Portrait – My Grandfather

(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.

Elissa

(Submitted on May 9, 2017)

The story that follows is a sad one. There is no happy ending. But it is a story of courage and will reveal a character of such honor, integrity and perseverance that the word hero will, to me, be correctly used.

Elissa Hyman is a 58-year-old woman who, until last year, was living a tough, but satisfying, life in New York. What to say about Elissa? First, the simple facts. She grew up in New Jersey and attended Rutgers University, her dream to work in health and fitness. After graduating, she moved into the city and landed a job as an aerobics instructor at a popular studio on the Upper West Side. This was the era of Flashdance and for those who might have seen that movie, young Elissa bore a strong resemblance to its star, Jennifer Beals, complete with curly hair and those 1980s legwarmers.

Her childhood had not been an easy one. Her father was demanding and quick to berate Elissa and her brother, and her mother did little to advocate for them. Elissa’s decision to work in fitness did not please her parents and she received basically no encouragement and no financial assistance from them, even as she struggled to further her education and start her own business.  She pushed on though, eventually earning a master’s degree in nutrition and exercise physiology from Columbia University. In the 1990s she opened her own small gym, Elissa’s Personal Best in the basement of a residential building on East 79^th Street and rented a tiny studio apartment next to it.

Years passed. Her parents retired to Florida and her relationship with them became cordial, but never close. Tragically, her brother died of brain cancer, leaving a gaping hole in her life. She dated and had a few serious relationships along the way, but she never married. Her weeks were long and filled with work. There is no doubt that being a female entrepreneur in New York is not for the faint of heart and working as a personal trainer is particularly tough. It’s a competitive field and one where youth reigns supreme. To be at the top of her game Elissa maintained a grueling schedule, and, when she wasn’t training others, she was working out herself. She would admit to being an overly sensitive person, prone to self-doubt and somewhat hyper in temperament. She’d probably say that her job and her strict regimen kept her sane. She earned enough to support herself, but lived pretty much month to month. Her lifestyle was frugal, although she would splurge on two things: Broadway shows and, like a true Jersey girl, Bruce Springsteen concerts.

I met Elissa in 2014. My mother would go to Elissa’s gym and, at times I guess, would talk with her about me, and the struggles that I was having.  I was extremely depressed at the time, was severely overweight, and was reluctant to ever leave our apartment. Elissa, who’s a great talker by the way, felt sympathetic to what I was going through and offered to go bike riding with me. She felt that it would get me outside and moving and it was an activity where we could chat, or not, depending on my mood. She offered to do this free of charge – she just wanted to help.  We rode a few times and her warm and generous nature shone through. I just wasn’t up for it very much at the time, I’m sad to say.

Elissa’s life fell apart in 2016. There is no easy way to put all that happened to her into words. She lost her leases, both for the little gym and her studio. Rents in New York, as we all know, are crazy and she was unable to find another location within her budget. She resigned herself to closing up shop and working freelance out of another gym. She found a place to live, even smaller than the space she had called home for 20 years, and prepared to move on. Her ailing, now very old, parents in Florida went into full “we told you so” mode despite the fact that she had successfully looked after herself for close to 40 years. Yet she remained upbeat and forward looking.

And then tragedy struck on Saturday, June 25^th. Elissa woke up with very little feeling in her legs. She was taken to Lenox Hill Hospital, where they performed back surgery, believing the problem to be a compressed nerve. This was a huge and costly mistake as it did not resolve the situation, and quite possibly worsened it. Weeks of diagnosis finally revealed the cause to be transverse myelitis, a neurological disorder. While many who suffer from transverse myelitis recover, at least partially, in Elissa’s case the paralysis in her legs became total and spread up to her chest.

It’s been nearly a year now and Elissa remains paralyzed. Her gym in gone, her dog and cat have been given away and she is living in a rehabilitation residence in Manhasset, Long Island. It’s not too far out of the city – but it’s a costly trip for friends who want to visit her and at times it feels a million miles away from her life in Manhattan.

What is the mark of a hero? I believe that heroic traits can be seen in how we respond to and cope with the trials that life throws at us. And we all do have something thrown at us sooner or later. But imagine this woman, on her own with no family support mechanism and her livelihood gone. She’s only 58 yet facing life in a high-care facility. Right now, she shares a room with a 90-year-old who likes the television loud and the heat set to sweltering. She faces a constant battle with insurance providers who are trying to deny her access to physio and occupational therapy. She has now developed pressure sores that she can neither see nor feel (and this must surely be negligence on the part of the staff?) and that may take up to a year to heal. She is constantly in danger of developing infections that could imperil her life and has been in and out of hospital to deal with ongoing issues. She is Medicaid-pending and her long-term options are severely limited.

And yet, throughout this ordeal she has remained her kind, warm, generous self. I hear her FaceTiming with my mother and their conversation reveals the courage and tenacity that she is showing on a daily basis. Most of us would have fallen in a heap from which recovery was all but impossible, but not Elissa. If she feels self-pity, which she surely must at times, she doesn’t let it show. It seems that she lifts the spirits of those around her who feel angry and sad and despairing on her behalf. I have overheard her ask my mother how I’m doing, a gesture that seems entirely stunning to me given what she is going through. She emails and texts her old clients, for no reason other than to encourage them to stick with their fitness goals and she develops workout programs for them if they are unable to afford the pricey city trainers.  I gather, and it doesn’t surprise me at all, that she is well-loved by all those she comes into contact with at the rehab center.

Clearly, when one thinks of “heroes” there are certain people, and groups of people, who come to mind. The men and women who have served our country and our cities to keep us safe and free, those who fight for improved conditions on a global scale and those whose brilliance transforms our world in so many positive ways. But then there are those people who simply show true grit and determination in the face of extreme adversity. People who respond to tragedy with grace, dignity and courage and who inspire us to have the strength that would help us through our own difficult times. Elissa Hyman is one such person, and she is a hero.

 

Gianni Crow – Profile

Gianni Crow has washed dishes, delivered food, and worked in factories during his years in New York. He has been employed as a relief doorman in a Manhattan residential high-rise since 2007. But these are just jobs, and he derives his humanity from his true vocation – being a healer and spiritualist.

“I think people need love and understanding; they want someone to listen to them. I’ve always been that way,” he says. “People call me an empath. I can sit next to someone and feel their pain. They seek me because they want a spiritual cleansing, to reconnect, to know how to pray. Connect with Mother Nature. Sometimes, I just listen to them.” One such person is Madison Moroni, who sought guidance and views Crow as a mentor. “He has helped me understand things and see them differently, shine a light on things that are important, and helped me undergo a transformation in my life.”

Crow, 43, is a Native American from the Guatemalan farming community of Quetzaltenango. He took inspiration from his Apache grandfather, a shaman, to head down the path of spirituality. “It was the only thing I was able to identify with, that I felt I was good at.”

His grandfather and other elders taught him how to “connect” with the land, using roots, prayer, ceremonies, songs, language, foods, and stories. “It’s talking to God through nature and animals. We’re spiritualists, naturalists,” Crow says. His practices date to pre-Columbian times, and his description of them is not only powerful but also tinged with emotion.

“I am just a man helping others to understand themselves through my experience, through what I’ve lived through. My pain, my loneliness, beauty, ugliness, dark, light, all of it is what I think I have to offer to the world. I understand people’s feelings because I’ve been there.”

Crow’s father died before he was born, and his mother left Guatemala for the U.S. when he was three. Though his grandparents took care of him, he considers himself to have been homeless until adolescence because he lived in the rainforest, with survival dependent on the land. “We got everything from it,” he says. His diet was mostly vegetarian, including fruits like berries, but he also hunted animals such as rabbits. He slept in trees or in caves, and there was ever-present risk from animals such as wild dogs or poisonous snakes. To this day, he appreciates what nature provides, and uses natural potions in rituals, including plants, roots, and even the feathers or claws of birds.

Crow’s youth coincided with troubled times in Guatemala. “There was a genocide of native people, persecution, a military government. Civil war. I was the only survivor from my generation; they all died.” Young though he was, Crow found liberation through “ambition quests”, which could involve going to the mountains with his grandfather for a week or more, and participating in spiritual ceremonies.

In the early 1980s, Crow’s mother returned, and brought him to America. He lived in New Mexico, his grandfather’s birthplace, and then settled in New York, where his mother had friends. Even after many years there, he hesitates to call himself a New Yorker, identifying primarily with the indigenous people of Guatemala.

Crow is disturbed by the popular representation of Native American history. “History is only being told by one side,” he says. “In politics there’s always the conquerors and the conquered. We were not the winners.” To spread his message, Crow uses multiple forms of communication, like radio appearances, public speaking, and filmmaking. “I think everything is an expression,” he says. “A penny on the floor or a leaf on the ground has a story to tell. If we know how to listen, they will speak to us.”

Additionally, Crow works with people looking for spiritual guidance. According to him, the desire to “reconnect” is becoming stronger among New Yorkers. “They feel there’s something missing within, that there’s a void.” Crow believes that modern technology, although it has many positive aspects, is partly to blame. He worries that it hurts communication between people, and gives them a false sense of existence. “There are a lot of communities in the city that are spiritual and don’t want to be like robots or zombies,” Crow says. While the past holds deep meaning to him, humanity’s future is just as important to, and influential on, the work he does.