I wrote the following on July 21, 2021 before taking Amtrak to Chicago and Metra to Grayslake.  It was intended to be a bit of closure on recent happenings in my life, but you will soon find out, it was nothing more than light showers before a health hurricane became a part of our new lexicon which is the focus for Blog #21 (soon to come).   

July 21^st:  Not sure where I’m going these days.  My mind, what’s left of it, seems to be on three distinct paths these days:

• How does one deal with the ongoing complexities of Covid?
• How can I spend more time with my family without overdoing?
• Health issues in the fourth quarter?

Let’s start with, strangely, the easiest of these–Covid. Maybe it’s the Boomer Generation as we make our last stand for relevance in a changing world but most of us seem agreed on one tenet, “Get the damn shot. No muss, no fuss, no political intrigue, get the shot and maybe, as a nation we can move on to other issues facing the nation and the world.”  In 1954, I was a polio shot recipient and nothing could have made my parents happier. No more worrying every summer about the possibility of one or more of their sons ending up in an Iron Lung.  It was good news all around and like mumps, measles, and other diseases a major health concern had been eradicated. Of course, there is now the reality that some of these avoidable diseases are returning as anti-vaxxers decide, it is their constitutional right not inoculate their own children when fortunate for them, their parents had the wisdom to get them vaccinated.  One wise person wrote, “The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.”  Let’s hope that a critical mass does get vaccinated in the days ahead so we can get everyone’s kids back to work and our grandchildren back in school.

Now let’s talk about family:  Diane and I have three kids–Jennifer and her crew in Corpus Christi, TX; Gordon III and his family in the Cleveland area, and Ryan and his in Grayslake, IL.  There are six grandchildren and, of course, like all grandparents we love them all and they are the apples of our eye. The challenge is how to get around to see everyone without spending all our time “on the road.”  Get out a map of the United States and you can see our dilemma as everyone is spread out in areas that take time to get to. Ryan–no problem as Grayslake is four hours away but Chagrin Falls, Ohio, is nine hours away and Corpus Christi a full day by plane. This may not seem like much of an issue to “young” people, but while the ultimate destination is always worth the travel, getting there is harder than it used to be and takes a lot out of these two old-timers.  My challenge is to realize it’s just not like driving to the other side of town; I envy those of you with that situation.  I need to wrap my arms around the fact that we just might have to settle for seeing the “distant” families once or hopefully twice a year as Father Time or Mother Time keep ticking.  Of course, they could all come see us but the amount of planning that entails for each of them with young kids is incredible.  I’ve seen that first hand. Put this on the list of “small problems.”

I’ve had some minor health issues lately.  In March 2010 I began a difficult journey with base of tongue cancer that involved 35 blasts of radiation over the course of five week and concurrently 4 chemo treatments with cisplatin (the Red Devil).  I have been fortunate to be NED—no evidence of disease for the past 11 years.  The Taylors are most grateful.  Now, don’t worry, I’m fine and this story has a happy ending so read on without me talking about my obituary. I continue to walk 4-5 miles most days and feel good most of the time.  I love chocolate, ice cream bars, and Diet Coke.  Sitting on our deck, Diane and I enjoy a glass of wine before dinner.  I am not the man I was at 30 or even 40 or 50 or 60 or good God 70, but I’m hanging in there.  It is apparent that Gordy Taylor is slowing down a bit and while not a real “nap taker,” I no longer fight lying down after working in the yard or returning from a walk.  Squamous skin cancer regularly appears as punishment for an unhealthy preoccupation with the sun but as long as I keep melanoma at bay, I pretty much live my life with impunity.  Both Diane and I had bouts with Covid but are fully vaccinated and moving on with our lives. Yet, age is now always out there, lurking around, playing games with my mind, and making me wonder:  Is this it? Is something happening to me? Should I be worried?

BOOM! Here goes: I just had my most serious health episode since 2010. It all started on Sunday, June 20th. I had a rash on my back and was looking for something to help me sleep that night and found something called Ativan in the “Taylor pill arsenal.” It said take 1-2 at bedtime for itching so I was good to go. Now, I’m a guy, so if one is good then two must clearly be even better.  I went sound to sleep and woke up the next morning with a mild pain in my neck which was probably caused by my “overdose” that resulted in sleeping incorrectly all night.  I didn’t think much about it and on the 21st Diane and I headed up to visit the Grayslake Taylors.  On the 22nd I took a Metra to Chicago and Diane stayed behind to bond with 2 ½ year old Dan.  I flew to Corpus Christi on the 23rd and hooked up with the Stevensons and Gordon III for a weekend of family stories, walking, dining, and good fun.  My neck continued to bother me so I had a couple of chiropractor visits but I was surviving, not happy about it, but getting by. 

I was scheduled to leave Corpus on the 28th as I was interviewing Dr. Huang, our new president at Western Illinois University on the 30th on my local access tv show.  Southwest texted that my flight was cancelled but they could get me “out” on the 29th which, while extremely difficult, could be done in time to get to Macomb for that 10:30 a.m. interview on the 30th.  Are you still with me?

Here we go–planes, shuttles, and cars. I arrived at the Corpus airport in plenty of time for the 4:35 flight to Houston with a very tight connection to Midway.  I looked up on the board, and there was that word DELAYED. My heart sank; I’ll never make it.  However, miraculously I did. I got off the plane in Houston and the gate to Midway was 10 minutes away and my flight was leaving in 6.  Hooray, all my walking paid off and I was on the plane with a mere 30 seconds to spare.  I arrived at Midway and met Diane who had driven down from Grayslake and got us a hotel reservation.  We were asleep at 11 p.m. and headed to Macomb at 4:45 a.m. We arrived at 35 Indian Trail at 8 a.m. and, and I met President Huang at 10:30 a.m. and 90 minutes later, the interview was “a wrap.” OK, why didn’t I reschedule the interview? I had already done so once and I felt the need to get “his story” out to alumni and friends of Western in a timely manner. Bad judgement on my part? I suppose, but sometimes you just do what you have to do.

Now what about that NECK? All the travel did me no favors and on the evening of the 30th Diane said, “I hate to mention this but the left side of your neck looks swollen. Is it?”  I also had noticed it as well and the next day, after some Diane Taylor phone magic we were on our way to West Burlington, Iowa, to meet with my ear, nose, throat (ENT) specialist.  We were both in a state of shock.  After 11 years, had “it” returned? Was this the beginning of a downward spiral?  We were both very and I mean very worried! 

The doctor felt my lymph nodes, put the tube down my nose to look at the back of my tongue, gave me ultrasound and then said, “I think you need to get a CT-scan, just in case.”  We inquired, what does “just in case” mean, and he explained that while he was optimistic, we needed to check things out. If the CT-scan showed something, then it would be necessary for a needle biopsy into the node he had found and we would go from there.  Radiation?  No, that was a one-shot deal in 2010.  Other options would have to be explored. Holy smokes, July 2-9 was a very long week as we waited for the CT-scan which was scheduled late the afternoon of the 9th. And the NECK. It was getting worse each day. I now could not move it to the left or right and the pain was extreme.  What was happening to Gordy Taylor?  That weekend seemed like it would never end. On Monday, “Dr.” Diane was on the phone and got the news–NO CANCER and the happy dance began. More checkups would be necessary but for now good news. They said to come back in three months. Hell no, I need relief for my neck now, the pain is unbearable.  Soon a prescription for prednisone and a regimen of physical therapy were in the pipeline.

On Wednesday afternoon, July 14th, I entered Advanced Rehab in Macomb. Diane had to drive me there because the neck trauma was that acute. I told the therapist “Please help me, I can’t go on this way.”  He took some readings and the search was on for what had mysteriously caused all this difficulty. It appears that fateful evening of June 20th, I had somehow gotten some muscles wedged between a couple of vertebrae.  Really, yes really. Improvement has been very gradual but it is happening and my range of motion is improving and the pain relenting. 

And that’s my latest 4th Quarter story.  I am coming to terms with the reality that someday everything might not work out in my favor, but this time at least, it pretty much seems I’m back on track.  I wonder how would I have navigated these perilous waters of the past month without Diane and the answer is pretty obvious to me–not well.  Sometimes the stress of health issues test relationships.  I’m grateful that after almost 53 years we are still managing to travel this tapestry of our lives together and with optimism and hope for the future. Take each day as it comes and enjoy them as well.  Maybe the old woman I ran into on the beach in Florida decades ago said it best. “Young man, everyday above ground is a great day.” I need to remember that.

She has been “gone” for 52 years but remains vivid in my memory as one of the most extraordinary people to be part of the framework of my life.  I feel so sad that she missed the best part of my life:  marriage to Diane, our kids, rewarding career, and all the rest that comes with time. I talk about being in the 4th Quarter of my life.  She never lived through the 2nd Quarter of hers.  Mom was everything to my three brothers and me.  We were born on February 9th, 10th, 11th, and 20th so the family joke was that Dad had to finally send her away during the month of May.  Connie Pranger was the “it” girl of her generation.  Raised on the south side of Chicago, she had it all–brains, personality, athleticism, and beauty.  At the age of 18, she married optometrist and stellar athlete Gordy Taylor who was 26.  They were a couple destined for great things; it didn’t turn out that way.  It started out with great flourish but then, as happens to some folks, the breaks simply did not come their way, at least not good ones. 

I have wonderful memories of the “early years.”  My parents were Ozzie and Harriet and we boys were not My Three Sons but rather My Four Sons. We all thrived in a modest, very modest home with three bedrooms and one bathroom.  The Taylors made it work. I fondly remember days after school when I’d bring a friend home to play and soon there would be cookies and milk for us to enjoy.  On more than one occasion I’d hear, “Boy, Gordy, your sister is sure good looking.”  I’d smile and reveal who that beauty really was—MOM.  Connie was fiercely protective of her sons and once after an article appeared in the local paper critical of young people, she wrote an editorial stating that not all kids were societal problems and proceeded to talk about her sons and what outstanding young citizens we were.  I still have that editorial and smile every time I reread it.  She was loyal to each of us and was always there for us. 

Mom took pride in her home and was admired, loved, and respected by everyone.  She even played a mean shortstop.  Mom had a quick wit and a wonderful sense of humor which she needed living in a house with five males.  Heck, even Caesar the wonder dog was male.  Then it all ended. Just like that it was over and her world and ultimately that of the entire Taylor family would come crashing down in a disaster of the highest order. On Monday, August 27, 1962, her doctor called to say the results were in–Connie Taylor had tuberculosis.  The next day she was admitted to the Cook County Tuberculosis Sanitarium.  Our lives were to be changed forever.  I was 16 years old.

Back then, due to the contagious nature of the disease, admission to a TB sanitarium meant the patient remained there until recovery or death.  None of us had ever experienced life without Mom who was the chief of our household.  Suddenly Mom wasn’t there to greet us after school, hug us good bye, make sure our homework was complete, or there to do the thousands of things Moms do for their families.  Oldest brother, David, was off at college, so it fell on me to fill in around the house, including meal preparation.  We almost starved.  

Dad worked long hours and brothers Doug 11 and Greg 5 did what they could but long before Michael Keaton would popularize the term “Mr. Mom” I became that person.  As a high school sophomore, I dusted, vacuumed, changed beds, did dishes, cleaned toilets, washed clothes, watched my brothers, and worked part-time at the local grocery store.  Doug and Greg were not allowed to visit Mom inside the sanitarium because of their ages, so it was up to me to pack up my younger siblings in the venerable ’55 green Chevy and drive them to a location about 50 yards from a window outside Mom’s room.  I would then run inside and escort her to that same window so she could wave to her two youngest sons.  It was awful, but it was the best we could do. 

Connie Taylor never gave up.  She told us she’d get well and soon we’d all be together.  She always had a brave facade, but I think we all knew better. Her condition slowly improved; however, she had major surgery and lost all of one lung and part of another. The empty chair at the kitchen table remained that way for another year.  When we finally got her home, the old zip was gone. The joie de vivre was absent and her pain was evident. Smiles were forced and her once bright eyes dimmed. 

It just couldn’t happen, but fate would simply not leave us alone. The Taylors had no money.  Between medical expenses and financial setbacks for my dad, the Taylor family was sinking like a rock. Friends stopped coming to visit their friend, Connie, as they were afraid they would contract TB from her, reminiscent of AIDS a decade later.  We were naive and didn’t see it happening, but Mom found an ally, an insidious, cruel, unforgiving, and incrementally poisonous ally–ALCOHOL.  In her mind, she had lost everything–health, looks, friends, money–all gone.  However, concealed from us, she could find momentary relief in vodka, apparently lots of vodka.  I’m pretty confident Dad knew it was happening; their marriage was crumbling under the weight of all the adversity embroiling them.  He pretty much just looked the other way. He just didn’t know what to do. 

I went off to college at WIU, but impending disaster was in the air. Poor Mom just couldn’t catch a break.  In 1968 she had a radical hysterectomy and then in 1969 the infamous Hong Kong Flu struck which dealt her the final blow. It was June, and I’d momentarily left graduate school at the University of Florida to come see her as David called and told me, “Something is terribly wrong with Mom.  You better come home.”  He had his suspicions.

At the end of my week’s stay, things seemed pretty good.  I questioned David’s judgement in calling me.  I’d been out working in the yard, was sweating, and came in to say hi to Mom.  Sitting on the table next to her bed was a large glass of Pepsi.  I asked if I could take a sip and before she could yell, “Don’t do that!” I had taken a gulp.  It was too late.  It was almost straight vodka.  I can visualize this as if it were happening “in the moment.”  I smiled, said nothing, left her room, and went back outside. I sat in the back yard, alone, sobbing uncontrollably.  It was the most alone I’ve ever felt in my life. This just couldn’t be happening, but it was.  Connie Taylor was a raging alcoholic. I flew back to Gainesville a couple of days later to complete my graduate course work.  By the end of July, it was over.  Mom was dead. 

To this day, I lament that we couldn’t help her to help herself.  We didn’t, but I’d never heard of AA or other alternative programs to deal with alcohol abuse.  On multiple dimensions, 47 was way too young for the once bright, promising life of Constance Pranger Taylor to be dimmed forever.  I never for an instant blame Mom for any of this.  Financial calamity of the highest order, a marriage that was going to end, and spirit-draining health disasters one after another were simply more that she could endure.

In 2021 we might have seen a way to provide the help she needed. In the 1960s we did not.  I sometimes wonder if my life experience might have seen a parallel trajectory.  Had I been diagnosed with base of tongue cancer in 1970 and not 2010 would I be writing this?  I was blessed that medical science was there to save me and along with the loving care of Diane here I am. 

We all have our stories and this is part of mine. I love you, Mom.

• 

On February 20, 2021, I celebrated my 75th birthday. Goodness, I’m now in the 8th decade of my life in spite of a nasty bout of base of tongue cancer in 2010, a complete shoulder replacement in 2015, and a serious three-week case of Covid-19 in November 2020. I’m the lucky one in my birth family as everyone else has passed away: Mom, 47; Dad, 74; brothers David, 71; Douglas, 54; and Greg, 59. The fact that I’m still here has resulted in quite a bit of thinking on my part lately. When one turns 75, it’s time to take stock of the changes that have taken place over the years.

The signs of aging are certainly there for me to see. I was in the barbershop the other day and had a discussion with Jerry Tyson who has been taking care of my hair for 30+ years. I thanked him for doing such a nice job of cutting my “blonde locks,” and he replied, “Pretty much your hair is gray.” Really? I came home, told Diane what had happened, and she looked at me and just smiled. Gray it is! After my cancer event, I now walk instead of jog. A look in the mirror sees my chest having sunk down to where my stomach should be. How the heck did that happen? I used to work in the yard for 7 to 8 hours with seldom a break; whereas, now, a couple of hours of raking, weeding, planting, or mowing is plenty for one day.

The Taylors go to bed earlier these days and wake up with the birds. Three meals a day is a memory. A big lunch results in a light dinner. I am no longer allowed to go on the second story roof to clean out the gutters—good idea, Diane. With age has come pills for a compromised thyroid, severe restless legs, and early-stage glaucoma. One last thing—stairs are becoming an issue and the move to a one-story home is on the radar. So now what?

Birthday #75 began with a lovely walk on the beach with high school friend, Michael Mason. Upon our return, Judy Mason and Diane quit talking immediately. I knew Diane had been up to something but didn’t know what. Regarding birthday and Christmas presents, Gordy Taylor has everything he could possibly want. What was she up to? Diane was on her iPhone and iPad more than usual and got secret phone calls. She just smiled again and reminded me I was having a birthday. What the dickens was going on? I would soon find out.

Midmorning she asked the Masons and me to join her to watch something on the TV. Diane had a twinkle in her eye. Suddenly, a montage of familiar faces appeared on the screen, music played, and one-by-one each person spoke to their relationship with me over the years. During the course of the day, we watched four splendid group videos: the men of Tau Kappa Epsilon and Delta Sigma Phi respectively, close friends, and finally my family. It was an extraordinary trip down Memory Lane with over 150 well-wishers. It was like listening to my own eulogy in real time with the good fortune of being alive to hear it.

And there was more still to come. After dinner we had a Zoom birthday party with our kids, spouses, cousins, in-laws, and grandkids. It was wonderful seeing their faces since Covid had made person-to-person visits impossible. Then after special birthday cake was served, with minimal cake and a frosting overload—just the way I like it, Diane brought out a 24 x 36 poster board. On it were printed columns—one by Jennifer, one by Gordon, and one by Ryan in which each one wrote 25 memories of “Life with Dad” for a total of 75. WOW!! I took the poster and exited to our bedroom where with a glass of wine, I read what my three kids had written. I laughed; I cried. It was incredible. My family had somehow found a way to bestow on me a one-of-a-kind gift I will treasure for the rest of my days. The words of Yankee baseball Hall of Famer Lou Gehrig seemed appropriate, “Today, I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

As I enter the 4th quarter of my life a bit further each day, I am grateful for the many gifts that have come my way. I’ve seen too many friends leave this world too soon and that makes me see the wisdom of living each day to the fullest. A dear friend once told me, “Gordy, every day above ground is a great day.” She’s right!

I try to remember the important events like my first date with Diane, a special lunch we shared in Sorrento, Italy, overlooking the Mediterranean, and, of course, the birth of our kids and grandchildren. I try to “make a difference” in my life and hope when I leave the stage, I leave things a little better than I found them. Clearly, 75 is not my beginning but then again, fortunately, not the end either as there are footprints in the sand yet to be made and memories still to come. As Jackie Gleason was known for saying, “And away we go…”

Only a couple of months have passed since I took fingers to keys but it seems like years. There has been post-election drama, the hard to comprehend worsening of COVID deaths and destruction, the muddled vaccine roll out (but let’s be grateful, it is rolling out), the unbelievable chaos at our capitol by anarchists, and a presidential inauguration for starters. As if that is not staggering enough, and clearly it is, add in the celebration of Christmas, one of our holiest days of the year. I naively had hoped that the 25th of December might just mark the beginning of the promise that, as Americans, we might just pull together and unite again in pursuit of the American Dream. I was wrong.

I will let the pundits, philosophers, historians, and deep thinkers sort out all of the above and simply do what I think I am reasonably good at, that being, how does Gordy Taylor look at that which is important to me, and of course, that is family, friends, and our mutual journeys through life.

I don’t know who to thank, but recently somebody “out there” was kind enough to send my way “The Train of Life” by Malcolm Tilsed who is unknown to me but as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, he speaks for me:

“Life is like a journey on a train–With its stations…With changes of routes…And with accidents! At birth we boarded the train and met our parents, and we believe they will always travel on our side. However, at some station our parents will step down from the train, leaving us on this journey alone. As time goes by, other people will board the train, and they will be significant i.e. our friends, children, and even the love of our life. Many will step down and leave a permanent vacancy. Others will go so unnoticed that we don’t realize that they vacated their seats which is very sad when you think about it. This train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy, expectations, hellos, goodbyes, and farewells. Success consists of having a good relationship with all the passengers…requiring that we give the best of ourselves. The mystery to everyone is we do not know at which station we ourselves will step down. So we must live in the best way–love, forgive, and offer the best of who we are. It is important to do this because when the time comes for us to step down and leave our seat empty–we should leave behind beautiful memories for those who will continue to travel on the train of life. I wish you a joyful journey this year on the train of life. Reap success and give lots of love. More importantly, give thanks for the journey! Lastly, I thank you for being one of the passengers on my train.”

We can all relate to our “own train ride through life,” and it is interesting how in one short paragraph, the journey each of us takes can be encapsulated succinctly and without verbosity or idle chatter. My train continues down the track. My parents and three brothers have all exited the train. In addition even more friends and other loved ones have exited than seems fair to me. I miss them. Each leaves wonderful memories. I do my best not to focus on the sadness each departure brings my way but rather the joy of knowing them. For Diane and me, our train keeps chugging along as our six grandchildren, family members, and new friends have gotten onboard. I have not yet met THE Engineer nor do I intend to for quite some time. Thus far the ride has been everything I could have imagined. We trust our journey will continue for many years to come. So it’s chug, chug, chug and may your own ride be a healthy, happy, productive, and long.

My last blog entry was October 5th which now seems like years ago. We are all very tired from what Covid has done to our families and us. In all my recent blog entries, I stressed the need to follow the 3 W’s of Covid-19 precautions: wear a mask, wash your hands, and watch your social distancing. Additionally, at the request of our hospital’s CEO, I interviewed 3 doctors and a health professional on Macomb’s tv channel outlining specific Covid facts and precautions.

Diane and I have been compliant through all of this and follow all prescribed guidelines. We practice what we preach. Diane has almost been a hermit since we returned to Macomb from Florida at the end of March. Her last trip to Hy-Vee was December 2019. The mask is not my cup of tea, but I wore it. This is our story:

November 7th: Diane didn’t feel right—nothing to pinpoint. She went to bed very early. I decided to watch TV and treated myself to a delicious Dove ice cream bar which strangely I could not taste. I could not smell. How come?

8th: Diane had a headache in her sinus areas, felt like her head weighed ten pounds, couldn’t taste or smell anything, didn’t want to eat anything. Now I’m not feeling well at all: chills and night sweats, cannot taste or smell, and feeling lousy.

9th: Now I have a lack of energy, coughed up mucus, chest feels heavy. Before I could see my doctor, I was told to get a Covid-19 test which I did at the McDonough District Hospital drive-thru—no waiting at all! That was good news. In addition to the previous symptoms, Diane adds intestinal issues to her list and so do I. Neither one of us has ever had a temperature.

10th: Diane’s symptoms continued. I slept quite a bit during the day which I never do. I felt worse with each passing hour. I’m expectorating more mucus and a rough cough shows up.

11th: I woke up with more chest congestion and had a rattling in my lungs which concerns me. My doctor tells me to get a chest X-ray at the hospital. The ER staff prescribes an antibiotic and a steroid. With each passing day, I feel worse and worse with lots of mucus. Do I have pneumonia?

13th: Not a lucky day—McDonough County Health Department called with my test results—POSITIVE. What? You have to be kidding me. I follow all the rules and Diane seldom leaves the house. Diane had a virtual appointment with her doctor to get an antibiotic for her “sinus” issues. Now she has to get a Covid test.

14th: I continue my downward spiral; Diane is on the mend.

15th: Diane is fine but is fatigued. I am worse—more mucus.

16th: Oh my God, Diane tests positive! Really? Can this be happening to her too? Guess she should have been more careful who she sleeps with. But she is ok! She really thought it was going to be a serious sinus infection but NO.

18th: We get daily text surveys from the health department in order to inform them of our overall symptoms. Gordy and Diane are officially cleared of isolation and are released back into the general public. Diane had a mild case; my dance with the virus has been much worse because of my compromised immune system from chemo and radiation 10 years ago and a chronic bronchial condition. Our age is also a factor but we have numerous positives with our overall health status.

19th: Finally, I feel better. I have not left our home for 10 days; this has been absolutely excruciating for me BUT that reveals the severity of this insidious virus. When I’m ok, a part of my daily regimen is to walk about 4 miles—haven’t done that in over a month. On November 24th, I am scheduled for a follow-up chest X-ray and hopefully will be able to put this behind me. I did a couple of errands and then picked up some sticks in our yard—nothing strenuous. But I was nevertheless fatigued. I don’t like this at all.

20th: Covid-19 likes to remind me that I’m not 100%. Today is not a good day but it is not a bad day. I’m told fatigue could be a factor for weeks. I don’t know if I could be a “long hauler.” In medical surveys of recovering Covid patients, loss of taste and smell and fatigue are still present in people who are not contagious but recovering.

So why are we telling our story? The answer is simple: Covid is real, it is not the flu, it is not a joke, it is not a “hoax,” and it is not fake news. Don’t ask us because we don’t know how we got the virus. But we did. The virus is extremely contagious. If you suddenly cannot taste or smell, you might want to get a test. Our symptoms were different from each other; the reality of Covid-19 is the same. When people hear that their tests are positive, they are scared. We were no exception. Both of us have had our share of anxiety and sadness with the virus. The unknown variables are worrisome. As Thanksgiving approaches, we wish you well and encourage everyone to be vigilant, careful, and safe. When we have our health, we want other things. When we don’t have our health, it is all we want.

Diane and I had a difficult night October 5, 2020, absorbing what we witnessed on TV as events unfolded in real time regarding the President’s response after contracting Covid-19. Then this morning, I received an email from former Purdue University Alumni Director, Larry Preo, which included the following editorial in the Washington Post. Ken Beckley is a much-respected alumni professional who served as the head of the Indiana University Alumni Association. Ken is a person whose integrity and honesty make him a cherished friend. I’ll let his words speak for themselves.

My wife and I got the virus. I got better. We had to say goodbye over FaceTime. Many Covid-19 patients die alone, without family by their sides. My wife was one of them. The two of us were strict about wearing face masks, washing and sanitizing our hands, and physical distancing. Yet the insidiousness of the coronavirus somehow let it infect both of us anyway. I’ll never know how, where, and when we contracted it.

What is the lesson of two lives shockingly upended? I cannot persuade those who refuse to follow all recommended common-sense health precautions. Some people still believe the world is flat. But I appeal to everyone else. Please wear the recommended face coverings, physical distance and never ever touch your faces without washing or sanitizing your hands. Those practices may not have spared my family, but they can still protect others. Despite the national government’s ongoing inaction, or what state and local governments have been trying to do, it is up to each of us to do everything we can to stop the pandemic.

She had a pedicure three days before her first symptom and an MRI at an imaging center one day after that, always wearing a mask. We attended a funeral where she spoke the afternoon before manifesting her first symptom, but we were not in proximity to anyone and no one else who attended is known to have had the virus.

On August 9th, Audrey complained of her legs hurting. The condition disappeared later in the day, and her activities were normal. The following morning, she awoke unable to move her legs. After seven hours in the ER, I drove her home. None of the professionals who looked after her mentioned the possibility of Covid-19. Instead, after taking MRIs, they suspected a flare-up of multiple sclerosis.

That night, I experienced chills, body aches, and a headache. Those symptoms disappeared by the following afternoon. We both tested for the virus on August 12th. Our son came from Indianapolis to be with us in case we had more physical problems. (After 18 days at our home, he tested negative.) The following morning, Audrey was confused and unable to move her legs again. When the EMTs quizzed her, the only question she could answer was the name of the U.S. president. “Trump,” she mumbled. (She was not a fan.)

Admitted to the hospital with a suspicion of the coronavirus, Audrey was moved to isolation in the ICU within two days. Her body’s demand for oxygen from outside sources was growing. Mentally, she was sharp. On August 16th, she asked whether our son, visiting daughter, granddaughter, and I would share a dinner of ribs. I thought she was joking, but the charge nurse assured me it was all right, as long as we withheld the wine Audrey had requested. A meal of ribs, baked potato, and salad was taken to the hospital. Audrey texted a photo of her enjoying the food. She was happy.

Good mothers always worry about their children. The morning of August 17th, Audrey texted that I should make certain our son had a specific food item for his birthday that day. In the afternoon, she sent a selfie with her oxygen device and said health staff were pleased with her oxygen level. A physician left a voice message on my cellphone, “Just know that the missus is doing okay.”

But less than 12 hours later, at 3 a.m., August 18th, I received a call that Audrey’s condition had changed drastically. The caller asked whether I supported her living-will declaration of no artificial means to keep her alive if all it did was prolong the inevitable? I did.

Despite steroids, antibiotics, the drug Remdesivir and an experimental convalescent plasma therapy, covid-19 won. Just after midnight, August 19th, Audrey Jane Beckley, 77 — role model to all with the debilitating disease; community, university, and church volunteer; and wonderful wife of nearly 56 years, loving grandmother and great-grandmother — died.

Audrey had the first symptoms of MS at age 25. The disease would eventually limit the mobility of her right leg. She used a cane and retractable walking/hiking poles. Her can-do attitude was remarkable to the end. But the virus filled her lungs with pneumonia. Sepsis and arterial fibrillation developed and mixed with the effects of MS to end her life.

Throughout all of this, the viral monster was depleting my own body of strength. Covid-19 combined with sleeplessness, a total lack of appetite and the stress of Audrey’s ordeal to leave me nearly lifeless. Through the care of my children and an eventual return to sleep and food, I am regaining strength daily. My symptoms have long since disappeared, but I still must exercise daily to combat some lung damage that has left me easily winded.

Let’s stop killing one another. We don’t need more needless deaths like that of Audrey Jane Beckley.

Today I am going to be a “Ramblin’ Man.” It has been five weeks since I last sat down at this keyboard and must admit I never know for sure what will emanate from my fingers so here goes. The date is August 24, 2020, and five local tv interviews have now been completed in the on-going “Macomb on the Move” series. All of these extremely busy professionals at McDonough District Hospital took time from their hectic schedules to be interviewed by me in order to get the word out to the local community on the realities of Covid-19 and how to deal with it in order to save lives and defeat this horrible menace. These thoughtful concerned citizens are the following:

· Brian Dietz–CEO
· Dr. Ed Card–Chief Medical Officer
· Dr. Jack McPherson–Director of the Hospitalist Program
· Wanda Foster–Vice President of Nursing and Incident Commander
· Dr. Rick Iverson–Board Chairman

Our topics were many and diverse but the central theme throughout was the virus and what to do about it. At this point it just doesn’t matter how you slice things up, there is plenty of blame to go around starting with our government but let’s move on from there as this is not intended to be a political commentary. That leaves US to discuss. I can’t change the Constitution and I know about our right not to wear masks but personally, is that really too much to ask? Apparently so for folks who just don’t want to wear one.

I think back to the people who were “here” for World War II when we sent young men and women off to war, some never to return, and others to return with body pieces missing. Watching the first few minutes of Saving Private Ryan gives a view of how horrible it must be to serve in a combat role. Even today, we have Afghanistan and other hot spots and all WE are asked to do is stay six feet from one another and wear a mask. The mask is a nuisance but apparently a necessary one. If Americans in WWII could ration gas, nylon, rubber, cars, and food, can’t we be inconvenienced by a mask?

Today, we lambast young people who parade around not wearing one, exposing themselves and others to the possibility of death, the end, an early finish line. Then you walk into a store and see folks of all ages “exercising their rights” and you just shake your head. Or you see the videos on tv of Ozark partiers or ministers bringing the flock together to spread death, or wedding receptions that simply must go on, you get my point.

I want to return to the five gifted, highly-educated, well-informed, concerned health care professionals listed above. In total, we spent over seven hours of tv-time discussing aspects of the pandemic, and there was one central theme throughout and you know precisely where I’m going. To a person, all of them said the single most important thing we can all do is “Wear a Mask” so I will. I hope you will too.

Moving on, when Diane the editorialist, and her sort of able cohort were composing the last blog “Ozzie and Harriet,” we decided we were done writing about Covid-19. There would be no Ground Hog Day or Bill Murray references. We were wrong. It’s the same thing day after day as the numbers all continue to move in the wrong direction. Damn, where is the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel? It still isn’t visible and on multiple dimensions, Covid-19 is out there affecting the lives of everyone in ways large and small.

I walked through campus the other day and it was eerily quiet. Can you imagine what it must be like to be a college student today? You wear a mask everywhere, you have two to an elevator, you get your food and take it back to your room, you always sit six feet apart, student ​organizations are scaled way back, there are no football games on Hanson Field. I feel so sorry for the students of today as they are missing out on so much we took for granted. You have to admire their determination and grit and maybe years from now they will have fascinating stories about College and Covid 19.

And then we have our grandchildren. My kids are struggling with decisions on sending their children out in all this, home schooling, or maybe some hybrid classes. Of course, the issue of job security or even having a job at all are critical issues to be addressed. Sort of makes you think. In the final analysis, all Diane has to do is “live with Gordy Taylor.” Maybe she doesn’t have it so good after all. What concerns many of us is what to do or can we do anything and when will this end. It is exasperating, and we just want answers.

This has been a troubling week for me—I wrote six notes of sympathy or compassion. My college roommate died from Parkinson’s, the 24 year-old daughter of a friend died from ovarian cancer, another friend’s dad died, the wife of another friend died from Covid and he has it now, the younger brother of one of my WIU mentors died after a long battle with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, and finally a good friend from college who has spent the past 11 years in prison has symptoms of colon cancer and they won’t give him treatment. This is the world we deal with today. I can’t go to prison to see my friend or visit the others in their time of need so a note has to suffice. That’s just the way things are and that personal touch is just not there. We took it for granted for so long; now it has been taken from us.

When all this finally does get mitigated or at least becomes manageable with a vaccine, our lives will still never be the same. We will fly less, possibly require Business Class, eat only at restaurants we “trust,” think ​twice about taking a cruise, rely more on home delivery for our shopping needs, and rethink the whole idea of maybe living close to one of our kids as the 4th Quarter moves forward. Dr. Mehrdad Ayati, who teaches geriatric medicine at Stanford University writes that we boomers, “Never calculated that a pandemic could totally change the dialogue of our lives.” One of his observations that really hit home was that “older folks will disengage at a cost” meaning that if we don’t do our best to at least try and interact with others, even in a necessarily reduced manner, it will be bad for us. So, there you have it–wave to people, enjoy a “distanced meal,” make a phone call or several, take a walk with mask on or “in hand” and do your best to live life as normally as you can.

Jeepers, I said I would be “ramblin” and guess I have. Maybe tomorrow that damn groundhog will be gone.

mask everywhere, you have two to an elevator, you get your food and take it back to your room, you always sit six feet apart, student organizations are scaled way back, there are no football games on Hanson Field. I feel so sorry for the students of today as they are missing out on so much we took for granted. You have to admire their determination and grit for still going to college and maybe years from now they will have fascinating stories about their experiences with Covid-19. And then we have our grandchildren. My kids are struggling with decisions on sending their children out in all this, home schooling, or maybe some hybrid classes. Of course, the issue of job security or even having a job at all are critical issues to be addressed. Sort of makes you think. In the final analysis, all Diane has to do is “live with Gordy Taylor.” Maybe she doesn’t have it so good after all. What concerns many of us is what to do or can we do anything and when will this end. It is exasperating, and we just want answers. This has been a troubling week for me—I wrote six notes of sympathy or compassion. My college roommate died from Parkinson’s, the 24 year-old daughter of a friend died from ovarian cancer, another friend’s dad died, the wife of another friend died from Covid and he has it now, the younger brother of one of my WIU mentors died after a long battle with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, and finally a good friend from college who has spent the past 11 years in prison has symptoms of colon cancer and they won’t give him treatment. This is the world we deal with today. I can’t go to prison to see my friend or visit the others in their time of need so a note has to suffice. That’s just the way things are and that personal touch is just not there. We took it for granted for so long; now it has been taken from us. When all this finally does get mitigated or at least becomes manageable with a vaccine, our lives will still never be the same. We will fly less, possibly require Business Class, eat only at restaurants we “trust,” think ​twice about taking a cruise, rely more on home delivery for our shopping needs, and rethink the whole idea of maybe living close to one of our kids as the 4th Quarter moves forward. Dr. Mehrdad Ayati, who teaches geriatric medicine at Stanford University writes that we boomers, “Never calculated that a pandemic could totally change the dialogue of our lives.” One of his observations that really hit home was that “older folks will disengage at a cost” meaning that if we don’t do our best to at least try and interact with others, even in a necessarily reduced manner, it will be bad for us. So, there you have it–wave to people, enjoy a “distanced meal,” make a phone call or several, take a walk with mask on or “in hand” and do your best to live life as normally as you can. Jeepers, I said I would be “ramblin” and guess I have. Maybe tomorrow that damn groundhog will be gone.

I woke up this morning like I do all mornings and that is a good thing. Today was different. Diane gave me a nudge and asked how I was feeling? I instinctively said “Fine” but then she pressed the issue saying she was waking up with a sense of ennui and wondered if I was experiencing anything like that. It dawned on me, I was. We aren’t sick, we have a pension (at least for now), the kids and grandkids are handling things, it’s summer, so what’s up? I’ll tell you what’s up. I wouldn’t attempt to define it but we have some sort of mental fatigue. We are both exasperated by our own Bill Murray “Ground Hog Day” existence.

The first blog that touched on the virus was posted in March sometime, then another entry a month later, then three weeks after that, and so forth for the past four months. It has been 120 days and in every entry I found a way to look for that silver lining but today, I just can’t see it. With the exception of a couple of states of which Illinois is fortunately one, Covid-19 is winning. Sure, deaths may be down but numbers of positive cases continue to rise dramatically throughout the Sunbelt and West Coast. We feel pretty safe here in Macomb, but then all we old folks are just one “non-masker” away from potential death.

Diane and some women from our old neighborhood have a Zoom get together each week. Less than a month ago, one of the friends recounted that a 73-year old woman who is not overweight, exercises regularly, doesn’t smoke, takes no prescription meds, eats right, and basically practices a healthy lifestyle had just tested positive for Covid. The next week, we got an update about her friend. The lady stayed at home for 5 days but her breathing became labored. On the 6th day, she entered the hospital for some oxygen treatment. After 24 hours, she had to be put on a ventilator—12 days later—she died. Unfortunately, she had gone to a family gathering of about 20 people held outside with no one wearing a mask and got the virus. Now she’s dead. That’s me, that’s you, that’s any of us in the Fourth Quarter. I just don’t get it.

I don’t want to get political and will do my best not to do so here, but I just want someone, anyone, to lead us out of this crisis before the pandemic steals more of our lives from us than it already has. ZOOM and FaceTime are terrific, but we need to be with our loved ones and not just see them on the screen. Every day that passes puts us closer to the finish line and this is not how I want to spend my time before I have no more time to spend.

So far, I have interviewed four highly-respected doctors and asked each of them, how do we stop the spread of 19? All of them had the same response. “The one thing we can all do is utilize social distancing and wear a mask.” Will this eliminate the virus? No, but it will stop it in its tracks until a vaccine is available. Would anyone choose to have a doctor perform surgery on them who is not wearing a mask? Of course not.

Can’t the President just mandate that we wear masks? I know it is unenforceable but it would send a message. I don’t like to wear mine; the doctors told me they don’t either but they have to–we all have to. Let’s be considerate of others. It is not a sign of weakness or even a violation of our First Amendment Rights. It’s just a temporary inconvenience to show consideration of others.

People didn’t like seat belts but now we don’t give it a second thought. Smoking is prohibited in public places, and we seem to be doing just fine with it. So wear the damn mask when you enter a building. Don’t do it for yourself but do it for others. At the federal level, and there is plenty of miscreant behavior on both sides of the proverbial aisle, figure out what needs to be done and as Nike says, “Just do it!” Surely as a nation, we can figure this out.

My parents were wonderful people. I love them to this day but their four sons were raised in a small three-bedroom house where Doc and Connie, between them, smoked 5-6 packs of Phillip Morris Commanders and Parliaments a day. All four sons suffered respiratory issues in part due to secondary smoke for the 18 years that each of us grew up in that house. Smoking was cool back then but science has taught us irrefutably that it kills people. Not wearing a mask is the same.

Walmart just got it right–no mask, no entry. I grew up on Ozzie and Harriet. David and Ricky were such nice boys, just like my brothers and me. It was the 50s and we pretty much did what our parents told us to do. Like the Nelson boys and kids on Father Knows Best, we respected our parents and really didn’t want to disappoint them. What’s going on today? I find myself not angry at young people but rather disappointed. To the ones I see on tv I can only say the level of arrogance and complacency they display for my generation is sad to see, very sad. It’s like cigarettes. The proof is undeniable, they kill you. Not maintaining social distancing is the same. It won’t kill YOU, but it might kill Mom and Dad or Grandma and Grandpa when you give the virus to them.

If we all “did the right thing” for a month or six weeks, we could get control of this horrible plague. We were “on our way” and then politics got in the way and we opened up the economy too soon. Today we are on the downward slope; whereas, if we had been prudent and cautious like a certain Dr. with a capital F suggested, we would be ready to open our schools and stores and restaurants and bars and salons and all the rest. But no, they worried about getting reelected and now the economy will suffer another tailspin. Please, someone who matters, speak truth to power until there are so many of you that truth prevails. Please, I don’t want to lose any more days, months, or years of my life to a stupid but deadly virus.

I remain confident that the day will come when all this is just an awful memory. We survived the Spanish Flu of 1918 which of course was not Spanish at all and we will survive this too. I just want it to be sooner rather than later. Tick Tick Tick.

• 

In the November 19, 2001, issue of Newsweek, author Anna Quindlen wrote, “September 10, 2001 was the last everyday morning of the rest of our lives.” In those 12 words, Quindlen spoke volumes about the world in which we now live. As a member of the 4th quarter congregation, my memory takes me back to the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962, assassination of President Kennedy in 1963, his brother Bobby and Dr. Martin Luther King in 1968, Vietnam, Watergate, and the Challenger disaster. I thought I had pretty much “seen it all.” The major events of my lifetime were behind me and for the remainder of my days, the focus would be on family and friends, sports on tv, walking around town, and pretty much just keeping busy and staying out of the way of the people doing the heavy lifting necessary to move the agenda of the nation forward.

Then, in late January 2020, Diane asked me if I had seen the story in USA Today about the virus in Wuhan, China and to paraphrase Quindlen, “In an instant our lives would be altered in ways from which there would be no return to what they were before.” Covid-19 has arrived and won’t be going away soon, so what to do about it. I guess we made that decision 50 years ago without even knowing it. We moved to and stayed in Macomb, IL. We are living in small town America where, for us, it seems people care, really care about the welfare of their fellow citizens.

There is a sense of security and genuine intimacy in a small town. As our three kids were growing up, they always marveled that news about their exploits got back to our house before they did. You get close to one another in smaller communities. It’s just the nature of things. People are friendly in Macomb; they care about and care for each other. Small towns develop a sense of community sharing and working together. We rally around one another in times of need. After the terror of 9-11, Western’s Alumni Association hosted a cookout to support victims of the disaster. In a single afternoon we garnered the support of HyVee foods, Coca Cola bottling, the Macomb Park District, and B and S Tent Rentals. Townspeople cooked and served food and soft drinks and over a two-day period $5,000 was raised for the September 11th Fund set up by the United Way. It was a moving experience as people in rural Illinois joined together to help others they’d never met 1,000 miles away.

In Macomb, when you call a plumber, an electrician, an auto mechanic, owner of a furniture store, a carpet layer, a barber, or hairdresser, it is often times someone you already know. The same goes for health professionals like doctors and dentists. We actually have sustained relationships with these folks before we call for their assistance. Taking a walk is more than just exercise, it’s a social experience as you wave and say hi to folks you have known for decades or maybe just reaching out to say hello for the first time. OK, I’m in that 4th Quarter, so sometimes when I’m taking a walk, I can feel that car slowly and methodically following me. Who could it be? Whose so damn interested in my walk? Curiosity gets the best of me and I turn around and smiling behind the wheel are Eric Jameson, Pat Burke, or Steve and Mark Tibbetts, all funeral home directors. They joke about my imminent demise and I respond in kind. Things like this happen in small town America because we know each other and share parts of our lives. In spite of their collective concern for my welfare, I do not intend to meet these men professionally in the near future.

Sitting here typing gives me inspiration, hope, and belief that each of us, in our own way, cares about one another. It’s not that people in big cities don’t care about one another, it’s just easier to act on those concerns when the population base is smaller and more intimate. There is a favorite story of mine that drives this point home in a way that, when I tell it, always brings a tear to my eye and a smile to my face. It’s about a man who reminds me of my dad–high praise in my book. Gordon III is oldest of our two sons and in his junior year of high school proudly announced, “I do not want to, nor do I intend, to go to prom.” However, fate would intervene. At the last minute, on the Saturday morning of the big dance, Gordon’s good friend, Brett Cazalet, who is now Head Football Coach at Dunlap High School, had an emergency appendectomy and was hospitalized. Brett called Gordon and asked if he would escort his date to prom, and as good friends will do, and with some parental coaxing, Gordon said yes. Everything was done–tuxedo rented, flower purchased, tickets in hand, dinner reservations made. One small problem–Gordon is 6’4″ tall and Brett checks in at 5’9″. We called every store in town that rented tuxedos but none were available. We were desperate.

Over the years, I’d bought a couple of suits at Herbert’s Men’s Wear, so we stopped in there with Gordon. Owner, Tom Herbert, one of the most dapper dressers in town, came out and like everyone else, said he just didn’t have any tuxedos in stock so I said thanks for trying and the Taylor boys headed for the door. We were almost gone when Tom called out, “Wait a minute, I have an idea.” Tom was tall and distinguished, and he escorted Gordon into the back room from which Gordon soon emerged wearing Tom’s personal and very expensive tuxedo. Diane and I could hardly believe this extraordinary act of kindness and generosity. A few tucks and a little mending did miracles, but Tom Herbert was the real miracle that day. The shoes, I forgot to mention the shoes. No problem—long-time friend Larry Mortier provided those and the ensemble was complete. Mission accomplished and all because of people who care.

A couple of months ago Brian Dietz, the CEO of McDonough District Hospital called and asked if I would be interested in interviewing some of his top administrators on the local tv show I host called “Macomb on the Move.” Brian wanted to get the word out about how the citizenry could best deal with Covid-19. I said sure, and we did four shows, all airing on local television with three common themes–wear a mask, maintain social distance, and wash your hands. It was accomplished with a couple of elbow shakes and cooperation from the hospital, the Mayor’s office, and our producer, who drove in from Iowa City to tape the shows. Small town–quick, helpful, and efficient.

Another example of small-town caring was my bout with base of tongue cancer in 2010. After 35 radiation and 5 chemo treatments, I eventually was out walking again, and people I didn’t even know stopped their cars to run over and give me a hug and wish me well. They were genuinely glad to see me out and about. Pat Stout, writer for our local newspaper, read in the blog Diane and I were writing about my health ordeal. One entry reported that I was actually able to eat a small piece of a canned peach. Like many others, he cared and felt a need to report to others. Suddenly a headline appeared in his weekly editorial entitled “Gordy Taylor eats a peach.” You really can’t make this stuff up.

In January 2018, while at a Chicago Blackhawks game at the United Center, Diane fell on the stairs and broke both, yes both, her ankles. She was immobile for months because of wearing toe to knee casts and had to live in our family room. Word got out and wouldn’t you know it, 30 of her friends, signed up on an app called Meal Train, delivering dinners to our house night after night. Of course, the meals were hand delivered as all of these women wanted to see and visit with Diane in person. It was incredible and extraordinary. Diane’s spirits were lifted by these acts of collective kindness. Where do things like this happen? I’ll tell you where, in a small town. So, that’s why we’re here and likely to remain here. The people who make up our little universe have let us into their lives and us, them into ours. As we deal with the ravages of the pandemic, there is no place we would rather be. Yup, life in a small town is pretty good.

Once again, I revisit the spirit of Anna Quindlen’s words, and the reality that 19 years ago today our lives changed forever and now with the intrusion of Covid-19, they have been altered again. Good friend Al Funck sent out an email with his reflections on 9-11. Al really says it best. To paraphrase, “one thing stood above the sadness, anger, and disappointment of that day. It was the will of the American people to unite and work toward a common goal with pride, determination, and strength. Al then thought of one sentence that to him explains it all: “One nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all.”

Thanks, Al. Today, as we face a new world and the uncertainty that is to come, hopefully we can get through the virus and heal the wounds of our nation, working together to address our mutual concerns. And so it goes…