When I put my once nimble fingers to the keys, I always hope something cogent or germane will be the result. Each time I try but some blogs “connect” better than others. And then I realized, I am not the only person facing this 4th Quarter conundrum that comes with advancing age. This week I read an editorial in The Week that I feel is worth sharing as it is clear, to the point, and expresses succinctly what lies ahead for all of us. The author is William Falk, and I reprint his thoughts with a couple of minor changes:

When I took my mother’s car keys away, she cursed at me. I’d never heard my sweet, churchgoing mom use language like that in my life, but she couldn’t accept that at 85, her fading vision, hearing, and memory made her unsafe at any speed. I was reminded of the day Mom followed me to the door shouting “Give me back those #@$&%! keys” when Joe Biden spent several weeks insisting against all evidence that he was fit to serve four more years. Giving up the most powerful and prestigious job in the world, obviously, is more painful than losing access to the Camry.  But the denial and the anger are fundamentally the same. Getting old, I’ve found, demands a succession of surrenders. You can accept these losses with some grace and rueful resignation—or go to war with the inevitable. Pro tip: You can’t win.

I’m still more than a decade from Biden’s stage of life, but if I put on my glasses, I can see the shape of it on the horizon. Behind me, the path is long and littered with losses large and small. Joints worn out from years of running, basketball, softball, and typing take turns complaining, and the mirror reveals a graying old guy I sometimes do not recognize.  Too many loved ones and friends are gone. 

Yet life has pretty much worked out as I’d hoped, but the surrenders continue. The best strategy, it appears, is to accept them and fall back behind a new line of defense and prepare for the next assault. I know how you feel, Mr. President. When they come for my car keys, I suspect I, too, will curse.

As I wrote a couple of blog entries ago in “Transitions,” this is precisely what is happening to me, and I surmise to most of you to greater and lesser degrees. “A succession of surrenders” is happening to my friends and me, and it is inevitable though we fight tooth and nail to “hold on” to our lifestyles as long as possible. Lately, I’ve hit another of those proverbial bumps in the road, this time a lower back that will give me no rest or comfort. Gordy Taylor needs a shoehorn to put on his left tennis shoe and strives mightily to tie his own shoelaces. I roll over in bed all night vainly attempting to find a comfortable position to no avail. Some nights, I can be found at midnight walking up and down the cul-de-sac just hoping to get tired enough to fall asleep despite it all. I now walk like Joe Biden. 

“Dr.” Diane and Primary Care Physician Dr. Curtis Farr have made countless phone calls and fought the insurance battles to secure X-rays and an MRI. I’m confident there will be relief down the road, but the journey is frustrating, and the small losses begin to take their toll. There is no giving up and you’ll have to pry those keys from my hand. As an old woman I met on the beach once told me, “Young man (it was a long time ago), every day above ground is a great day.” She was correct.  I need to remember that tomorrow and the next day and the next day.

Yet, through all this, life provides us with humor, and I’ve learned to treasure those precious moments. Daniel Conrad Taylor is five and a half (the half is very important to this young man), and last month we were in Grayslake visiting him. His parents were there as well, but it was Dan and Lady the Wonder Dog we were there to visit.  There is a cute little Lilypond in their backyard, and we caught a crawdad that had made the mistake of venturing outside the pond periphery.  I held him up and Dan clearly remarked, “That will really piss him off.” Now I didn’t teach him that phrase, so I looked over at Ryan, who of our three children, probably uses “colorful” language least often, if ever.  However, as it relates to crawdads, this might be the exception.  I tried not to laugh, unsuccessfully, and Dan exclaimed, “Gramps, this isn’t funny.”

A couple of weeks ago we were in Chagrin Falls, Ohio (outside Cleveland) visiting Gordon III, Lisa, and their family. We had not seen Ava (12) or Kent (7) in over a year. Consequently, they had not seen Grandpa’s feeding tube. Kent, a fledgling scientist in training, asked if he could see how it worked.  I quickly obliged. Kent surveyed the tube protruding from my stomach, gave it some thought and then remarked, “I wish you didn’t need that but because you do you are still here with us.”  Grandma and Grandpa smiled at his thoughtful and insightful comment.

Time to find those damn car keys before someone else does.

Everyone in Macomb knew Ed Holzwarth. Everyone also respected, admired, liked, and revered him for the way he conducted his life. Last month, “Big Ed” all 6’3″ of him departed my train of life for the final time. He said goodbye to his wife, Sue, his son Mike, two daughters Sue and Sandy, seven grandchildren, two great grandchildren and countless friends he had made and cultivated over the decades during his years in Macomb. Ed was born in 1936 thus leaving us short of his 88th birthday. He was a large man, not just in stature but in deeds. When he entered the room, we knew it. Ed had arrived. We first met when I was teaching and he had just become Fire Chief in Macomb, a position he would hold until retiring in 1991 to, you guessed it, spend more quality time with his grandchildren.

His resume was impressive—Jaycees, Kiwanis, McDonough County Heart Association, YMCA Board of Directors, Boy Scouts, Bomber Boosters, Leatherneck Club. He pretty much did it all. I had the privilege of making him an Honorary Alum of Western in 2000, and he was inducted into the WIU Athletic Hall of Fame in 2006.  Ed joined the U.S. Army in 1955 serving with distinction. I could go on, but you get my drift. Ed was a community activist in every sense of the word. Yet, this doesn’t really get at the essence of the man. Yes, Ed Holzwarth was a strong leader. He didn’t just join organizations; he led them. He was not just the Fire Chief but a national leader. What really stands out is that he was a man of the people. He absolutely thrived on helping others and simply couldn’t get enough of it. Helping his grandchildren hone their athletic skills was a labor of love for him. He “opened” up the fire house over the Christmas holidays and encouraged families to stop by for a tour. He did things like that. He was a “bingo caller” at city picnics. Who does that? Ed Holzwarth does. 

As a kid from Calhoun County, he played baseball and basketball and excelled at both. He was given a chance to try out for the Washington Senators Major League team but had to pay his own way to tryouts and couldn’t afford the trip as there was work to do in the fields. He became a legend in the Macomb area for his fast pitch and slow pitch exploits. He loved the St. Louis Cardinals and attended games every year with as many family members as he could take along. I had lunch with his daughters Sue and Sandy last week and when asked to define their dad, they smiled, and with tears in their eyes said, “He was just a big kid who would do anything for anybody.”  Grandpa took the kids down water slides in the Wisconsin Dells and dislocated his shoulder riding a minibike that was just not capable of handling a man of his size. However, he did it anyway because it was with his grandkids.

As I got to know Ed over the years, it was apparent that he was a true servant leader, a nutritious person with a beautiful spirit.  And here’s where the Holzwarth story becomes special. It was not just the job as chief or role of father, or Little League, or softball coach. It was about the things he did that really went beyond what would be expected of any of us. He never let a woman open a door for herself. He was the consummate gentleman and friend to anyone who needed encouragement or a warm smile. Ed was THE volunteer hospice guy at McDonough District Hospital and was always there to help others during their final darkest hours. He drove forty miles to Hamilton, IL, to visit an elderly house-bound woman, forty miles each way, week after week. On Halloween one year, he dressed up as Raggedy Ann. Can you visualize this 250-pound, 6’3′ doll prancing around local nursing homes. But he did it! The sick and disabled loved it. He once installed a window air conditioner for a hospice client. That’s Ed–always giving to others, expecting nothing in return except knowing he was doing the right thing.  The world is full of “givers” and “takers” and Ed Holzwarth is the former in every way.  

I have my own Ed Holzwarth story—of course I do!  In 1979 I had just gotten the alumni job the year before and I was trying to finish up my doctoral dissertation. Professionally, this meant everything to me as it was all that stood between me and a Ph.D. One night in November 1979 our phone rang at 4 a.m.; it was Ed. “Gordy, the Alumni House is on fire, you better get over here.” I was there in five minutes and Chief Holzwarth inquired, “Anything important upstairs?” I about had a heart attack as the only copy of my unfinished dissertation was upstairs. After the fire was brought under control, Ed allowed a public safety officer to escort me inside. Here’s where it gets funny. As the officer and I got upstairs, I was feverously throwing papers in boxes when the officer felt the need to get on his intercom and say, “I’m upstairs at the Alumni House with Director Taylor retrieving important alumni records.” I stopped in my tracks in a smokey room and exclaimed, “Alumni records be damned, I’m getting my dissertation out of here.” Close call for Gordy plus the Alumni House was saved.

There is just a bit more to my “fire story.” After Ed retired, his successor was the capable and dedicated Don Bytner who clearly had big shoes to fill. In August 2000, Damone’s, a fine dining establishment where Diane and I spent many memorable evenings, burned to the ground. In December of that year, the Delta Sigma Phi Fraternity, of which I was advisor also burned to the ground. When we awarded Ed the Honorary Alumni Award at our annual Evening with the President and Mayor community event, Don Bytner was in attendance. From the podium, in good jest, I announced, “Between you two, the Alumni House, Damone’s, and the Delta Sig house all had extremely serious fires.” Ed and Don didn’t miss a beat and together proclaimed, “And the only common denominator between those three fires is you and we’re watching.” It brought down the house—humor in a small town amongst friends and colleagues.

As the years passed and Ed began to have serious health issues, he still attended as many community and athletic events as possible. He was particularly fond of WIU Leatherneck basketball, both men and women. Ed would attend every home game with Sue and his daughters at his side. After the game, win or lose, the women basketball players would ALL come over and give Ed a hug, and he both loved and appreciated it. Then, at some point, the men began to do the same thing. Incredible to watch. 

When the end finally came on July 8, 2024, a pall fell over the whole community. As was said when Abraham Lincoln died, “now he belongs to the ages.” An iconic figure to be sure has left us, all of us.  At his funeral, Women’s Coach J.D. Gravina brought his entire team. As J.D. tells it, “They didn’t have to come, they wanted to” and so they did.  It was a wonderful moment of true love and appreciation. 

So that’s my story of my good friend Ed; a man who made us all better for having walked among us.  Ed Holzwarth, a man of faith and good cheer who knew how to make a difference and did just that. Our community salutes you.

We’ve made it past the 4th of July, and now it’s time to really get into summer.  I was out walking early one morning and had a couple of thoughts I’ve decided to pass along. The first involves that famous train of life we are all engineering, each of us looking back to see who is getting on and who is exiting at each stop on our respective life journeys. Those of us who are getting weathered with the passage of time are experiencing the inevitable exit of too many passengers. I guess I should have seen it coming. I was blessed with a career that took me into both the classroom and the alumni arena resulting in an extraordinary number of friendships over a 60-year period.  That is the good news—notes, emails, texts, phone calls, and personal visits have been my good fortune since I entered my first classroom in Stipes Hall at Western Illinois University in 1970. It has been nothing short of rewarding in every way, but now the Grim Reaper has decided to exact his pound of flesh and a week seldom goes by without the departure of one of the passengers on my train. The 4th Quarter continues to move forward and as it does so, my passengers seem to be getting older as well with stops on their last ride with me becoming more frequent. This is inevitable. I accept it and am grateful to know and have known so many wonderful people over these many decades. 

I am happy to report that new passengers, though not as many as in the past, continue to come on board. Diane and I are very grateful that Luke (20), James (16), and Paul (13) Stevenson have boarded as well as Ava (12) and Kent (7) Taylor and Dan (5 ½) Taylor bringing love, happiness, energy, excitement, and the promise of tomorrow to their fellow passengers. Yes, grandchildren give us hope that someday they will be better stewards of the world and its resources than we have been. Chug, chug, chug—not as fast as before and the hills a bit tougher to climb but for each of us, our train on the road of life moves ahead.

Lately, I have had occasion to ponder my life through adulthood and how it has changed since the end of the 1^st Quarter in 1971 when I began to take notice of such things. Much of my life has involved participating in various sports/athletics, so you will notice a heavy sprinkling of such references. After graduation from Western and the most important event, getting married to Diane Paulsen on August 31, 1968, we were off to the University of Florida for graduate school, returning to Macomb in 1970. This is pretty much where my final three quarters of life have played out to the present day.  In our twenties is when things take off and many of us start families. The Taylors were no different. Teaching was fun and outside the classroom there was plenty of time for softball, basketball, touch football, tennis, and jogging for me. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to finish the dissertation for my PhD—too damn much fun with sports, but I enjoyed every minute of it. 

By my thirties there was a job change from teaching to alumni programs. The 2nd Quarter (age 26-50) was a time for career building, adding a third Taylor child, and getting active in the community. I had to finally give up touch football in my 30s as I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to play anymore.  Basketball ended in my 40s when our three children, Jennifer, Gordon, and Ryan, came to one of my games.  The rascals taped “dear old dad” shooting 5 for 28.  We all laughed; it was clearly time to put away the blue Converse All-Star sneakers.  I continued to sort of play softball and tennis and jogging was still in the mix. Through all this, Diane was the anchor of the family while earning her B.A, Master of Arts, and beginning a stellar career as an English teacher at Spoon River College. While not affluent, we were living our dream.  For me, I remained very active physiologically, had the best job at Western, assumed it would never end. Close your eyes and think back for a moment. During our thirties and forties, we were at the top of our game. I could look in the mirror and not too many wrinkles, love handles had yet to appear, and had a full head of blond hair. Life was damn good.

Then the 3rd Quarter (51-75) arrived and gradually the wheels figuratively began to come off.  Diane and I continued to have professional lives, the kids had stellar high school athletic careers, graduated from college, settled down, married, and led lives of their own. At around age 60, Diane and I both retired, traveled, became grandparents, enjoyed excellent health, and were on top of the world. What could go wrong?  I’m still a jock, right?  That’s what I told myself.  Well, first there were softball and tennis. I couldn’t find anyone to play tennis, but there’s always softball, right?  Over the decades, I got to play against son Gordon and his buddies, and later son Ryan and I became teammates. He may have wanted to keep an eye on me. I went from playing center field and batting in the enviable  #3 slot to ultimately playing right field and batting 9th. One night we had the late game at 9:30. It was swelteringly hot and foggy; mosquitos were everywhere. After the game, Ryan and I were sitting on the back of the car removing our spikes when he looked over and said, “You having any fun?” I replied “No” and at age 56 softball was history. 

Still no real complaints, just minor lifestyle adjustments that affect all of us. Then in March 2010 I got that infamous sore throat and at age 64 everything changed forever. Base of tongue cancer is a nasty experience and the effects of radiation and chemotherapy, while saving my life, have left me with a bunch of parallel intrusions like a feeding tube, aspiration pneumonia, and a lack of energy. Of course, how does one delineate between fatigue caused by health issues as opposed simply to the process of aging. At age 64, jogging was the last athletic pleasure to exit my life, replaced by walking. In this 3rd Quarter I was able to keep busy with my local TV taped program interviewing noted individuals in the Macomb community and hospital.  I still enjoy working in the yard and don’t have a riding lawn mower. I’m sure many of you have begun to have your own health issues in your 3rd Quarter so none of this makes me unique. 

At age 75 or so, the 4th Quarter arrives. I still have hair although it is no longer blond but pretty much white. Weight is not really an issue since I control my intake of Jevity 1.2 at ten cartons a day through my forever feeding tube. While it seems to work keeping aspiration pneumonia issues away, I don’t recommend it as a weight loss program. The 4th Quarter has now arrived in earnest and there is no denying I am no longer the athletic guy I was.  Yet, I still walk three miles probably five times a week but the darn “energy thing” is a challenge. Maybe it is for you as well.  I’m doing my best to cope with it and try and remember the words of Clint Eastwood who when asked about aging responded that he “tries to keep the old man out.” 

For Diane and me, there is an important variable that helps us keep young at heart.  Via Zoom, FaceTime, and Interstate highways, we get to keep our kids, their spouses, and grandkids in our lives—the best “Geritol” there is and extremely grateful for our times together. 

It is probably worth posing the question of what we say to ourselves when we get up in the morning. When that first foot hits the floor do we say, “Good morning God or good God, it’s morning.”  I’ll take option number one every time.  To all of us in or approaching life in the 4th Quarter, there is much for which to be grateful, starting with our train is still traveling down the tracks, destination unknown, but even though the engine has slowed a bit, it is still chugging along.  And so it goes….

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Like many of us in The Fourth Quarter, I have been mesmerized the past couple of days by the important attention given to the stories of June 6, 1944.  I listened to the riveting words of President Reagan in 1984 in the cemetery in Normandy where 9,400 brave young men, who never got to experience full lives, but instead gave theirs so that I might type this to you today and for eternity.  Yesterday, President Biden spoke eloquently about the sacrifices made by young men who did so unflinchingly and without hesitation because the freedom of the world was at stake.  And today, more moving words at Pointe du Hoc.

Then it dawned on me.  I know a person who, while he didn’t arrive in the first wave, came ashore in Cherbourg a couple of months later.  His name is Harry Paulsen, and he is my father-in-law.  I wrote about Gramps in the Western News, the alumni newsletter of Western Illinois University.  I share his story with you on the 80^th anniversary date of D-Day.

Spring 2001

I tend to write about people, and I think I know why. While I’ve had the opportunity to see many places and things in my life, it’s people who interest me most – large ones, small ones, different colors, ages 1 to 101, career- driven, family-oriented, nice, not-so-nice, personable, distant-they all have a story to tell. Harry James Paulsen, Jr. is one of those people. He is my father-in-law.

Harry Paulsen is not a millionaire. I don’t believe he’s invented anything. He doesn’t drive a fancy car or live in a mansion. He was never a great athlete, didn’t go to college, and has never had a high-profile job. Yet, Harry Paulsen is indeed an extraordinary man. Born in 1921, he married Anna Arnoldsen in 1947. They have four children—Diane, Arne, Paul, and Ruth, and nine grandchildren. Harry Paulsen has lived in the same house in Winthrop Harbor for nearly 50 years and at age 79 he still works. He’s a printer by trade.

What makes Harry Paulsen unique is the way he has lived his life. In a world of flamboyant, headline seekers looking for their 15 minutes of fame, Harry is EVERYMAN. Since he was a young boy, he’s never known life without a job. He has not missed more than a handful of days of work in 60 years. He has always paid his bills on time, prefers hamburger steak to lobster, still mows his own lawn, prefers overalls to a suit and in the 33 years have known him, has never uttered a profane word. He goes to church every Sunday, he’s handy around the house, he likes to take walks and his major indulgence is chocolate Nonpareils candies. He seldom imbibes in alcohol, has never smoked and rarely raises his voice in anger.

In 1943, he began his stint in the army. He served with distinction in the 104th Infantry Division (nicknamed the Timberwolves) as a medic.  In Harry’s own words, “We landed at Cherbourg, France in landing craft boats in September 1944 which was several months after D-Day.  Our mission was to link up with the British and Canadian armies which we accomplished in Holland.  On October 29, 1944 I was wounded in the leg and chest by German artillery shrapnel near the town of Breda, Holland. We were the first casualties of our Battalion Aid Station.” Harry James Paulsen Jr. received a Purple Heart.    

Harry Paulsen is a quiet, introspective man. You know the type; they don’t say much but when they do we listen. Sometimes those who say the least really are the ones who say the most. Their actions speak volumes. As I age and hopefully mature, I no longer walk into a room and look for those who are speaking the most or the loudest. I look for the people who are listening. You generally learn the most from them.

Harry is a man I have grown to admire, respect and in the highest praise I can give, love as if he were my own father. Harry believes in hard work. He taught life lessons to his children by example. He never complained, he never made excuses, he just did what he had to do and expected the same from his children. All four of his children are successful college graduates, including four WIU degrees. He and his wife, Anna, helped make that possible by defraying as much of the financial burden as they could when their children were in college.

Harry is an unpretentious, modest man who earns respect by the way he lives his life. He is part of Tom Brokaw’s Greatest Generation, those men and women who put their very lives in peril so that future generations could live in prosperity and peace. We all have our own Harry Paulsens in our lives. They are caring, decent people upon whom the success of this nation has been built. They might be 25 or 105, man or woman, but they get up every morning and simply go about the business of life as best they can. They might be a grandparent, a parent, an aunt, an uncle, a sibling, a son, a daughter or the neighbor down the street. They are simply people, who in the conduct of their daily lives, serve as role models for the rest of us.

In Harry Paulsen’s case, it was his generation who helped give us the college students of the 1960s-1970s. They asked for little but accomplished much. They taught us that the value of a human being is not in what we have, but in who we are. Did we listen? They are, as Brokaw says, “The men and women who have given us the lives we have today.“

Harry has discovered what many seem to be seeking—simplicity and comfort in a life well-lived. He’s always been an individual who took the words of noted humanitarian Albert Schweitzer to heart, “Example is not the main thing in influencing others, it’s the only thing.” Take a minute and say thank you to the Harry Paulsen in your life. For me, I can simply sit back, wait for the Western News to arrive at his doorstep and in the words of Jackie Gleason’s Ralph Kramden of “The Honeymooners” say, “Harry, you’re the greatest.”

And I DID!  I happened to be with him as he was reading the Western News when it arrived.  He was not one to tear up much, but Gramps did that day, and so did his son-in-law.

Sometimes this whole 4th Quarter thing “gets to me.” I never thought the day would come when going for a walk would make me tired and require a nap afterwards. The same goes for mowing the yard or doing yardwork. Being required to sit four times a day to consume a total of ten, eight-ounce cartons of Jevity 1.2 then also another four sittings to ingest regimens of medications is burdensome. I admit that in the grand scope of things it sucks but then in a broader context it could be a whole lot worse. 

I tell Diane that we can still travel with cases of Jevity in the back of the car. We do get to sit together at night, her eating real food and me “eating” in my own tortured way by pouring all liquid sustenance into PEG (the feeding tube); however, it does keep me alive and sustained nutritionally.  Everyone’s 4th Quarter is different and before it’s over, I assume most of us will suffer our own trials and tribulations moving forward in life.

Lately I have been going through files and discovered a folder with copies of columns I wrote (with assistance from Diane Taylor and Cathy Onion) for WIU’s Western News. What follows is one of my favorites as it is not only inspirational but also tells the story of a man of great courage and dignity who never, and I mean never, ever gave up.

The column was written in 1996 about a man who graced this earth for 46 years in conventional terms but who nevertheless never had admitted his life was anything but spectacular. One of the great privileges of my life was to be a eulogist at his funeral. This is about a man revered in the annals of Western Illinois University:  Bruce Craddock, Head Football Coach, and leader of young men.

Western News, Summer 1996

Abraham Lincoln once said, “People are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.” I think he was right. My journey through life has taught me that possessing a positive mental attitude is one of life’s greatest gifts, and we give it to ourselves. I’m not talking about people who ground “acting” happy all the time, but those who really live life, who see the beauty of a flower in bloom, who love what they do, who savor new adventures. To smile or frown, to laugh or cry–the choice is up to each of us. Are we all born with the same opportunities? Absolutely not, but that’s what makes life exhilarating, exciting, challenging. We are tall, short, thin, not thin, bright, not so bright, born with wealth, born in poverty–you get the message. However, each of us must play the hand of cards we are dealt in life.

We all must decide how we intend to live. Will we lament at our position or will we do something about it?  Will we be happy or sad? Life happens to all of us. It’s our response that counts. Let me explain. It was a beautiful fall day in September 1982; I was sitting in the west stands of Hanson Field prior to a WIU football game. It was not a good year for the Leathernecks.  We had struggled but as our Division IAA team took the field for warmups, it was apparent they were a well-fed group of young men.  They were big. Soon our opponents arrived. There were only about 40 of them, and they were small in comparison to Western. They ran onto the field screaming and yelling like crazy men. Their leader was an ex-Marine, and he acted like he actually thought they might win. The team was a Division Il opponent, Northeast Missouri State University (NMSU). I looked over at my longtime friend Steve Stanko and said, “These guys are going to kick our tails.” Steve assured me that the large, mighty Leathernecks would prevail. He was wrong. NMSU beat us 27-10, and at the end of the season we fired our coach and hired theirs, the demanding, charismatic, and upbeat Bruce Craddock.

Bruce Craddock didn’t think he could win or feel he should win or hope he would win:  he KNEW he would win. He encouraged, he worked, he struggled, but most importantly he believed and taught his players to believe. In 1988 Bruce took Western to the NCAA-1AA playoffs. It was a tremendous season and the ‘Necks finished at 10-2. Bruce was on top of the world. His enthusiasm was contagious. It was a wonderful time to be a Leatherneck.

Then it happened. Bruce went in for a routine physical, and the doctors found cancer–lots of it and in bad places. The prognosis was certain. It was just a matter of time. As he struggled through the next season and into the final stages of his illness, we became good friends. The guy was so upbeat, so optimistic, so positive. He was terminally ill, but people wouldn’t know it.

Near the end, February 1990, I was sitting in my office alone one morning with my thoughts. It was terrible outside: a freezing, subzero day with arctic winds. It was so bad classes had even been suspended. I was the only one in our office who made it in that day. As I sat at my desk looking at the just published Western News, the phone rang. Who in the world would be calling on a day like this? It was Bruce Craddock. He called to tell me thanks for putting an update about his condition in the Western News. I will never forget that conversation. He said in that raspy voice of his, “Hi Gordy, it’s me Bruce, how ya doing buddy?” There was no response from me. I simply couldn’t get anything out. A lump the size of a watermelon had formed in my throat. How could this man, literally on his death bed, call me, tell me thanks, and ask how I was feeling? The answer was simple. It was Bruce Craddock. I’m sure he was smiling.  He still maintained his positive attitude. I finally regained my composure; we had a nice visit. Two weeks later he died.

While most of that day is a blur, I do remember saying to those at the funeral that Bruce Craddock wasn’t really gone. Yes, his body had been taken from us, but his spirit would be with us forever. He had no regrets. For him every day was a great day to be savored and enjoyed. Despite grave adversity, Bruce had demonstrated a positive mental attitude to the end–the very end. He lived until he died. I mean really lived–with gusto and passion.

Coach lives on today. He was a mentor to many including his gridiron successor Randy Ball. Bruce’s legacy endured through Randy who along with Vice President for Advancement Larry Mortier would simply not be denied in bringing the St. Louis Rams summer training camp to Macomb. Randy and Larry believed with every fiber of their bodies that they could entice the Rams to Macomb and with the help of tremendous community support, did indeed get them here. Bruce would be so proud. 

I tell my Bruce Craddock story often when I speak to groups about the meaning of life and the importance of living. Bruce Craddock is high on my list of unforgettable people I have met at Western. That’s what makes this institution great: not the bricks and mortar, not the landscaping or the books, but the people. You have your own special memories of the people at Western who helped make you what you are today–who made a difference in your life. Gosh, it’s a great day. Take care.

Before I begin, Diane and I want to reach out and thank everyone for your kind words of love and support over the past 7 months.  Please know our intent has been to educate, share, and maybe provide some food for thought as we all continue our individual journeys through the fourth quarter of our lives.  

I told myself I wouldn’t do this again, but I am—writing about my health journey.  My intention was to put all references to me and my health in the “that’s over” bucket, but things did not work out that way.  Fortunately, what follows is, by and large, good news. Since I last wrote, I have had an epiphany of sorts, and it relates specifically to this life in the Fourth Quarter paradigm. It simply is this—we are all there or getting there and there is no turning back. Try as I might to set the clock back to the “Gordy Taylor of yore,” it just isn’t going to happen and my 78-year-old persona is not returning, and Father/Mother Time will simply not let me do so.   

Brief positive update—right knee seems to be in good shape (can’t say the same about the left one), right shoulder is working, totally off oxygen, adjusting to life with the feeding tube (PEG), and finally made it to Marco Island. So, why tell you all this? This is the “epiphany” part. I can now do what I did prior to “coming apart” seven months ago but just not with the same vigor and careless abandon that was my lifestyle before this latest “health episode.”  I am now walking again but my body says, “that’s good Gordy, but take it slow and come back gradually.” That is a difficult reality for me to digest but the old “pep” is simply not there. Diane reminds me (I need this from time to time) that recovery from pneumonia and sepsis can take up to six months or even longer.  I just passed the two-month mark, so I’m working on listening to my body and not my forty-year-old mind.   

There is a message here not just for the Taylors but for everyone. It is to remind ourselves that it is important to not postpone until tomorrow those things you can do today as today is the here and now and for some of us, tomorrow might not ever get here. Diane and I took that lovely Viking Danube River Cruise to Prague, Vienna, Budapest, and realistically, that will be our last overseas adventure as my marriage to PEG will preclude any such trips in the future.  We are glad we didn’t postpone taking that trip because, had we done so, it would never have happened so keep that in mind as you gaze into your crystal ball. Take the trip, see the kids and grandkids, go to a Final Four game, visit Wrigley Field or see the Green Monster at Fenway Park, call that friend you’ve lost touch with, or anything else that might be lurking out there on your bucket list.   

I will even be so bold as to suggest that tonight or tomorrow or simply soon, that you enjoy a quiet meal with your spouse, parent, significant other, or anyone else important to you.  Yes, Diane and I still “eat” together if you can call it that but it’s just not the same. I sit there and pour “product” as we call it, into PEG and Diane prepares “dinner for one,” and we are together.  But we are not sharing a steak or pizza or whatever. She eats and I “pour” and frankly it’s dispiriting.  

Part of the bonding experience and joy of being together was having a glass of wine before dinner.  Diane occasionally still does this, but the definition of occasionally has changed dramatically as there is something void and stale about sitting there sipping on a glass of wine while your partner “pours product.”  Is this a big deal in the grand scheme of things? Of course not, but still, it takes away from a shared pleasure that had become a fixture in our lives.  However, a trip to St. Jude’s in Memphis would provide some striking perspective.  Yes, Gordy and Diane, it could be so much worse.   

Message is simple—enjoy each day as it comes your way as the future remains the great unknown and today is a gift in the here and now. On a humorous note, people have suggested I pour wine directly into PEG.  I could do so but it misses the point of bonding together, so I have quickly learned to do without.  

We were watching tv the other night and a commercial for the weight loss product Ozempic flashed across the screen, and I laughed aloud.  Diane asked what I found so humorous about a commercial; I replied that I had discovered a “weight control” product all on my own—PEG!  I can control precisely how many calories I ingest in a day.  See, there is a positive aspect even in the most mundane of circumstances.  

As we all continue our mutual journeys through the Fourth Quarter, the advice I’ve mentioned before that Clint Eastwood gave as to how he continued to age with grace and vigor on the eve of his 90th birthday continues to ring in my ears. His response to the question was “Don’t let the old man in” and that is precisely what I intend to do. I hope you do too.   

Four years ago at the encouragement and urging of longtime friend, Mike Burke, the technology expertise from our daughter-in-law Margaret, and Diane’s willingness to co-edit entries, post each article, and navigate the public website www.gordyandthe4thquarter.blog became a reality.  My audience of “fourth quarter” readers are my focus, but I never seriously considered myself a “fourth quarter” member.  Sure, I’m almost 78, but me Gordy Taylor, frustrated jock, actually in the 7th or 8th inning or marching down the football field with a mere 10 or 11 minutes left to play in the game? Can’t be, couldn’t be, but recent events have made it clear that not only could it be but without a doubt I’m in that final quarter of life. 

Allow me to catch you up on why I am a “Fourth Quarter” member, and it is not mere years of the calendar.

September 5^th-16^th:  Celebrated our 55^th wedding anniversary by visiting Prague followed by a Viking Danube River Cruise from Regensburg, Germany to Budapest, Hungary.  Traveling with Ruth & Steve, Diane’s SIL & BIL, was extra special. The trip exceeded our expectations.  If we can give you any advice or encouragement, if you have been putting off travelling—don’t.  Make plans and don’t look back.

September 20^th:   Total right knee replacement outpatient surgery in Springfield, IL.  Played too many sports for too many years but all worth it.  Physical therapy followed.  Slowly the knee began to bend more as the weeks passed.

October 13^th:  While my knee and mobility were improving, I was more fatigued, coughing up mucus, and had a temperature.  Started oral antibiotics but didn’t improve.

October 25^th-30^th: Ole Gordy was not functioning 100% or anything above 80%, so off to McDonough District Hospital’s Emergency Department where I was diagnosed with aspiration pneumonia.  After days of getting antibiotics through an IV, I was well enough to return home.

Now it is important to “my story” to add something here.  In 2010 I had 5 days a week for 7 weeks radiation blasts in two areas of my throat to get rid of a base of tongue cancerous tumor.  Hooray, at the end, the tumor was eradicated.  However, as Diane says, “radiation is a gift that keeps on giving.”  It compromised my ability to swallow, the back of my tongue is not pliable, and the epiglottis, the flap in the throat that prevents food and water from entering the trachea and lungs, is weaker now that I’m in the 4^th quarter.  When I eat or drink, particles go into my lungs all the time which has resulted in my lung condition called bronchiectasis (airwaves fill up with mucus).

October 30^th:  I’m home but I need to increase my walking and push myself so that my knee replacement is successful.  Did you know that even when dismissed from a hospital and still take oral antibiotics that people still have pneumonia in their lungs?  I didn’t, but I know now.

December 30^th:  After a delightful Christmas visit with Ryan, Margaret, and 5-year-old Danny, I felt a malaise, no appetite, coughing more so back on two very strong oral antibiotics after a doctor’s visit.  Surely, this will do the trick. 

January 6^th:  I looked at “Dr. Diane” who was very concerned and worried and she said, “Gord, we have to go the ER again.”  I knew she was right.  Aspiration pneumonia again in both lungs AND sepsis which I’m told is very serious.  I am thankful and grateful Diane insisted we go because the ER doctor said that the longer sepsis is untreated the more likely the outcome can be fatal.   Once again, I was in the hospital with IV’s and oxygen.  Now this is getting old for me.  I asked the hospitalist what I could do to stop getting aspiration pneumonia since every case is getting worse than the last which eventually would be terminal.  Her reply was brief and direct: “Stop eating and drinking by mouth.”  I couldn’t believe it, but of course I could.

January 12^th:  Her diagnosis meant a return to a gastric-feeding tube (percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy) or PEG like I had when treated for cancer in 2010 when I couldn’t eat or drink anything. I had the surgery in the afternoon.  This means PEG is a part of my life and this is horrible, ghastly, life changing, and forever. No more popcorn, Diet Coke, pizza, Dairy Queen, or anything else that enters my body by mouth including water, milk, and wine.  PEG sticks out from my stomach adjacent to my belly button. I consume 9 cartons of Jevity 1.2 which amounts to roughly 2,300 calories per day by pouring it down the tube.  We are grateful we travelled to all the places on our wish list because taking a week’s worth of “food” results in 63 cartons—rather difficult to take on a plane or a ship. 

This is life-changing for Diane also.  Like most of us in the 4^th quarter, our social life is going out for meals, sharing meals with friends, and just the enjoyment of sharing a glass or two of wine. The first time with PEG, it was necessary to get nutrition and meds during the cancer journey.  BUT there was an ending to this.  Now it is forever.  She feels terrible eating in front of me because she is my caring and loving partner who is very empathetic, but she must continue to get nourishment.  After all she is my Dr. Diane.  Thanks to her for always taking care of me.  

When I was discharged, I had both PEG but also an oxygen machine with yards and yards of tubing so that wherever I went, I was getting oxygen adjusted from 1-2 liters depending on my level of activity. Some of this discussion is way over my head but thankfully Diane has a handle on what to do and how to do it.  I cannot express how much I have depended on her for all of this medical information and multiple appointments.  I spent almost a full month hooked up to oxygen approximately 23 hours a day as I slept, walked a little, and slept some more.  Sepsis and pneumonia make for a nasty tag team; I remain weak and compromised but thankfully am better. 

Add to this PEG which requires four feedings a.k.a. “meals” a day, so I sit on the couch as I pour product into the tubing that enters directly into my stomach. Remember, nothing enters my mouth. I do stand over a sink and wash water around in my mouth then spit it out–not a pretty sight.  Diane has to endure all this. While my situation is not to be envied, it is also extremely difficult to be the spouse watching all this unfold, knowing you absolutely have to eat enough to keep up your strength. Diane has lost weight and needs to eat in order to maintain her health. I worry about her.  My weight has gone from 151 to 156, and I need to get up to 165 or so.

In our meeting with my doctor, he said that while this is all good news, the journey is not yet over.  My doctors in concert with one another told us that the healing from my pneumonia will take months and patience is extremely important; I am attempting to deal with that issue.  Specifically, while I have been dealing with this since mid-September, I have only really been in recovery since the tandem of oxygen at home and insertion of PEG began on January 12th. 

Our odyssey has been made bearable by all our dear family and friends who have been there to support us these past few months. All of this has made it clear that I am clearly in that veritable Fourth Quarter and now just want to extend it as long as possible as Diane and I have many memories yet to create for ourselves, our family, and our friends. The possibility of getting aspiration pneumonia has decreased immeasurably. That’s good news! While PEG is no walk in the park, it does allow me to keep moving forward on my journey through life. The key word is LIFE.  The obvious decision if I wanted to live was to get the surgery.  We all know people who never got the chance to make the decision to live or die—I did. 

Finally, I met Diane on April 1,1967 (yes, April Fool’s Day), and had the good fortune she wanted to marry me on August 31, 1968. Little did I know she would be not only the “love of my life” for all the good times but my savior in these most challenging of times as well.  We both have gone through some “down” times emotionally and psychologically since September, but we remind ourselves to take it one day at a time.  The Fourth Quarter continues…

As we close out 2023, it is probably as good a time as any to reflect on dates that have shaped our generation and the one that went before us and the one that is following us. For those born in the late 20’s, maybe the onset of the Great Depression on “Black Monday” October 29, 1929, would be a benchmark. Certainly, December 7, 1941, and the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and our entry into World War II is another. Maybe the dropping of atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki also resonates with those who were born too late to be members of Tom Brokaw’s Greatest Generation. 

That brings us to the Boomers born roughly between 1946 and 1964. We older members of that group recall that May 1961 morning when astronaut Alan Shepherd was the first American to travel into space or maybe February 20, 1962, when John Glenn circled the earth.  We all remember where we were when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963.  It’s been 60 years, but it might as well have been yesterday.  I was a senior at Hinsdale Township High School when over the loudspeaker, we found out Kennedy had been shot.  Thirty minutes later, we were told he had died.  As if this wasn’t traumatic enough, two days later on live TV the handcuffed Lee Harvey Oswald was led through a crowd of officials when Jack Ruby lunges forward, shoots and kills Oswald.

In 1968, Robert Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. were shot and killed.  Each of us might also have personal “Vietnam dates” as the war unfolded before us on the nightly news.  For me, I can clearly remember when CBS Commentator Eric Sevareid interviewed Walter Cronkite who told the nation “it was time to come home.” Shortly thereafter, President Johnson announced he would not seek reelection.  And it all happened right before our eyes.  What makes these examples stand out in the collective minds of the “fourth quarter” group is that we watched them unfold in real time on television.  The shock of seeing these events up close and personal gave them a clarity denied our predecessors.

More recent generations were included when classrooms around the United States on January 28, 1986, could see the first teacher travel into space.  Then 73 seconds into its flight, the Challenger broke apart. And again we saw it “live.”  The clarion call of later generations clearly has to be what has become known simply as “9-11.”  Who can ever forget seeing the planes slicing into the Twin Towers, the explosions, people running through the streets to escape crumbling buildings. 

Diane and I were visiting friends Michael and Judy Mason in Florida.  The television was on, but we weren’t paying that much attention until every channel had bulletins scrolling along the bottom with “special alert,” “breaking news,” or “warnings” filling up the screens.  The date was January 6, 2021—a date that changed American political history forever.  More recently on February 24, 2022, we began watching the war in Ukraine take place, again before our eyes.  

These dates, as they relate to each generation, define us, shape us, bring us together, and set us apart from those born both before and after us.  Boomers grew up after WW II and were shaped by Vietnam.  We have lived in nine different decades. We used an operator to make a phone call, bought vinyl records, and watched black and white tv.  We actually wrote letters to people and were here when the computer age took off.  Early Boomers’ friends had polio, meningitis, measles, mumps, and other diseases since eradicated. I had a Schwinn bike with balloon tires and collected baseball cards. I could actually make enough money with a summer job to pay for most of a year of school at a public university. 

These days are long gone. I can’t even begin to understand the complexities facing the youth and middle-aged Americans of today in terms of technology, world unrest, and now domestic turmoil on multiple levels. I tell myself that I’ll be gone before some of these nightmare scenarios become a reality, but my children and grandchildren won’t and that concerns and worries me. What is to become of them. We have so much international turmoil across the universe; you can “pick your continent” as to where a war or terrorist act will break out next. Today it’s Israel, Palestine, and Hamas and in the United States we can’t even seem to agree that yes, Hamas is rampant and full of terrorists and thugs at best. At home, and I won’t take sides, we are incredibly dysfunctional and chaotic, and some folks don’t even believe we should continue to have three separate but equal branches of government. What did I just type? How stupid is that?  

As I take stock of all this, a couple of things have dawned on me. The time has come to reach out to those I love and tell them so. Diane and I find ourselves focusing more and more on our kids, grandkids, and immediate family which now consists of Paul and Marsha Paulsen and Ruth and Steve Drew, Diane’s siblings. 

As our respective and collective Fourth Quarters move on, we are moving down the field with less time on the clock to pursue our dreams and maybe even an ambition or two.  It is time to begin thinking about moving closer to one of our three children as Father/Mother Time is there looking over our proverbial shoulders. This is not imminent but still as we age, it’s there and needs to be addressed and I’m confident the same is true for many of you.

Yes, we have immediate access to keep in touch with others.  The internet has opened our ability to connect with email, texts, cell phones, FaceTime, videos, photos, Instagram, and web pages to name a few platforms.  During the recent pandemic when there was an unprecedented time of isolation, technology afforded us a way to keep in touch.  However, with all the quick access to so many, are we closer?  We “Fourth Quarter” individuals certainly will never forget those dates in our lives when current events flashed across our tv screens.  I wonder what will be next?   

Diane and I were visiting son Ryan, his wife Margaret, and their 4 and one-half (I’m told the one-half is important when you’re four) son Dan. They do lots of game playing and pretty much the same games we played as kids—Old Maid, UNO, Go Fish, Chutes and Ladders. As I watched these games being played, I decided that Dan should be in Las Vegas playing Blackjack or whatever they play out there, as he wins a stunning 99 to 99.5% of the time. It’s incredible. All of a sudden he goes from certain defeat to a stunning and even more sudden victory. The kid’s parents just can’t seem to win.  It made me think of Diane and me and our kids and we experienced the same scenario 40-50 years ago with them. Amazing. 

A little research was in order and it took some time to find, but there in the Taylor family archives was a story from the Summer 1992 Western News that made me smile as it poignantly tells my story about “letting” our kids always win and at what point in our lives do we let maturity and Father/Mother Time make us able to be mutually competitive with our children. What follows is my story and every time I read it, it makes me smile. Hope you will too.

Change is Inevitable, So Enjoy It

Western News, Summer of 1992

I must be getting old.  Recently I spotted a young man at Macomb High School wearing a letter jacket with the number ’94 displayed on one sleeve.  My mind raced (sort of).  “Ninety-four,” I thought.  “What happened to the mighty Hinsdale Red Devils of the Class of ’64?  Are we really 30 years older than today’s high schoolers?”

A look in the mirror confirmed my fears.  Where did those deep creases across my face come from, and how did I get so many chins, and what happened to those once clear blue eyes that used to twinkle with mischief and anticipation?  Who put those bags under my eyes, and why am I 5-foot-11 when I used to be 6 feet tall?  And, for heaven’s sake, what is this gray hair doing on my temples?  It occurred to me that, just maybe, I had arrived at, dare I say it, MIDDLE AGE. 

I guess I should have recognized the signs.  Things like being the parent of children 21, 18, and 12.  Or upcoming college tuition for a daughter and a son in the same year.  Or making a less than celebrated move from leftfield to rightfield at the request of my softball coach.  Or my net game in tennis disappearing—not diminishing—but disappearing.

But the most obvious clue that middle age had arrived was when I lost in “driveway” basketball.  You know.  You defeat your children year after year playing one-on-one at the hoop you put up in the driveway to prove to yourself that you still have it.  I never lost to Gordon Taylor III.  I was bigger and stronger.  I was a man; he was a boy.  Even if he was the ace three-point shooter on the Macomb High School boys’ varsity basketball team, I could still psyche him out when the game was on the line.

Then it happened.  I stood in the driveway prepared for our usual mortal combat and something changed.  I was the same, 46 years of sinewy muscle and raw talent ready for my annual triumph.  What was different was Gordon Taylor III.  I looked toward the front door and out he loped—all 6’3” 160 pounds of him.  He looked different.  He was different.  He was relaxed, confident, poised, self-assured.

What had I created?  What happened to the cannon fodder of past years?

The rest is history.  It was UGLY, painful, degrading, and sad.  Even Gordon felt bad as he patted me on the head, led me to the front step, sat me down, brought me a coke and oxygen, and said, “The King is dead, long live the King!”

I knew then that the torch had been stolen, er, passed. 

There are other signs that my life is changing.  Staying up for the evening news is a challenge, contemporary music makes me ill, my mind says yes but my stomach no, and quiet nights at home are times to be savored and enjoyed, not dreaded. 

Where is all this going?  The answer is simple.  Change is inevitable.  When he was on campus last year, Bill Hewitt, the former CEO of John Deere said, “The only constant in the world today is change.”

Think about that for a moment, and it should help you rejoice in the past, enjoy the present, and look forward to the future.  I realize I will never be younger than I am today.  That can be a threatening thought or the impetus to motivate me to enjoy every minute that life has to offer.  I choose the latter course.  I hope you do too.   

Today, all three kids have departed Macomb creating families of their own. The basketball pole, rim, and net remain and for whatever reason, every five years or so I faithfully cut down and replace the old net to be replaced by a fresh new one. Occasionally I will find an old basketball, pump it up, put on a pair of shorts, and shoot for a while. For me, it brings back pleasant memories of days gone by and certainly some of the most precious ones. I regret none of it, not even when the boys both went from the vanquished to the victors. Hmm, let’s see. Dan is four (and a half) and Gordy Taylor is 77. We could lower the basket to five feet or so and maybe I could entice him to engage me in a game or two. I’m smiling and I like my plan.

The Fourth Quarter moves on.