are a number of substitutes for sugar on the market to use in the baked goods. But, remember that almost all baked goods have tons of flour, the main source of the carbohydrates and the main reason they increase blood sugar. Even sugar-free apple pie is a disaster for a diabetic. Sorry. Take more insulin, but don't tell your doctor.

This entry is not a cookbook. It does not give advice on the basic procedures of cooking and baking. If you wish an authoritative source for that information, I suggest getting a copy of "Fannie Farmer Cookbook," 12th edition, by Marion Cunningham and as a companion book "The Fannie Farmer Baking Book," also by Marion Cunningham. These are the books that were suggested to us by the Peace Corps. We have been using them successfully ever since. The reason they were recommended to us then, and why I am recommending them now, is that they are basic, comprehensive, and complete books on the art of cooking.

The author uses basic ingredients that can be found everywhere around the world. This made the books perfectly suited for Peace Corps volunteer use. Few exotic or modern prepared foods are referenced. She keeps it simple. She also gives instructions on basic procedures and techniques of preparing foods. Whether you are a beginning chef, an accomplished aficionado, an expert in the art of excessive consumption, or just a bloke who eats "mass quantities," they are both great references. They come in lightweight and compact paperback versions to give to friends or spouses as hints for "reciprocity." However, they are so useful. I suggest getting the hardback versions and passing them on to your children with a loving message inside. We thank you and "Nutrisystem" thanks you so much Marion. You have given so many people enjoyment.

As with any recipes, try them first during a non-critical time or event. Then, make adjustments for your own tastes, preferences, and appliance performance. Another excellent reason to try the recipes first is this is the 540th page of this book, and I am starting to see double.

If you enjoy a recipe, think of Phyliss and say a prayer for her. If you don't like the recipe, think of someone else but still say a prayer for her. If you hate the recipe, you can blame it on me. I probably didn't copy something right or left something out. What do I know? I'm just the lucky guy who was privileged to follow Phyliss around all her life.

Good luck,

Joseph

Apple cake

(This was Phyliss' very last food preparation and meal,

baked by her and Kiana the day before her fatal stroke.)

(This cake is yummy with ice cream)

3 cups of white flour

2 cups of granulated white sugar

1 cup of vegetable oil (olive oil is good)

Cold pressed – no extra virgin – leave that for the terrorists

4 large eggs

½ cup of orange juice

3 teaspoons of baking powder

2 teaspoons of vanilla

8 medium apples: peeled and sliced

1 cup of chopped walnuts

½ cup of white California raisins (soak in water for ½ hour)

¾ cup of granulated white sugar

5 teaspoons of cinnamon

Blend together:

¾ cup of sugar

5 teaspoons of cinnamon

"Crisco" shortening

Beat the eggs well; add the oil, then orange juice and vanilla. To this slowly add the sugar. Fold in the flour with baking powder. Chopped nuts or raisins may be folded in also.

Put waxed paper on the bottom of a pan and grease the sides with "Crisco" (Even if pan is non-stick, the "Crisco" will make the sides of the cake moist.

Put a layer of batter and arrange a layer of apple slices.

Sprinkle the apples with the cinnamon/sugar mixture, walnuts and raisins.

Add a second and third layer of batter, apples and cinnamon/sugar mixture, nuts, and raisins. (Sometimes two layers will do if you don't have enough apples)

Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for one hour and fifteen minutes fir two layers of apples and one hour and a half for three layers of apples.

Test with a toothpick or bamboo skewer stick. If the dough sticks to the test instrument bake another ten or fifteen minutes and test again. If it is still not thoroughly baked, you are in trouble. (Try lowering the temperature to 325 degrees for another 15 minutes – it's a heavy cake.)

You may want to sprinkle the top of the cooled cake with a little water and then the rest of the cinnamon/sugar mix – sort of like an apple cinnamon donut.

Serve warm with some butter or with just a gob of the fresh whipped cream described in the next recipe. It's a great dessert with coffee or tea.

It is great with vanilla ice cream.

Whipped Cream

(topping or filling for any cake or pie)

1 quart heavy whipping cream

4 teaspoons of real vanilla extract

1 cup confectioners sugar (10x sugar)

Place mixing bowl in refrigerator for one hour

Pour heavy cream in bowl and set mixer on slowest speed

(Can also be done with a hand mixer, but it is a tedious task)

Place a clean dish towel over the bowl and mixer – it will splash

Add the sugar and vanilla.

Gradually increase the mixer speed to about ¾ maximum.

Keep close watch as the cream thickens.

As it thickens you can remove the dish towel and slow the mixer to half speed.

The whipped cream should be thick and hold its shape. Stop the mixer. – but

Caution, the mix can change to butter and water in a flash.

If it does, keep mixing and enjoy the butter. Add a little salt to taste.

Start over.

You can blend in any refrigerated fresh fruit especially bananas or strawberries.

Refrigerate overnight and transfer to another bowl.

Some liquid will form at the bottom of the first bowl. Discard.

Cold temperature is essential especially in the summer time.

Can be frozen and even eaten frozen. It tastes a lot like ice cream.

Strudels and filling

Strudels:

1 pint of softened ice cream

¾ pound of soft butter

4 cups of flour

Mix together 1 pint of softened vanilla ice cream and ¾ pound of soft butter. Add 4 cups of flour. Mix to form into 6 balls. Refrigerate overnight. The next day roll out each ball on a floured surface.

Filling:

1-18 oz. Jar of apricot preserves

1-12 oz. Jar of peach preserves

1 cup of chopped nuts

¾ box of white raisins

Mix the ingredients together with a fork. Spread a layer of the filling on each of the six rolled out pastries and roll up, jelly roll style. Place each roll on greased baking sheets and cut through each roll slightly to make bars.

Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for 40 to 50 minutes. Immediately after taking rolls out of the oven, cut the bars through all the way.

Coconut cheese cake

The filling:

1 eight ounce package of "Philadelphia cream cheese"

1 eight ounce container of "Cool Whip"

1 cup of whole milk (none of that sissy stuff)

1 package of vanilla instant pudding

Soften the cream cheese and milk; add pineapple and coconut on top.

The topping:

1 can drained, crushed pineapple

Eight ounces of flaked coconut

The Cake:

1 package of yellow cake mix

1 package of instant vanilla pudding

4 eggs

1 cup of water

½ cup of vegetable oil

Mix together and put in a pan coated with "Crisco"

Bake for twenty minutes in a preheated oven at 350 degrees.

Sesame seed sticks

1 pound of butter

2 teaspoons of vanilla

2 eggs

2 cups of 10 x sugar

1 pinch of salt

5 cups of flour

Cream the butter and sugar. Add vanilla, eggs, and salt. Beat well. Add flour a little at a time. Roll out into sticks. Roll in milk. Roll in seeds.

Bake in a preheated oven at 425 degrees for 15 minutes until light brown in color.

Split Pea Soup

16 ounce package of split peas

3 quarts of water

1 small ham shank

1 large onion, finely chopped

2 small bouillon cubes or

2 tablespoons of instant chicken bouillon

½ teaspoon of garlic powder

½ teaspoon oregano leaves

¼ to ½ teaspoon pepper

1 bay leaf

1 ½ cups thinly sliced carrots

1 cup of chopped celery

In a large, deep pot, combine peas, water, ham, onion, chicken bouillon and seasonings. Simmer for 1 ½ hours, uncovered. Remove ham; cut into pieces; put it back into the pot. Stir in the carrots and the celery. Simmer, uncovered, and additional 2 to 2 ½ hours or until soup reaches desired thickness.

(Makes about 6 - 1 ½ cup services)

Nut filling

2 cups of chopped walnuts

2 teaspoons of vanilla

1 teaspoon of milk

1 stick of butter

1 cup of sugar

Melt butter, slowly, in a saucepan or in the microwave. Mix vanilla with milk. Pour over nuts. Add sugar. Then add melted butter.

Cheese "fold-overs"

2 cups of flour

1 cup of soft butter or margarine

¼ teaspoon of salt

8 ounces of "Philadelphia Cream Cheese"

Your favorite marmalade

Mix 1 cup of soft butter or margarine with 8 ounces of Philadelphia Cream Cheese. Cream together. Add flour to the mixture. Chill over-night

Roll out portion: ⅛ inch thick on foil; sprinkle with 10x sugar to keep from sticking on rolling pin. Cut into small squares. Add marmalade. Roll.

Bake in a preheated oven at 375 degrees for 15 minutes. Sprinkle with powdered sugar.

Italian Cream or custard

(A combination of Aunt Lucy's and Aunt Mary's receipies)

Use this custard layered in sponge cake for an Italian cream cake or filling for cream puffs.

1 quart of milk

4 egg yokes

1 cup of sugar

½ cup of cornstarch

1 tablespoon of vanilla

Put ½ quart of cold milk to heat on a slow burner. Better and easier: microwave for 6 minutes at about ¾ power level. In a bowl, mix 4 egg yokes. Beat well; add sugar, ½ quart of milk, cornstarch and vanilla. Add the mixture to the hot milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly until creamy. Or, microwave 6 minutes on ¾ power level. Stir 2 minutes more.

Make one recipe per layer of large round cake.

Sponge cake

6 eggs

½ cup of cold water

1 ½ cups of sugar

1 ½ cups of flour

½ teaspoon of vanilla extract

½ teaspoon of lemon juice

¼ teaspoon of salt

¾ teaspoon of cream of tartar

Beat egg whites and cream of tartar until stiff,

Beat egg yokes until yellow,

Add water and beat until thick,

Gradually add sugar,

Add vanilla extract and/or lemon juice,

Fold in flour and salt, slowly

Fold in egg whites.

Choose an appropriate size and shape pan for your purpose,

Line the pan bottom with waxed paper and the sides with "Crisco,"

Bake 1 hour in a preheated 325 degree oven,

Test with tooth pick or bamboo skewer stick,

Overturn pan after removing cake from oven to cool

To make a layered Italian Cream Cake cut layers with a long thin knife or white sewing thread with back and forth sweeping motions. It takes a little skill. To make Italian rum cake, sprinkle your favorite rum on the cake before layering the cream. Don't put too much rum or the cake and the guests will become soggy.

Cream Puffs

Crunchy Biscotti

6 large eggs

1 cup of vegetable oil

2 tablespoons of baking powder

½ cup of sugar

2 teaspoons of pure vanilla extract

3 tablespoons of fennel seeds

4 cups of flour

Beat the eggs until they are fluffy; add sugar, oil, and vanilla, fennel, baking powder and flour. Beat well. Shape into loaves. Bake in a preheated 325 degree oven for approximately twenty minutes. Remove and cut into slices, 1 inch thick. Return to oven and bake until brown.

Soft Biscotti

6 eggs

½ cup of sugar

3 ½ cups of flour

2 tablespoons of fennel seeds

1 tablespoon of pure vanilla extract

1 cup of vegetable oil

1 tablespoon of baking powder

Pinch of salt

Beat the eggs well. Add a pinch of salt to the flour. Mix the eggs and sugar slowly. Add the vanilla, oil baking powder and fennel seeds. Mix in the flour slowly. Form into four loaves.

Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes.

Cool and cut into 1 ½ inch biscotti.

Grandma Crudo's braided pastries

5 cups of sugar

7 cups of flour

1/4 cup of vegetable oil

1 ½ dozen eggs

Pinch of baking powder

Beat eggs, sugar, oil and flour as much as needed to roll. Flour the table and roller. Roll dough thin. And cut into rectangles about 10 inches by 6 inches. Cut rectangle into three strips in the long direction, leaving about 1 inch at the top uncut. Braid the three strips loosely and seal the bottom with a pinch. Fry in hot vegetable oil. Powder the braids lightly with 10x confectioner's sugar. Place in a basket lined with white paper towels to cool. Eat like crazy.

Pineapple upside-down cake

3 cups of flour

1 ¾ cups of sugar

1 ¾ cups of spry

1 cup of milk

2 eggs

1 teaspoon of vanilla

Sprinkle of brown sugar

1 can of drained pineapple rings

1 dozen pitted fresh cherries

Mix ingredients thoroughly and then add 2 eggs and mix again; add 1 teaspoon of vanilla and ½ cup of milk. Beat for 2 minutes.

Grease pan; sprinkle brown sugar on bottom of pan. Line the pan with pineapples and cherries. Pour batter over the fruit. Cook till brown covered with a lid for about 45 minutes in a preheated oven at 350 degrees.

Banana cake

½ cup of shortening

1 cup of mashed bananas

3 eggs

1 ½ cups of sugar

2 cups of flour

1/4 cup of sour milk

1 teaspoon of baking powder

1 teaspoon of baking soda

1 tablespoon of vanilla extract

1 teaspoon of salt

In a bowl put shortening and cream with eggs and sugar

Add bananas,

Mix dry ingredients alternating with milk and vanilla extract

Line a pan with "Crisco" shortening,

Bake in a 350 degree preheated oven for 40 minutes.

For a double recipe, bake one hour.

Ricotta Italian cheese cake filling (see pie crust below)

In bowl one, mix well:

3 pounds of Ricotta

3 tablespoons of flour

In bowl two, beat well:

6 egg yokes

1 cup of milk

1 cup of sugar

1 teaspoon of vanilla

In bowl three, beat stiff:

6 egg whites

1 can of drained crushed pineapple

Take mixture in bowl two and mix into bowl one, beat well,

Add egg whites and beat well,

Line pie pan with pie crust,

Spread a thin layer of crushed pineapple,

Pour cheese mixture over pineapple,

Bake in a preheated oven at 375 degrees for one hour or until firm in center.

Italian Cheese cake pie crust (see filling above)

4 ounces of butter

4 tablespoons sugar

2 slightly beaten eggs

½ teaspoon baking powder

2 cups of flour

Cream together the butter and sugar

Add the eggs

Stir in the baking powder and the flour

Pat the crust mix in the pan with your hands and even it out

(Do not roll the pie crust)

Place the pie dish with the crust in the refrigerator until the filling is ready

Note: If you wish to roll the crust, put flour on two sheets of wax paper and roll dough between the two sheets.

Basic pound cake

3 cups of flour

2 pinches of salt

2 ½ cups of sugar

¾ cup of milk

¼ pound and one tablespoon of butter

12 tablespoons of "Crisco"

1 teaspoon of vanilla

6 eggs

3 teaspoons of baking powder

Mix all ingredients with electric mixer at medium speed for 25 minutes,

Grease pan well with "Crisco,"

Beat butter, "Crisco and sugar,

Cream until light gold,

Add milk, vanilla and eggs one at a time,

Fold in flour and baking powder

Bake in preheated 325 degree oven for 65 minutes.

Apple pie filling

6 cups of pared, cored apples, about 1/4" thick

⅔ cup of sugar

¼ teaspoon of nutmeg

⅛ teaspoon of salt

¼ teaspoon of cinnamon

1 teaspoon of lemon juice

Mix ingredients thoroughly

Put bottom layer of crust on pie dish- leave crust over edges of pie dish,

Put in filling, put higher amount in center,

Distribute pieces of butter around filling

Put top layer of crust over filling,

Get both layers, turn under and put in plate

Cut holes in top layer

Bake pie in preheated 425 degree oven for 15 minutes, then

Bake at 325 degrees for 20 minutes

Pie crust:

2 cups of flour

¾ teaspoon of salt

⅔ Cup of "Crisco"

4 tablespoons of iced water

5 pounds of flour

¾ can of "Crisco"

Waxed paper

Mix flour and salt with fork,

Cut in shortening with a knife until well-blended in balls,

Add, with a fork; blend in enough ice water to hold ingredients together,

Divide dough into 2 parts and roll out between waxed paper which had been floured,

Put crust on plate leaving 1 inch over rim.

After dough is mixed, put it on a dish cloth and press it firmly,

Wrap it in "Saran Wrap" and refrigerate it until ready to use.

Cream cheese cake

2 - 8 ounce packages of Philadelphia cream cheese

8 heaping tablespoons of sugar

4 eggs beaten well

Juice from one medium-sized lemon

2 tablespoons vanilla

4 cups of milk

2 heaping tablespoons of flour

1 can of drained crushed pineapple

Cream together the cream cheese and the sugar. Add the beaten eggs, lemon juice, vanilla, milk and flour.

Add the crushed pineapple to the bottom of the pan before addition the batter.

Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for 1 hour.

Christmas cookies

Crust:

4 cups of flour

3 eggs

2 tablespoons sugar

1 pinch of salt

½ cup of cooked or sweet wine

½ cup of water

1 cup of vegetable oil or Crisco

Blend the above ingredients. Roll the dough very thin, cut with an upside down cup.

Filling:

½ cup of chopped Cici (chick peas)

½ cup of chopped walnuts

Grape jelly

Hersey's chocolate syrup

Cooked or sweet wine

Blend above until a paste is formed. Place filling in crust. Close around crust edges with a fork. Fry in hot vegetable oil or Crisco. It is best to prepare filling the day before.

Ring of coconut fudge cake

Crust:

2 cups of sugar

1 cup of vegetable oil

2 eggs

3 cups flour

¾ cup unsweetened cocoa

2 teaspoons of baking soda

2 teaspoons of baking powder

1½ teaspoons salt

1 cup of hot coffee or water

1 cup sour milk (I tablespoon vinegar and regular milk)

1 teaspoon vanilla

½ cup of chopped walnuts

Filling:

Prepare and set aside for later use:

¼ cup of sugar

1 teaspoon of vanilla

1-8 ounce package of softened cream cheese

1 egg

Beat above 4 ingredients and mix in by hand the following:

½ cup flaked coconut

1-6 ounce package of dark chocolate morsels

In a large bowl, combine sugar, vegetable oil and eggs. Beat for 1 minute at high speed. Add remaining ingredients except nuts or filling. Beat for 3 minutes at medium speed. Stir in nuts by hand. Pour ½ the batter in a pan. Spoon the filling over the batter. Add remaining batter.

Bake 70 to 75 minutes in a preheated oven at 350 degrees. Set to cool for 20 minutes.

Escarole

(Mama Crudo's Italian recipe)

Escarole

Seasoned bread crumbs

Garlic powder

Grated parmesan cheese

Olive Oil

Wash, cut, boil, drain, and cool a selected quantity of escarole.

Line pan with one layer of escarole. Sprinkle seasoned bread crumbs, garlic powder, grated parmesan cheese, and oil –pat down, and repeat.

" **Aunt Jay's" dunking Christmas cookies**

(Phyliss' sister, Jeanette Nuzzi who lived with us for almost 40 years)

12 eggs

½ pound of butter

½ pound of margarine

4 ½ pounds of flour

3 cups of sugar

4 tablespoons of baking powder

1 tablespoon of vanilla

Separate the egg yolks from the egg whites.

Cream the butter and margarine. Add sugar well beaten egg whites, flour baking powder and vanilla.

Roll or shape into round cookies.

Shake colored sprinkles over top before the egg yolks.

Brush with well-beaten egg yolks; add a little water to the egg yokes.

Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes.

Dunk in milk, coffee, or tea.

Eat

Salata Mischivia

(From the Tunisian recipe)

Peppers

Tomatoes

Garlic

Vegetable oil

Hot peppers

Roast red sweet peppers and tomatoes on the grille outside.

Remove and discard the skins. Chop or put through a grinder. Drain excess juice. Add vegetable oil. Add chopped raw garlic and roasted hot peppers only if you live alone or you are not going to kiss someone in the next 24 hours. Otherwise roast the garlic. Serve over toasted sliced Italian or French bread.

Fresh Broccoli salad

Washed raw broccoli florets, cut to bit size

White raisins soaked in warm water for 30 minutes

Chopped bacon bits

Chopped onion

Chopped walnuts

Mayonnaise

A dash of granulated sugar

Blend the ingredients in a bowl; refrigerate for 1 hour and serve cold.

Keep remaining portion in the refrigerator up to two days.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

½ cup of dark brown sugar

¼ pound of butter

½ Cup granulated sugar

1 egg

¾ teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1⅛ Cups of flour

½ teaspoon of salt

½ teaspoon of baking soda

½ cup of chopped walnuts

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Grease the cookie sheets with "Crisco." Cream the butter, gradually add the two sugars and beat well until light and smooth. Beat in the egg and the vanilla.

Mix the flour, salt, and baking soda together and add to the first mixture, blending well. Stir in the nuts and the chocolate chips.

Drop by teaspoonfuls onto the cookie sheets about 1inch apart. Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until lightly browned. Be careful not to burn them.

Orange salad

Lettuce

Raw onion rings

1 tablespoon of orange juice

1 table spoon of vinegar

¼ teaspoon of salt

¼ teaspoon of dry mustard

⅓cup of salad oil

Mix the orange juice, vinegar, salt, dry mustard, and salad oil

Cut up the lettuce, and onion rings place in a bowl and set in the refrigerator for 1 hour. Peel and slice the refrigerated oranges and cut in round slices and lay on the lettuce.

Pour the dressing over the salad and toss lightly.

Honey Dijon pork chops

4 medium sized frozen pork chops

1 teaspoon of lemon-pepper

1 tablespoon of vegetable oil

¼ cup of orange juice

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1 tablespoon of honey

1 tablespoon of white wine

1 tablespoon of Worcestershire sauce

Sprinkle the frozen pork chops with the seasonings and the oil.

Add cops and cook 4 minutes on each side. Reduce heat to low. Combine remaining ingredients and pour over the chops. Simmer 5 to 6 minutes and turn them once.

Barbeque glazed pork chops

4 medium sized frozen pork chops

2 tablespoons of catsup

2 tablespoons of steak sauce

2 tablespoons of brown sugar

1 teaspoon of lemon juice

1 tablespoon of diced green peppers

1 tablespoon of diced onion

Place the frozen pork chops in a glass dish. Cover with waxed paper. Microwave on low (defrost for 7-8 minutes. Turn over once.

Combine remaining ingredients. Spoon the mixture on top of the pork chops and cover with waxed paper.

Increase power to medium high and cook 7 more minutes or until done. Turn them over once again.

White bread with raisins (recipe makes two loaves)

Yeast: 1 package of rapid-rise dry yeast, ¼ cup of warm water, 1 teaspoon sugar, stir until uniform.

¼ pound (one stick) of margarine

1 cup of cold mashed potatoes (optional)

3 large eggs

½ cup of granulated sugar or more to taste

½ package of white seedless raisins or more to taste soaked in water for 1 hour

1 cup of warm water

6 cups of flour

General preparation: Line metal pans or Pyrex loaf dishes with waxed paper

Put yeast in warm water (use the water from soaking the raisins)

Allow eggs and margarine to be a room temperature for 1 hour

Dough: Use large fork. In a large bowl, mix or mash the margarine, mix in the potatoes and blend well; add the three large eggs – also mix well; add the sugar – mix well; add the raisins and water – mix well; add the yeast mixture; finally add the flour gradually while mixing.

After all ingredients have been blended well, take the dough out of the pan and continue to knead it on a floured table surface. When the dough is kneaded well and not too sticky, put it back in the floured pan. Put a cloth around it to keep it warm and allow it to rest for approximately four hours. Occasionally, let the air out by pressing the down. Keep the dough in the oven (turned off!) to keep it warm these four hours.

Shape the dough after it has been taken out of the pan and placed on a floured surface. Cut the dough in half and roll it lengthwise; sprinkle the cinnamon and sugar. Then, roll it jelly-roll style – and place it in a pan lined with waxed paper. Cover pan so that the dough does not get a draft. After it has rested for approximately one (1) hour put the two loaves in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for 20 to 30 minutes. When the top is on the brown side, switch sides and keep turning the bread until all the sides are browned.

Let the bread cool on racks and slice the bread after it cools but before placing it in the freezer.

(Alternate quick method: Buy two loaves of your favorite raisin bread at the store. Seriously, baking bread is an all day affair, but an appreciated one for your family. It makes the house smell great also. There did not seem to be a way of shortening the time for the dough to rise. It was so time consuming, Phyliss would always make at least 4 to 8 loaves at a time and freeze them.)

In the chapter: "When is the right time to tell your wife you love her?" You may want to add, "When she bakes you 8 loaves of raisin bread." I believe this qualifies for telling her you love her and a kiss also – maybe 8 kisses and some"extras."

Salmon Casserole

1 pound of boneless canned salmon

2 tablespoons of butter

2 eggs (beaten)

2 tablespoons of dry mustard

1 medium chopped onion

¼ teaspoon of parsley

⅓ cup of breadcrumbs

Microwave onion in butter until it is tender. Add salmon liquid from the can, breadcrumbs, eggs, mustard, parsley and salmon. Mix well in a casserole dish. Bake in a preheated oven at 325 degrees for 20 minutes; broil for 10 minutes.

Sugarless Apple Pie

Filling:

3 large "Granny Smith" apples

3 large "Cortland" apples

2 tablespoons of flour plus 1 tablespoon of flour

1 tablespoon of butter

1 teaspoon of cinnamon

1 dash of nutmeg

1 jar of all fruit, apricot, or raspberry filling

Your favorite double pie crust:

Peal and thinly slice apples. Mix together flour, cinnamon, and nutmeg and sprinkle over the apples lightly stirring around. Fill prepared piecrust with alternate layers of spiced apples with teaspoons of all fruit here and there. Top with bits of butter. Cover the pie with the top pie crust and seal and flute the edges. Cover edges of the crust with aluminum foil. Cut slits in the top crust.

Bake in a preheated 375 degree oven for 25 minutes. Remove foil and bake for an additional 20-25 minutes until the crust is golden.

Spaghetti a la Carbonara

1 pound of #11 vermicelli pasta (angel hair pasta)

½ pound of bacon bits

1 medium onion chopped

¼ cup of chicken broth

2 eggs

2 tablespoons of butter

½ cup of parsley

½ cup parmesan cheese

Cook the vermicelli. In the meantime cook the bacon and the chopped onion. When the pasta is cooked, stir in the ingredients in order outlined above.

Fool Proof Pie Crust

4 cups of flour

1 tablespoon of sugar

2 tablespoons of salt

1¾ cup of Crisco or vegetable shortening

1 tablespoon of vinegar

1 egg

½ cup of ice water

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, sugar and salt. With a fork, mix in shortening. In a separate dish beat the eggs, water, and vinegar.

Combine the two mixtures, stirring with a folk until all ingredients are moistened. With your hands, mold dough into balls. This recipe makes two, nine inch double crust pies and one nine inch shell.

Chill in the refrigerator for at least 15 minutes before rolling into a desired shape. Dough can be left in the refrigerator for up to 3 days or can be frozen until read6y to use. Dough will remain soft in the refrigerator and can be taken out and rolled at once. For a prebaked shell, bake in a 450 degree oven for 10 to 15 minutes poking the top shell repeatedly with a fork.

Pudding Pie

Crust:

¼ pound, 1 stick of butter

1 cup of flour

1 cup of finely chopped walnuts

Crisco shortening

Mix well and press into a 9 inch by 13 inch baking pan lined with "Crisco"

Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until light brown.

Filling:

½ cup of 10 x sugar

2 cups of "Cool Whip topping

2 packages of sugar free or regular chocolate pudding

3 cups of skim milk

8 ounces of Philadelphia Cream Cheese

Remove the cream cheese from the refrigerator and bring it to room temperature.

Mix the cream cheese, 10x sugar and then fold in 1 cup of low fat "Cool Whip" topping and spread over the cooled baked crust.

Mix 2 small packages of sugar free chocolate pudding with 3 cups of skim milk in accordance with the directions on the package.

Pour pudding over the cream cheese layer and top with the remaining "Cool Whip" topping.

Shrimp scampi

2 pounds of large frozen peeled shrimp (at least 20 per pound)

¼ pound (one stick) of butter

½ cup of olive oil

1 tablespoon of lemon juice

¼ cup of finely chopped scallions

1 tablespoon of finely chopped fresh garlic

1 teaspoon of salt

4 tablespoons of chopped parsley

A pinch of black pepper to taste

Lemon quarters to taste

Wash the shrimp quickly under cold water. Pat them dry with a paper towel. Preheat broiler to highest temperature. Put shrimp in layers in a shallow pan.

Melt butter over low heat. Stir in the olive oil, lemon juice and scallions, garlic, salt, and black pepper.

Pour the mixture over the shrimp and mix. Broil for 5 minutes 3-4 inches from the heat. Turn the shrimp and broil 5 to 10 minutes longer. Be careful not overcook.

Transfer the shrimp to and platter and pour on the sauce and lemon wedges and parsley.

Corn fritters

1½ cups of flour

1½ teaspoon of salt

½ cup of milk

2 teaspoons of baking powder

2 eggs – lightly beaten

2 cups of cooked drained corn

Mix the flour, salt and baking powder in a bowl. Add the eggs and milk, a little at a time. Mix well. Stir in the corn. Drop a tablespoon of batter into hot oil and fry until golden brown. Repeat for the remainder of the batter.

Serve with jelly, honey, or pancake syrup.

Sister Aurelia's Gnocchi

2 pounds of flour

3 eggs

¼ cup of parmesan cheese

4 pounds of ricotta cheese

2 cups of mashed potatoes

Make a well in the flour and put the eggs into the well and beat with a fork. Add the parmesan cheese, ricotta and the potatoes.

Mix in the flour from the sides – and when thoroughly mixed into dough, knead the dough with your closed fist.

After the dough is kneaded, cut it into pieces approximately 2 inches thick and roll it out into ½ inch strips.

Put stripes together and cut into gnocchi 1 inch by 1 inch. Indent the gnocchi in the middle with the index finger and roll toward you with light pressure. They should "curl up" into a tight "c" shape.

Cook in a pot of boiling water much the same way you would cook ravioli. Serve with homemade or jarred tomato sauce.

Cream of zucchini soup

2 tablespoons of butter

2 tablespoons of shallots or onions

1 clove of minced garlic

½ teaspoon of salt

1 teaspoon of curry powder

½ cup of heavy cream

1¾ cup of chicken broth

4 cups of zucchini

Scrub zucchini – slice thin (do not peel) Heat butter; add shallots, zucchini and garlic. Cover and simmer for 10 minutes. Do not brown. Spoon into blender and add the remaining ingredients. Blend for 30 seconds. Serve hot with croutons or with chives. This recipe makes about 4 servings.

Blueberry soup

⅓ cup of sour cream

1 – 10 ounce package of fresh or frozen blueberries

2 tablespoons of sugar

Blend all ingredients at low speed and garnish with lemon slices. Serve cold

Strawberry soup

Strawberry soup:

1 pint of strawberries

White wine to taste

1 teaspoon of grated lemon peel

½ cup of sugar

2 tablespoons of lemon juice

Blend the above ingredients at medium speed until smooth. Cover and chill. Serve cold.

Alternate Strawberry soup:

1 quart of strawberries

½ cup of sugar

1 pinch of salt

1 cup of sour cream

1 cup of dry, red wine

4 cups of cold water

Put all ingredients except water in a blender. Process until smooth. Combine this puree with water and heat slowly. Serve warm or chill and serve ice cold.

Calzone:

Crust:

4 level tablespoons of melted shortening or ½ cup of vegetable oil

6 eggs

½ bottle (½ cup of wine) approximately

1 ½ cups of sugar

2 teaspoon of vanilla

2 teaspoons of lemon extract

2 ½ lbs. Of flour (8 cups total) Put aside 2 cups to use in rolling the dough

Put flour in bowl and make a well in the middle. Add sugar, eggs, oil, vanilla, and wine Mix from the center and start blending in the flour. When flour and mixture are well blended, knead thoroughly.

Roll dough out on floured board, ⅛ inch thick. Cut into 2½ x 4½ inch pieces. Fill with one tablespoon of filling and fold over. Seal side lightly

Filling:

2 cans of Cici (chick peas) (remove skins and mash into a paste)

1 8 ounce glass of jelly or apple butter

1 pound (4 ounces) of hard sweet or bitter chocolate cut into small pieces

½ pound jar of honey (8 ounces)

2 tablespoons of cinnamon

1 pound toasted blanched almonds

Grated orange rind from ½ an orange

Mix all ingredients well. Cook slowly until it comes to a slow boil for a few minutes. Bake 15 to 20 minutes or deep fry in vegetable oil.

German nut cake:

¾ pounds of butter

5 eggs

1 ½ cups of sugar

3 cups of flour

1 teaspoon of baking powder

½ box of raisins

1 cup of chopped walnuts

2 teaspoons of lemon juice

1 teaspoon rum extract

Cream the butter, eggs and sugar. Add 2 teaspoons of lemon juice, rum extract. Finally, mix in the flour, baking powder, raisins, and chopped nuts. Pour into a cake pan of your choosing lined with waxed paper or greased with "Crisco." Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for 1 hour fifteen minutes.

Harissa - a Tunisian hot sauce

Ingredients:

1 red bell pepper

1 tablespoon of powdered caraway

½ teaspoon of paprika

1 tablespoon of powdered coriander

Salt for your taste

4 ounces of olive oil or sufficient to make a pasty consistency

2 crushed fresh garlic cloves or more if you are going to be alone for the evening

Juice of half a lemon

2-3 soaked red chili peppers crushed or

1 tablespoon of powdered cayenne pepper or more

Procedure:

Poke a fork into the red bell pepper and char the bell pepper on a high flame, turning at even intervals

Charring the red bell pepper makes its sweeter and gives it a deeper red color

To easily remove the charred skin from the bell pepper, just run it under cold tap water

Remove the seeds from the red bell pepper

Roughly chop the pepper

Transfer the bell pepper into a blender

Add the hot pepper or cayenne powder

Add the salt

Add the paprika

Add the coriander powder

Add the caraway powder

Add the garlic cloves

Add the olive oil

Squeeze half a lemon and add

Blend well • Let the harissa sit for 1-2 hrs before serving

Use the Harissa generously in spaghetti sauce or to flavor and make any sauce hot. It has a very unique flavor. The Tunisians sometimes spread it on hardy bread like peanut butter. If you do this, you better like hot stuff. Try it yourself, then on your family, and then on guests and friends, if you don't want to lose them.

One final word, before I leave:

I took the time to type all of Phyliss' recipes into the word processor for organization and clarity in the book and for ease of use if you would like to try them sometime.

This is an example of her most informal penmanship. She did everything so neatly and precisely, whether it was a recipe that no one would ever see, a note home to a parent, a lovely message in a Christmas card (almost all of them, before and after her stroke,) a check to pay a bill, or a formal letter to the Pope. Yes, she did write to the pope several times.

So, for me, nothing reminds me of her more than seeing the recipes in her own lovely handwriting. It warms my heart when I go through the recipe books and realize that every letter was formed by her hand personally for me. I thought you might like to see a page of what love looks like. The photo below is not a bad example of what love and adoration looks like.

It is hard to explain how it felt to be adored by her all those years in every way.

This was her handwriting from before I met her,

and this was her handwriting the day she died sixty years later.

A personal request to those more fortunate than most

As well as I know Phyliss, I am constantly trying to find out more. I added greatly to my knowledge of her by interviewing her during the aftermath of her stroke. The interviews and discussions began as forms of therapy for her and then for me as well. They made me realize there was so much more about her that I did not know. I believe now that there is so much more to learn about Phyliss from those she touched during her life of which I am not aware. That makes me sad. I wish to correct that.

If you were fortunate enough to have associated with Phyliss as a student, a colleague, a classmate, or even as an acquaintance, I would love to hear from you. Anything you can relay to me would be most appreciated: a photograph, a story, any remembrance. An electronic file in "Microsoft Word" or a "PDF" file would be perfect.

I would not expect you to send me your original material.

Phyliss' story is still very much a work in progress. I would love to make it more complete and discover more about the woman who loved me so much. You may be able to help me to do that. So, if you grant me permission, and I am able, I will do my best to incorporate your fond memories of her in future editions of her story. That would please me so much. You can be assured that respect for your privacy will be a primary concern of mine regarding any information that you send me. If privacy is not a concern in incorporating your account, you may state that in your communication. Your memories of her would certainly enrich my life, soften her loss, and just might enrich someone else's life at the same time.

Thank you for reading our story. I sincerely hope you found it beneficial to your life.

Most fondly,

Joseph P. Badame

Contact Information:

E-mail: jpbadame@verizon.net

### Books Published by Joseph P. Badame

### So many books, too little time

Thank you for your interest in this book. Below is a full list of the e-Book Library authored by Joseph Badame. My goal has been, and continues to be, to present enjoyable yet serious reading among the literary static of today while highlighting important life lessons originating from the wisdom of my late wife, Phyliss.

"My Teacher, My Bride" is a full book that may be a reading challenge in today's frenzied life. It is a long read in today's world of "sound bites" and instant gratification. It is a true story of two inseparable lovers, full of humor, life lessons and unfortunately some sadness. But above all, it is a cornucopia of insights of the courage of a most unusual woman.

The other works are short stories that are expansions of concepts in the main book. Several stories are on other subjects relevant to today's world and one is an allegory / commentary on contemporary life in America.

The works are all free and available at https://www.smashwords.com. They are also available at all the major retailers and formatted for various e-book reading devices as well as laptops, and personal computers. Some retailers charge a minimum of $0.99 for a download. The e-books can be given a "library" status on "Smashwords" for more permanent storage. When I revise the books occasionally, the old edition and the new addition are available to those who downloaded the earlier version.

If you ever considered authoring or publishing a work yourself, please investigate the services offered by "Smashwords." They are great people providing great services for free. Today, there is no reason why anyone wanting to publish their literary work cannot. In most cases once you have your properly formatted manuscript in "Microsoft Word," a title page in" jpg" format, and a short and long description of your masterpiece, publication is usually less than an hour away – sometimes minutes away – globally! Literally, (no pun intended) "What are you waiting for!" Why merely read, when you can read and write. Consult my short story, "My One Grand Regret" for a little inspiration. If I cannot inspire you, give Walt Whitman a try. If he can't inspire you, stick to reading. It's OK. That's just fine.

" **Come, said my Soul"**

"Come, said my Soul,

Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)

That should I after death invisibly return,

Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,

There to some group of mates the chants resuming,

(Tallying Earth's soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)

Ever with pleas's smile I may keep on,

Ever and ever yet the verses owning – as, first, I here and now,

Signing for Soul and Body set to them my name,"

1819 – 1892

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Book One

### "My Teacher, My Bride"

A memoir and love story

(formerly "I Married My Teacher")

First published October 9, 2014 - 228,760 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free ISBN: 9781311111302

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/483616>

This is a true story of an endearing, lifelong love affair, born in a most unexpected and unconventional manner and place. It is the story of a most remarkable woman. You never heard of her, but maybe you should have. It is not a love story filled only with the happiness of Camelot, but the celebration of her remarkable life and spirit and the many trials of her time on Earth. Don't miss this opportunity to get to know her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Book Two

### "Hugs and Kisses"

A bittersweet vignette of love and lost opportunity - a monumental lesson learned about life's priorities

First published November 3, 2014 - 6160 words, - Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN: 9781311491374

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/490293>

Life is filled with those things of great importance and those things of little or no importance. Many times it takes a lifetime to tell the difference. This short tale can help you avoid wasting your lifetime to discover what is truly important.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Book Three

### "The Last Day of School – The First Day of Us"

First Published: November 7, 2014 - 8390 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311159243

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491303>

Joseph was a young boy who had "Miss Crudo" as his teacher for the eight and ninth grades. Their association turned from student and teacher to friendship and then, well you will have to read the story to see where the friendship goes from there.

For many students, especially prior to high school, their teachers can be major figures, even role models in influencing their lives. Occasionally, the fondness for the teacher becomes so intense that they develop a "crush" or infatuation with the teacher. Such was the case with Joseph and his English teacher "Miss Crudo." The two years in her classes seemed to just fly by for this starry-eyed youngster, as the inevitable last day of school arrived. This short story describes those two years and the anguish of the arrival of that final day. The story finishes by suggesting that maybe that was not the final day of their association after all.

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Book Four

### "Our First Kiss – Our Last Kiss"

First Published: November 8, 2014 - 7960 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311404534

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491493>

A chance series of events brings two souls together as a teacher and a student with a sixteen year age difference. Friendship turns to love and they eventually marry for forty-five years. The endearing short story describes their joyful first kiss and their sorrowful last kiss. Phyliss Crudo and Joseph Badame spent the early parts of their separate lives moving around Southern New Jersey. Eventually, he at fourteen, and she at thirty, find themselves in the same classroom as student and teacher for two years. There was an immediate rapport between the two. After he graduated from her school, she became his mentor through a successful high school career. Their friendship developed into love and they eventually married eleven years after they met. Their marriage lasted for forty-five years. The story tells of the growth of their love and describes their first kiss and their last kiss at the end of their lives together.

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Book Five

### "My One Grand Regret"

First Published: November 8, 2014 - 7910 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN – 9781311817099

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491620>

At a funeral family is mourning the loss of their departed. Usually the mourning is for regret, not the loss. The loss will fade but the regret will not because the finality of death is such that the regret can never be reconciled. This short story may help avoid those regrets when the time comes into your life. Only a fool learns from his own mistakes. Don't be a fool, learn from mine.

The loss of a dearly loved spouse is never easy to endure, especially after a life-long marriage. The grieving can be overwhelming and never ending. It is not something that anyone wants to contemplate but we feel that we have some idea of the nature of the suffering. We do not. I did not. No matter how deep and loving the marriage was, the finality of death will consume any comfort that we may have that we will have no regrets when the awful time comes. There will be regrets. Foremost among the regrets will be that which was said that should not have been said and that which was not said that should have been said. This short story reveals an approach to a marital relation that can help to prevent those regrets from occurring.

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Book Six

### "Our Marriage in Saint Peter's Basilica"

First Published: November 10, 2014 – 10,230 words – Adult Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311025418

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491930>

A teacher and former student were in love for years. She was his senior by sixteen years. Over the years, they denied themselves marriage because of their ages and their circumstances. As they embarked on a fairy tale union, neither seemed to matter. It is an endearing and true adventure of the devotion and determination of two people in love.

True love can be found almost anywhere, sometimes nowhere. Most search for it diligently and persistently, many times all their lives without success. But sometimes it falls unexpectedly from Heaven. Such was the case for Phyliss and Joseph in their eighth grade classroom. No, the love was not as classmates, but as Phyliss the teacher and Joseph the student. Their association turned to true love, but marriage seemed illusive because of their ages and their circumstances . . . until they found themselves four thousand miles apart, she in New Jersey, he in Tunisia, in the Peace Corps.

The separation and the denied union were no longer bearable for them, and they embarked on a fairy-tale marriage and a "two-year long" honeymoon in paradise. The honeymoon was followed by forty three years of love, happiness, and sadly, sorrow. It is an unusual and endearing, true adventure of how the devotion and determination of two people in love can overcome the trials of life.
Book Seven

### "The Cookie and the Dandelions"

First Published: November 11, 2014 – 8,650 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311510983

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/492395>

Joseph was a young boy who had "Miss Crudo" as his teacher for the eight and ninth grades. Their association turned from student and teacher to friendship and then the friendship became more than friendship. This is a continuation of "The Last Day of School." For many students, especially prior to high school, their teachers can be major figures, even role models in influencing their lives. Occasionally, the fondness for the teacher becomes so intense that they develop a "crush" or infatuation with the teacher. Such was the case with Joseph and his English teacher "Miss Crudo." The two years in her classes seemed to just fly by for this starry-eyed youngster. This short story picks up after Joseph graduates from Miss Crudo's class and their friendship becomes more serious.

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Book Eight

### "Claustrophobia, Get Professional Help, Joe"

First Published: November 12, 2014 – 8,590 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN – 9781311054678

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/492626

This short story exposes some of the difficulties in relying on our health care system for the correction of psychological disorders, in this case claustrophobia and its related anxiety and panic. It does so by relating one person's unsuccessful journey to find a treatment. The pursuit of a remedy for a physical injury or disability is usually straight forward. The injury is a visible and quantifiable thing that many times suggests its own solution. Psychological disorders present a more difficult problem. The manifestation of the disorder is invisible, usually within the patient's brain. As such, it is much more difficult to diagnose and treat and much harder for the patient to contend with.  
At the time one needs a clear mind to function and make decisions, the affliction itself interferes with that process. My anxiety and panic were such instances triggered by a bout of claustrophobia. This story does not propose solutions, but by recounting my unsuccessful attempts at seeking treatment, it is hoped that the medical professions can improve the dispensing of care for this debilitating disorder. Furthermore, it might give some insight to others similarly afflicted on how to contend with their own disability.

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Book Nine

### "Our Moment – Falling in Love Again"

First Published: November 15, 2014 – 7,760 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN – 9781310883231

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/493421>

You lovers all have special moments in your love life, but you usually don't think about what "the" most special moment was. In fact, each of you may have a different moment. I gave it a great deal of thought. I would like to share what that moment was for me. It might just encourage you to rethink what your moment was.

In our fast-paced world, we have a tendency to move on to the "next big thing" in our lives before we are even able to digest the "last big thing." As a result, life becomes a massive blur of events that seems to pass us by. As we get older and our lives become about the present with only the past to contemplate and not much of a future left, it is natural to begin thinking about what the most significant moment in our lives was. Now that my wife is gone that is exactly what I found myself thinking about. What was our most significant moment? I was surprised what I concluded. You may be too.

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Book Ten

### "Life's Little Book for a Happy Marriage"

First Published: November 20, 2014 – 28,313 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311562463

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/494964

There are many books that give advice about how to have a fruitful marriage. But, this is one of the only ones I know that comes with a money back guarantee. Follow these simple guide lines and if your marriage is not happy, you can get every penny you paid returned, no questions asked. Oh, that's right, it's free. Sorry.

I have had a life-long love affair with my wife Phyliss. She is gone now, but during that time some truths became apparent that resulted in our happiness. Some establish a mind set, some generated a set of rules, some led to a useful exercise, a few revealed some cautions, and all generated a life of happiness and joy. It worked for us. Will it work for you? I really don't know. Only you can tell that if you dare try. What do you have to loose? Nothing at all.

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Book Eleven

### "Daddy, Mommy! Are you awake? Are you awake, yet?!"

First Published: November 26, 2014 – 9,650 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311847751

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/496667>

This allegory is based on two children who live near each other in a rural setting. Halfway between their two houses is a huge oak tree planted several hundred years before by one of their ancestors. The tree becomes a centerpiece of their lives and the foundation of a deep friendship. Their bucolic world of camaraderie is destroyed when greed invades their private world and tragedy ensues.

A huge oak tree planted at the birth of our nation grows in the middle of two small farms. The farm houses are home to a four-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl. The children's attraction to the tree becomes the centerpiece of their lives and the foundation of a deep friendship. Their bucolic world is destroyed when a plot to destroy the tree for its valuable wood is hatched by the evil mayor of the town. The plan is executed with the aid of the parents resulting in a series of tragedies for the little town. The mayor goes on to become the governor as the town is left to mourn its losses. The allegory ends with an admonition to anyone who loves their children and cares about their future.

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Book Twelve

### "My Dear was, Oh, so Much Sweeter than Sugar – The Orgy of Sweets"

First Published: November 29, 2014 – 9,970 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781310974441

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/497530>

This short story is a continuation of my life-long love affair with Phyliss, my late wife. In this tale I tell of her devotion to me in managing my affliction with diabetes so I didn't have to. It was a remarkable self-sacrificing act of devotedness and affection rarely seen in or out of marriage. The story is true and inspiring.

At about mid-life, I discovered I had diabetes. I was ill prepared to deal with it. My adoring wife Phyliss, despite her own substantial health problems, commandeered the attack on the disease with military dispatch. The short story of how this came about is tender, loving, and heart warming. This act of love was only one of many expressions of devotion to my well-being. This is a short excerpt from the book "I Married My Teacher" which chronicles, in detail, her love and devotion to me as well as her own trials and battles with poor health. Read about her. It will enrich your life as she enriched mine.

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Book Thirteen

### "No Thanks!"

Judy's Story – Not an Unusual Tale

First Published: December 8, 2014 – 6,970 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311160379

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/500128>

Every parent and guardian should read this tale of the growth of ungratefulness shown by many of our younger generation - thanklessness that appears despite copious kindness that was shown to them over the years. It suggests that sinister forces outside the family promulgate this disturbing behavior. More disturbing yet is the realization that the origin of the conduct may be of our own doing. The former generations of self-sacrificing and benevolent Americans are dying and dying with them is American greatness and generosity. That greatness is being replaced by the entitlement mentality of much of our younger generation of today. The mentality is now approaching an epidemic and threatens the foundations on which our country was based. The sad tale of this decay is told in this short story of Judy who was compelled to become a single mother of two small children by tragedy. The true tale recounts how her sacrifice and kindness by welcoming into her home a needy child as one of her own was returned with indifference and callousness. It is a story that is repeated in homes across the country between parents and their own offspring. The sad narrative illustrates how the path of our nation is leading to self-interest rather than concern for those around us.

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Book Fourteen

### "The Gifts"

The story of Emmy's Kindness

Published: December 18, 2014 – 8,130 words – Non-Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311168047

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/503067>

Gifting to a very large degree today, has become mundane, mechanical, and commercialized. Philanthropy by giving objects and things has become the norm. This short story takes us back to a time when gifts were deeds. Return to those times by rethinking your idea of rewarding someone you care about with a blessing that will not be forgotten rather than an article that will. Follow this unusual journey that may take you to a better place in life. Life is often filled with joy and happiness, but equally it can be filled with tragedy. When tragedy does strike, even the most accomplished, talented, and independent individuals among us may have difficulty coping. They often need all the support they can get. Just as often, the sustenance is just not there either by circumstance or by the neglect of others. Occasionally, a helping hand appears almost by magic from very unlikely sources and places. This short story relates how a chance meeting of an old man with a very ill wife finds that assistance in a most unlikely place, from a most unlikely donor.

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Book Fifteen

"I Give Up - You Win - A Glimpse into the Character of Man"

First Published: December 30, 2014 - 8,400 words – Adult - Nonfiction \- ISBN: 9781310462252

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/505985

I have written twenty-five books and short stories over the past six months. I believe all have been informative and they were free. I received two reviews from 4,500 downloads. This short story attempts to understand the phenomenon and solicit feedback from the readership to help improve my writing prowess. No improvement can take place with constructive comments from the readers.

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Book Sixteen

### "Intimacy and Disability"

Published: January 6, 2015 – 8,130 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310229398

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/508482

A search of books being published will disclose an abundance of works depicting fantasy intimacy, sex if you will, of all types. The public apparently shows great interest in these titles and they sell quite well or else there would not be such a plethora of these works. Yet despite this bounty of fictional books on sex and intimacy there are few about real intimacy other than text books. Furthermore, works that attempt to cover the subject of intimacy as it relates to disability seem to be almost non-existent. I must agree that it is not an easy topic to discuss. But, for something so important and prevalent today, the scarcity is most baffling and troubling. Because of this phenomenon, millions of couples are left to fend for themselves in dealing with this most disrupting problem. You might assume that the issue is thoroughly covered in the institutional rehabilitation of the person afflicted with the disability. Therefore, books covering the subject are not necessary. In reality, the subject is ignored. It is as if it doesn't exist. This preoccupation and interest with intimacy and sex that is everywhere when we are able-bodied seem to suddenly disappear when a person becomes disabled. I find this most disheartening. At least in the case of my dear wife, the subject was not breeched at all in the course of the rehabilitation routine after her stroke. As a result, we novices had to attempt to figure it out ourselves among life-threatening circumstances. Were we successful? My dear, a master teacher, would probably give me a C+ grade – not good enough for the love of my life. But, my hope in writing this account is that it will instigate some interest on the part of professionals and serve as a caution to those in like circumstances. It is a short, easy read with a touch of "wisdom" to mix in with some of the fantasy for a change – and it's free.

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Book Seventeen

### "The Death of the Love of My Life"

Published: January 8, 2015 – 10,394 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310183751

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/508998>

The death of a loved one is never easy. It is particularly difficult when it comes at the end of a fifty-six year long love affair filled with affection and hardship as well. Regardless of how inevitable, it is never expected. Through a heartbreaking rendition of the passing of his wife the author hopes to instill the necessity for every couple to live every moment as if it will be the last. This short story is an excerpt from the full book, "My Teacher, My Bride," formerly titled "I Married my Teacher." The story describes the last two days of a fifty-six year "affaire de coeur," and the finality of the last hours spent with the person we care about more than ourselves. It is hoped that this rendition along with the full book will encourage couples to savor and enrich their precious time together since none of us knows how long that time will be. By doing so, lovers can assure themselves that they will not have any regrets when the time of parting is upon them. The title, "The Death of the Love of My Life," depicts an end to a boundless love affair. The book cover was meant to challenge that depiction. It illustrates the Nebula, "30 Doratus, the Tarantula Nebula" which is 170,000 light years away from our planet. The Nebula is a nursery giving birth to billions of new stars, countless planets, and almost certainly the creation of new life. This marvel takes place among aging and dying stars that fuel the creation of their offspring. It is hoped that the symbolism can invoke the inspirational thought that while our loved ones have left this sublunary Earth, they now reside in a much more glorious place. The sadness summoned by death is overshadowed by the end of suffering, a glorious life after death, and an anticipated sublime reunion.

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Book Eighteen

### "Our Peace Corps Adventure in Tunisia"

Published: March 20, 2015 – 22,100 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311067128

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/529297>

This story of an American Peace Corps couple in Tunisia provides a window into the not-so-distant past of how individuals of dissimilar groups were able to live in friendship, harmony, and even love. It is hoped that it will awaken us to how far we have wandered from the goodness of that time and question how our leaders have allowed or even caused the hatred and conflict among our cultures. The world is in enormous conflict today in just about every area of human interaction. Countries, religions, races, social and economic classes, ethnic groups, organizations, and companies are all either in active dissension or at a level of extreme tension ready to explode. Violence is everywhere. This is nothing new. Even the level of hatred among groups, countries and individuals is not unique from the past. What is new is the level of mobility and the destructive power each group possesses to destroy the other. Sometimes this power is even in the hands of an individual. Maybe this tale of friendship and love from the past can help us realize how far we have regressed and possibly encourage us to elect leaders that can return us to civility.

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Book Nineteen

### "A Message from Heaven"

When Tomorrow Starts without Me

Published: March 24, 2015 – 7,990 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310685255

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/530292>

Over a year ago, I knew my dear husband would be suffering today. I just did not realize how much. I wrote this letter to ease his pain. It might ease yours, as well.

When someone dies they leave behind a great deal of pain for their loved ones. Some of those loved ones go to extraordinary measures to contact those who have left to ease their sorrow. These efforts always fail in the hands of charlatans. I did not want my husband to go through that torment. So, I have written him directly to ease his pain. It might just ease your pain or that of someone you know.

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Book Twenty

### "Screams!"

Published: April 12, 2015 – 7,850 words – non-Adult - fiction – free; ISBN 9781310790669

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/535064>

Everyone enjoys a little scary fiction. This short story is not all that scary, but presents a little humor and wisdom as well - three for the price of one. Oh, that's right it's free. Well, read it anyway. You have nothing to lose but 15 minutes. Fiction is an escape, entertainment. But, there is nothing wrong with reading fiction and learning a little, is there? You know "go to school because you want to, not because you have to." Try this story. It should scare you a little, teach you a little, make you smile a little, maybe surprise you a little, and hopefully make you think a little about a subject that needs more than a little thinking. That was my intent anyway.

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Book Twenty-one

### "The Power of Writing and Never Letting Go"

Published: April 16, 2015 – 10,610 words – Adult –non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310157073

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/536094>

Losing a loved one is always difficult. Recovering from the loss is even more difficult, sometimes impossible. Many times, calling on every resource is required to be successful. It might be necessary to create your own method for healing. This is one unusual technique that was quite effective for me. It might be useful to others.

Since my wife left me, writing about her has been my salvation, but there were limits to its beneficial powers. I searched for other ways to expand the effectiveness of the writing. This short book describes some unconventional and non- traditional ways to use writing in the grieving and healing process. It was and continues to be valuable in my road to recovery.

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Book Twenty-two

### "Cruising with a Disabled Love One"

Published: April 25, 2015 – 10,870 words – Non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310198038

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538418>

A Cruise can be a wonderful therapy for a spouse who becomes disabled, especially from a stroke. It can have many healing powers and be of great assistance to recovery. But, let's not rush into it. Read this story before you embark on this adventure. Use it as a guide to inform and to determine if it is right for you and your spouse.

My wife had a debilitating stroke and required a wheelchair for mobility among other disabilities. As part of her therapy, we went on three cruises. They each had their own benefits, their challenges, and their drawbacks. Along the way, I was able to learn many things that may be useful to others considering the same for their loved one. Our experiences my help you plan your trip or even decide if it is something that will be beneficial or even possible.

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Book Twenty-three

### "The Man of No"

The agony of caring for a loved one

Published: April 26, 2015 – 10,012 words – Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310302602

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538582>

Caring for a loved one with a long term illness at home is a physical, financial, and emotional challenge of the highest order. It is deadly and it can kill you both. It may be the biggest test of your lives. But, nothing equals the realization that some things cannot be fixed. You eventually become the "The Man of No." When something cannot be fixed and in fact gets worse and there is no solution, being truthful makes you the "Man of No" \- the bearer of bad news, the bearer of the worse news. You can delay, you can fib, you can omit, you can dance around the issues, but eventually you must tell the truth. You delay as long as you can to spare your love the agony. But, during that time you must deny your spouse the truth when "deny" was never a word in your vocabulary all your lives together. It is a heartbreaking thing from which you never recover.

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Book Twenty-four

### "Janet Devlin"

One Classy Lassie

Published: May 2, 2015 – 10,190 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310431067

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/539981>

In 2011, a young lady abruptly and unexpectedly came on to the world music scene after appearing on a well-known talent discovery television program which had been airing for a number of years. The young lady was Miss Janet Maureen Aoife Ne Devlin.

Just another pop singer? Not quite.

All the accounts of Miss Devlin on the show were naturally about her music and her unusually lovely voice. At first she got rave reviews from the judges, the live audience, and the television viewers. She fell out of favor with the judges and reached fifth in the competition. She went home to her little hamlet of Gortin, Ireland – end of story? – not so fast. Four years later Miss Devlin is back on the scene with her first recording album. But the story is not her rise in music; it is about her tenacity and character. You may want to consider her as your child's role model. You decide.

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Book Twenty-five

### "The Last Mothers' Day"

Published: May 3, 2015 – 6,830 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311324832

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/540098>

Mothers' Day is a good thing. Mothers should be honored. But, this should be the last Mothers' Day. Anyone who has a Mother should read this very short essay. But, wait, we all have Mother's don't we. Silly me! Well, then, every one should read this – It will take only a minute, I promise.

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Book Twenty-six

### "The Way We Were"

Published: May 24, 2015 – 14,340 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311116789

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545363>

Raising children with values of responsibility, respect, compassion, and industry is a goal of most parents. Finding the right tools and examples to achieve this goal is not entirely easy today. This seemingly difficult task may be able to be accomplished by recounting and applying the lessons of relatively simple events in three summers of a young boy's life.

Conscientious parents are always searching for ways to teach lessons to their children that will be useful throughout their lives and in the rearing of their own children. This account of a young boy's adventures for three summers from the 1950's spent with caring relatives reveals important lessons from seemingly mundane situations that cannot be learned from a book or a classroom. A return to the principles of this simpler time may be just what a modern family needs to insure that their children advance into adulthood with a foundation of timeless and proven character-building traits.

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Book Twenty-seven

### "Home Alone with Phyliss"

Published: May 25, 2015 – 12,060 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310294389

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545660>

It seems most ironic that something I had desperately wished for from a very early age, aggressively pursued for a decade, and finally achieved, had now become a source of anxiety, fear, and angst - being at home alone with Phyliss. It did not seem possible.

The mere suggestion, a few months before, that this dread would be credible, appeared to be a preposterous supposition. Yet, here it was, a reality. I was paralyzed with fear.

I had fought so hard these past months to pry her from the grips of her certain demise. I had rejoiced at my achievement and success. I had saved my dear wife. I had won one of the biggest and most important battles of my life to remove her from danger and make her safe. This was an enormous effort and an unqualified victory.

This was the woman I loved. I had proven my love so many times before as she had done for me as well, but not like this time. If this accomplishment were such an achievement, why was I not filled with pride, joy, and elation?

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Book Twenty-eight

### "Life is Good for Some"

Published: May 26, 2015 – 11,830 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311039101

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545908>

The quality of a family's social interactions with friends can be positively or negatively affected by a tragedy. What seems to determine the negative or positive course of the change is whether the social relationship was established before or after the misfortune occurred.

Generally speaking, pleasant social interactions that were already established, even long standing ones, suffer when tragedy strikes. Those social relationships that were established after the tragedy strikes tend to be positive and more intense. This work illustrates this strange phenomenon and gives some advice on how to prepare for a potential family health crisis. Every family should take a little time to read and prepare. No family group is immune from a health calamity.

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Book Twenty-nine

### "The Magic of a Master Teacher"

Published: August 15, 2015 – 15,610 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310000690

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/569466>

This is the tale of the career of one master teacher whose excellence and dedication caused each of her students to perform to the best of his or her abilities and become stellar members of our society. How sad it would be to let the significance of her life be lost to future generations. The recounting of her story is an attempt to not allow that to happen.

Teachers lay the foundations of society. They shape the character of the next generation of citizens and therefore determine the quality and success of that society. Poor, mediocre, or unmotivated teachers will produce a society that will eventually crumble and fail. Good teachers will produce a society that will survive but not excel. Master teachers will produce a society that will flourish and benefit mankind for generations.

This true tale tells of one such master teacher from the past who is sadly no longer with us. The challenge is will we let her excellence die with her, or will we learn and follow her example and pass that learning on to the next generations. No less than the future of our country depends on our answer and our actions. To reply with anything less than an affirmative response will doom our future to mediocrity and certain failure.

As you learn about "Miss Crudo," ask yourself if our current educational system has continued her example of distinction or if it has regressed. If we fail to react to our decline we will relegate our children and their children to lives that will be so much less than they could be. They deserve better. We must decide

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Book Thirty

### "Washing the Dishes"

Published: September 19, 2015 – 2,440 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311810021

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/578705>

This vignette is a short tale with a quite strange title. It is a story for married folks. It is particularly meant for couples busily racing through life doing "important stuff" and missing the paradise that marriage can be. What can an activity as repulsive and mundane as washing dishes possibly have to do with love and happiness? Read it and see – 10 minutes and no money.

What do vacations to exotic places, beautiful and sumptuous surroundings, exciting venues, exhilarating activities, new and interesting people, appointments meant for royalty, and washing the dishes all have in common? Obviously, they are all prerequisites for an invigorating and enviable marriage experience. But, wait a minute. Washing the dishes? What if someone told you that none of the mentioned items is a perquisite for a wonderful marriage, **except** washing the dishes? You would tell them that they lost their minds. Ten minutes from now you might change your mind instead of losing it. Look for yourself.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Book Thirty-one

### "Tiny Rain Drops"

Published: October 27, 2015 – 11,790 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311812742

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/588538>

We race everywhere with our heads buried in our cell phones. What is in these monsters that is so important? Real people might as well be the wallpaper. This short story is an attempt to return us to the joys of interacting with real people through everyday happenings, especially with those we claim to love the most. Give it a try, while they are still here, you might like it.

This is a story of how a day filled with mundane and common events can be transformed into a memorable series of events using only "loving human interaction." I know those three words are a bit heavy, but it's not really that complicated. It only takes fifteen minutes to understand.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Book Thirty-two

### "The Nightmare and the Chubby Cups"

Published: November 11, 2015 – 2,120 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310791253

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/588538>

It is fascinating how dreams intertwine themselves with our conscious lives. This is one such case where it is difficult to tell where each begins and ends. Give it a try. It will only take a few minutes of your time, but I am so sorry, it won't help you go to sleep. You will have to read something else for that. This tale is just for tea lovers. Sorry, you "Starbucks" fans.

Other reading

Here is an entire bookshelf of other free e-books you might enjoy

by the same author if you are still with me.

Control/left mouse click on the link will take you directly to the book site.

Select the format suitable for your device and download. Enjoy.

Download them all. They take very little memory on your device.

The entire bookshelf requires less than 250 Megabytes of memory.

See, the best things in life are free.

But, they may not be free forever.

### Books published by Apollos Rivoire, Jr.

1 - "A Night at the Opera"

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/531027>

2 - "The Good Parents"

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/534874>

3 - "A Voyage Interrupted"

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/539105>

4 - "Split the Baby?"

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/576768>

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Books Published by Joseph P. Badame

### 1 - "My Teacher, My Bride"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/483616

### 2 - "Hugs and Kisses"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/490293

### 3 - "Last Day of School – First Day of Us"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491303

### 4 - "Our First Kiss – Our Last Kiss"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491493

### 5 - "My One Grand Regret"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491620

### 6 - "Our Marriage in Saint Peter's Basilica"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491930

### 7 - "The Cookie and the Dandelions"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/492395

### 8 - "Claustrophobia

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/492626

### 9 - "Our Moment – Falling in Love Again"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/493421

### 10 - "Life's Book for Happy Marriage"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/494964

### 11- "Daddy, Mommy! Are you awake?

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/496667

### 12 - "My Dear was Sweeter than Sugar"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/497530

### 13 - "No Thanks!"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/500128

### 14 -"The Gifts"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/503067

15 - "I Give Up - You Win"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/505985

### 16 - "Intimacy and Disability"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/508482

### 17 - "The Death of the Love of My Life"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/508998

### 18 - "Peace Corps Adventure in Tunisia"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/529297

### 19 - "A Message from Heaven"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/530292

### 20 -"Screams!"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/535064

### 21 -"The Power of Writing"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/536094

### 22 - "Cruising with a Disabled Love One"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538418

### 23 - "The Man of No"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538582

### 24 - "Janet Devlin"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/539981

### 25 - "The Last Mothers' Day"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/540098

### 26 - "The Way We Were"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545363

### 27 - "Home Alone with Phyliss"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545660

### 28 - "Life is Good for Some"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545908

### 29 - "The Magic of a Master Teacher"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/569466

### 30 - "Washing the Dishes"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/578705

### 31 - "Tiny Rain Drops"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/588538

### 32 -"The Nightmare and the Chubby Cups"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/592374

### 33 -"Who Am I????"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/649705

### 34 - "Merry Christmas Mum and Dad"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/690185

### 35 - "My Lunch at Chick-Fil-A"

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/692552

### * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

### Support the

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Please help our returning heroes and heroines in need.

Sadly, they can no longer rely on help from those who sent them in harm's way.

They and their families helped us.

Now, we need to help them.

Please make a donation of finances or time or both.

Encourage others to do likewise, and ask them in turn to tell others.

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Don't rely on someone else to do it.

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