(Submitted on February 23, 2017)
It’s late afternoon in Surfers Paradise, Queensland, Australia and at the D’Arcy Arms, an old-time Irish pub, small groups are congregating at the bar. Surfers is a tourist town, but it’s mostly locals and retirees on their annual pilgrimage “up north” who frequent this establishment, and the atmosphere is convivial. An elderly gentleman using a walker slowly makes his way up a ramp and into the main bar area. The other patrons all offer him welcoming greetings and clear a path leading to the one empty stool waiting for him at the end of the bar. The man parks his walker and, with help, climbs onto the stool. It’s five o’clock and Ian Hamilton, my grandfather, has taken his daily place at the D’Arcy. For the next hour he will basically “hold court”, chatting with people from all walks of life on any number of topics. I’ve accompanied him to this bar a number of times and each time have been amazed and proud of his popularity and the ease with which he interacts with the people around him. It seems impossible that a person like me, so timid and fearful and tongue-tied, could be related to him. I have often asked myself just what it is about him that makes him seem so comfortable and well-loved.
* * *
Ian Hamilton was born in 1928 in Adelaide, South Australia, a descendant of some of the country’s earliest settlers. My grandfather would admit that while his ancestors were not convicts, they were only “one step ahead of the law”, so Australia was probably the right place for them to end up. He spent most of his childhood in Perth, Western Australia, leading what he knew to be a very lucky life. He was too young to enlist for World War II and spent his teenage years studying and playing sports. He went on to study law at university, hitchhiked through Europe and the U.K. and eventually worked in Toronto where he met the love of his life. They moved to Sydney, worked hard, had one child (my mother) and lived a simple and contented life. My grandfather has always been a happy and optimistic man, although he was sorely tested with the too-early death of his beloved wife.
* * *
Those days at the D’Arcy are over now and my grandfather, who will be ninety next January, lives in a nursing home where he spends his days watching TV and charming the caregivers. His television viewing habits actually encapsulate one of his best qualities. Every day he bounces between the news (including financial and political), sports (literally all sports!), concerts and ballet, random episodes of old sitcoms, Judge Judy and The Bold and the Beautiful. The point is, he’s interested in everything! High-brow, low-brow and all that’s in between. Not only does he watch avidly, but he also has opinions on every subject and favorite teams for every sport. Add to that an incredible long-term memory and you have the recipe for a great conversationalist. Even at nearly ninety.
* * *
When my grandfather was still able to travel he would visit my family in the U.S. every summer. On his way back to Australia he would always spend a few weeks in Hawaii, a place for which he had developed a great affection when he vacationed there with my grandmother. Each trip brought a new batch of friends into his life, and these friendships were the subject of some consternation for my mother. He’d arrive to stay with us at the end of May and would then start planning side-trips all over America to visit friends both old and new. The conversations typically went along the following lines:
“Just who are you going to see in Dayton, Ohio?” – my mother would ask.
“A dental hygienist who I met at the Halekulani bar last October. She was there for a conference and she and her husband said that I should visit them in Dayton” – my grandfather would reply.
“But Dad, are you sure she REALLY meant it – maybe she was just being polite?”
“Of course she meant it or she wouldn’t have asked.”
“And then you’re going to Syracuse?”
“Yes, to visit Syd, the lawyer I met on my bus tour of Italy – a nice old guy.”
“And Portland, Maine?”
“Yes, don’t you remember the woman and her daughter who we met in that hotel lobby in San Francisco in 1968? You were with your mother and me on that trip.”
“Dad, I was 9 years old.”
“Well, you know we’ve stayed in touch over the years and Priscilla has invited me to her summer house in Maine.”
And my mother would sigh and off he would go. She tells me that these days, when she visits him at his nursing home, she never ceases to be amazed at the mail that he receives, and every item reminds her that he was right all along. The people that he met and chatted with and laughed with over the years did indeed want him to visit and be part of their lives. He possesses bundles of letters and cards and photos sent by friends all over the world. And this mail keeps coming years after his last trip and years after he’s been able to write back.
* * *
My grandfather is very important to my life. He truly is just about the nicest guy on the planet and we talk often. He’s learned only one use of modern technology, but it’s a good one – FaceTime – and we chat frequently, typically about sports. He inspires me with his ability to develop friendships and put people at ease. What makes him so special? I think ultimately it’s the fact that he takes a genuine interest in people and in life. Not only does he tell great stories, but he also truly listens and appreciates the stories that others tell him. I think that being a great listener is a rare quality and my grandfather certainly has it. Whether he’s chatting about cricket with a Sikh taxi driver or politics with a bartender or gardening with one of the residents at his nursing home, he pays attention and fully engages in the conversation. What starts as small-talk will often go deeper because people can tell that the man with whom they are talking is sincerely interested in what they are saying. This ability is remarkable to me.
* * *
I ask my mother whether my grandfather has always been this way. I wonder if his appreciation of people and of life stems from the fact that, over the last thirty years, he has survived many illnesses and has learned to find joy in each day. “Overcoming illness may have enhanced his zest,” my mother replies. “But in general, this is just who your grandfather is, an optimist with a kind heart and really just a great guy to have in your life. We can all learn from him.”
I agree.
Manhattan Dreaming 