D Vertrees Hollingsworth 1937-2012

The Great Pha died this morning, peacefully leaving us in his sleep.  

San Diego Command, 1998

Characteristically, he wrote his own obituary:

DVH Obit

D Vertrees Hollingsworth died on February 14, 2012, at age 74. He lived a fortunate life, doing things for which he was reasonably prepared and appreciated, thereby gaining a wonderful family, a happy and adventuresome life and genuine pleasure in every day granted him.

He grew up on a Kentucky horse farm near Lexington during World War II and learned the value of hard work and how to ride thoroughbreds.  He was the last of five children of a playwright and an engineer and so learned early on to love both sciences and the arts.  He was graduated from Yale University with a degree in American Studies, from the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine as a Doctor of Medicine and completed an Internship at Receiving Hospital in Detroit, MI. During that era he met and married the love of his life, Alice Elizabeth Broadbent, with whom he begat four delightful children.

Dr. Hollingsworth served in the US Navy as a Lieutenant in the Medical Corps for two years in the Vietnam era, followed by a resignation of his Reserve commission and an entry into the private practice of Family Medicine on the same day Medicare took effect: 1 Aug 66.  After 14 years of care for rural patients (“the skin and its contents”), he took his wife and three of his children off to serve his county (to Teach, to Travel, and to have some Time Off) as a Naval Officer – first teaching young physician graduates the specialty of Family Medicine, then medical students at the F. Edward Hebert School of Medicine in the Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences for nine years.  Dr. Hollingsworth was graduated from the Naval War College and Salve Regina University with a Master’s degree in Management and went on to serve as Commanding Officer at three Naval medical treatment facilities.

In 1998, he and his wife retired to Pinehurst, NC, where he spent seven years as a family physician at Fort Bragg and as an emergency physician in Laurinburg, NC.  He was active in his church, Brownson Memorial Presbyterian in Southern Pines, NC, and joined his musical wife in several community chorus efforts in every community in which they lived.  He was an amateur actor in numerous productions for more than 60 years.

He was predeceased by the sad loss of a beloved granddaughter (10 year-old Liza Hollingsworth) but is survived by his wife of 51 years, Alice B. Hollingsworth, and by four children:  Eben L. Hollingsworth and family of Georgetown, KY, Sophia G. Hollingsworth of Charlotte, NC, Dunn D. Hollingsworth and family of Mt. Pleasant, SC, and E. Piel Hollingsworth and family of Milton, MA.  At his death he had five grandchildren: Eleanor, Caroline and Jordan Hollingsworth as well as Maxwell and Lucy Hollingsworth-Hays.

“You only live once, but if you work it right, once is enough”

A memorial service will be held at Brownson Memorial Presbyterian Church, Southern Pines, NC, on Saturday, February 18, 2012 at 11am with a reception to follow.   There will be a gathering in honor of Dr. Hollingsworth’s life at Georgetown College’s Thomas & King Conference Center in Georgetown, KY, on Saturday March 3 from 2:00 to 4:00.

In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to: Plowshares Institute, PO Box 243 or 809 Hopmeadow Street, Simsbury, CT 06070

The world will be a lesser place without him.

So Said Kent

Last I wrote, we were leaving Pinehurst for some house building time in Lexington.  That happened, and I will post some other day with more pictures of that project.  

Facebook has taken some of the steam out of blogging.  


However, Mary Anne and I are now back in Pinehurst.  Pha can't get himself out of bed and Muv can't pick him up, so it's time for us to be back to help until the end.  He is still not in pain, but he's certainly past even his ability to enjoy his time.  God has gotten us all to the point where we are ready to say goodbye.


This may be the last picture of all five of Denzil and Polly's children together.  I have it dated 1995 and it was taken outside of Mt. Horeb church.

As we reminisce, I thought it would be good to share the "So Said Kent" letter.  My uncle Kent was in New York state in 1949, learning about horses and life.  As he was away from the bluegrass on the occasion of his little brother's twelfth birthday, he wrote the missive below.  The end sayings are classic Hollingsworth lore; I rarely make a long interstate drive when I don't apologize to Kent for getting cut off by another car (learn to see a pocket...).  The picture below

hangs in the houses of my siblings and many of my cousins.  


We were also touched on this round of re-reading of Kent's letter by the references to the Hollys.  Cousin Hunter apparently calls the house we are building the Taj Mah Holly.  Whatever anyone calls it, it should soon be home.  We look forward to hosting family and friends there.


Enough intro, here's the letter:

Shipped into Belmont park yesterday afternoon on one of the hottest days of the year.  Long Island looked like a populated prairie.  Beautiful parkways are scorched, Jamaica’s infield looks like a huge egg shaped sand pit.

Buddy, Arnold Firckland, and I drove up from Delaware and it was like riding a race all the way; Buddy jockey for positions, Arnold shouted when it looked like we were going to be cut off, we rounded the field, and in a few scary moments, squeezed through on the inside.  Race riding must really be tough.

Broke away late yesterday morning after watching low and high work a slow 5/8, sweated out an hour wait for the Staten lsland ferry but made it up here in four and a half hours.

All of Buddy’s Belmont friends are giving him the business now.  We ate last night in the restaurant where he and Helen always had dinner and I didn’t think we were going to get through it.  He was pretty good down in Delaware, but he’s getting right back to what he was when I first came up; silent, stares, red eyes, hollars a lot at the guineas, already scratched one, another on the way, nervous and jumpy as a fly.

We have a room, just across the road from the track.  Cowboy and Beetle--one of the exercise boys-- live in the same house.  Our room is not much bigger than the hall closet.  Two beds and a dresser cover the floor like an all over rug.  We both can’t put our shoes on at the same time.  The small window at one end that takes up the whole wall, allows light an air to leak in sometimes.  It is clean though.

Vertrees -- happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Vertrees, happy birthday to you. (hum a little tune has you read this and smile for you have received acknowledgement of your twelfth anniversary from your brother Kent).  I thought perhaps of sending you a yacht , or complete baseball attire, or a lifetime subscription to Looney Tunes, or a speedometer for your putt—putt, or a suit from Abercrombie and Fitch, or even a small motor car, but then I thought, psaw, this isn't the low type fellow who would want nasty old material gifts; he would find joy only in the thought.  Rejoice quickly for I am about to change the thought to another paragraph.

As the 4th of July is a day of festivities, I took a day off and went to the races.  Sure of the good thing in the 6th, I laid the whole of Kent Hollingsworth’s estate on Mark High's big fat nose.  I might just as well have lit a fire cracker with it; I’m sure I would have had more fun.  Arnold broke late on him and he just could not catch up in time.  Mark High hasn’t got much heart any way.  If I ever tell you to bet on him again, even if he is picked all the way across the form, forget it.  Damned half-miler.

Dorcas-- am in the big town now.  Buddy and I finagled two handsome tickets to South Pacific.  Yet to see them though.  Saw the Statue of Liberty, rode on the ferry, swore at a cab driver, feel like real big New Yorker now.  Wish you were here etc.

Got my first letter from my father today.  Am about to return it this minute.

Sunday afternoon passes slowly at the race track.  Got up late this morning, dragged out to the track, walked all the horses. Buddy walks all the horses on Sunday if he can, believes even horses like to have a break once a week.  Got through with the work early, came back, had "over light, ‘tatas, coffee with", read three papers and the form, napped until 1:30, wrote my mother.  A guy can bear with anything as long as there is a home in his mind he can look back at.  It's a real support.  Those big, strong pillars standing sturdily on their rock foundations, have a value far exceeding the puny $125,000 bills some peanut would like to exchange for them.  They are big, secure, warm, home.  They are because my mother made them so.

Without them, I would look around all the squalor and filth that I am walking through, and think, "what am I gunning for?  What’s it getting me?  Is it worth it?"  With them, I am learning, liking what I’m doing. I'm camping out.  You and father did a great deal when you invested your money in that home.  I hope I can do as much for my children.

Buddy has no home you know.  No family.  Man asked him who he was going to change his bonds and securities to, now that Helen had died, and he was struck dumb.  Said, “why I haven't got a person in the world" almost to himself after breathless minute.  He hasn’t got a thing to live for right now.  It sure is thin up here.

It’s dark and rainy out.  The first rain in over a month beats against the petrified sod, rolls off, slobbers at the mouths of sewers.  Loaded cars splash by on the highway below, heading for the tip of the island and a washed out holiday.  Everyone is in a hurry. I wonder why.

By heart alarmed everyone yesterday, pulled ahead at the head of the stretch, faltered, was whipped to the wire by two others, a half of a length separating them.  A terrible race, the next one was run three seconds faster; Arno surprised me by breaking so well, but when he came back he told me that he had just happened to nudge her as the gates opened, give him a length jump on the rest.  First time I’ve ever seen it happen, usually his mount is backing up or just sleepy when the bell rings.

Rags to Riches worked a good half yesterday; been going hard with this big sluggish thing, Arcaro asked for him- so bones, his agent, says he has no reason to hustle mounts -- I believe he'll be right there his next out at $5000.

Letter from father said he could get no form, heard about a horse a week after he won.  Sent him the address of Georgie Wolf’s brother, who lives in Calgary, who bets, wears spats, purple vests, derbies, plays cards.

This is the day of my brother Vertrees' twelfth birthday.  I hope that he, in the next eight years, has as many good times, lucky breaks, laughs, loves, and lumps, as I have had, and one more candle to grow on.  Son, listen to your old brother and heed:

l) There are no cinch bets.

2) Don't tear up your tickets until the official is flashed.

3) Learn to see a pocket before you're in it.

4) It’s the guy with the kick in the last eighth that gets the glory.

So Said Kent

The originals, with typos and all:

The Captain

My friend Lindsay actually calls TGP the Admiral, but Pha left the Navy before he made flag rank.  And at the beginning of Pha's naval career, it was son of Commander going out with daughter of Captain that led to my marriage, but that's another story all together.


I realize this is supposed to be my blog and not only about my father, but I have to write about where we are today and what we are doing.  And for now, that's a lot about my father.  Mary Anne and I just returned from a quick trip to Mt. Pleasant.  We saw her folks and Tom and Millie and it was a wonderful trip.  We are now back in Pinehurst and will be for the next two weeks, as I work from "home".  I am very much looking forward to no airplane on Monday morning.


Pha is continuing to do very well.  As I said last time, his self-assessment is "strong as ox".  He's hoping I can take him to the North Caroline State Fair in the next couple of weeks.  We hear they deep fry Twinkies.


As long as Pha remains this strong, MA & I anticipate being in Lexington some.  I have a new client (whose social media policy apparently prohibits me from mentioning who they are), but that client has an office in Denver and an office in Erlanger, KY.  We're having national meetings an hour from the new house four separate weeks over the next couple of months.  The plan is to be home for those weeks.  Mary Anne is especially looking forward to having the puppies back.  And I'll have some new house pictures to post.


Anyway, back to the old man.  When I think of the Captain, I think first of a bone spur he had in the little toe of his left foot in the late 70s.  Given the technology of the day, the thing to do then was to remove the bone from his little toe.  Stop now, dear reader, and think about putting on your socks when you have no bone in your little toe.  The toe actually bends backwards as the sock slips on.


Fast forward several years.  Millstream 1.0 is behind us, and Pha has progressed from Commander to Captain.  In fact, he is CO of the Naval Hospital in Rota Spain.  Many folks got to visit him there, but in 1988, the thought of a 24 plane trip (4 flight segments) with 2 year old Eleanor was enough that my section of the Hollingsworth clan had to content ourselves with short, dollar-a-minute phone calls.  One sunny afternoon in Rota, the CO got fed up with his little toe curling back as he got dressed in the morning.  It was a slow day at the hospital, so Pha approached the surgeon on duty (probably a young 2nd lieutenant) and said:
"Son, take off my toe"
"Sir?"
"You heard me, Lieutenant.  Take off my toe!"
"Sir?"
"Son, that's an order.  Take off my toe"
So, TGP could no longer teach the grands to count to 20, only to 19.  But a legend was born.  And in an interesting later development, Grandmother also only has 9 toes, but that, also, is another story.


We're very grateful for the good times we are able to have here in Pinehurst and that Pha is in no pain.  This period of grace won't last forever, but it is a blessing while it lasts.


For those of you watching this blog for updates, I'll try to do better at posting.  I've got several good stories rattling around.  Not flying for a few weeks may give me a chance to get them out.

The lame and the halt

When Mary Anne and TGP head out together, she's the lame and he's the halt.  They even call each other that.  On Thursday, Muv and Pha and Mary Anne went to the matinee of Guys and Dolls at the Temple Theater in Sanford.  Alice would have been the youngest one there if not for MA.   One bus full of old people was full of grumpies who expected to be seated all together.  Our intrepid three theater goers had bravely staked out the end of back row, closest to the bathroom.  Since all of the grumpies had walkers or canes, there was some danger of a rumble.  Even Pha with his walker wouldn't have been able to take them.  In the end, however, everyone found their own seat and enjoyed the show very much.

Almost the whole family was here last weekend.  We celebrated Sophia's birthday.  Dunn & I were the bookends in this picture.

It was a wonderful time together.  We played games and ate a lot, with each meal of course preceded by singing the Doxology.

Dr. and Mrs. Johnson came by for dinner Friday night.  They have driven from Washington state, and made this date last April, before the health challenges become as hard as they have become.  It's another blessing for TPG & Muv to have been able to host them again.  Thanks to the Sautters and Walnut Hall farms for the wonderful steaks.

Cousin Berkley and Patti were with us for breakfast and a visit this morning.  Folks keep coming out of the woodwork and the extra family time is a great thing.  Berk had some edits on Pha's story about Dorcas's nose, but we figured it best just to let himself tell the story the way he remembers it.  After all, Pha wasn't there when the event happened, just at St. Luke's office when Dorcas came in after the accident.

As I mentioned earlier, Pha is using the walker when he is out.  Sometimes even the wheelchair.  There is a grace in him not fighting the need for that.  He continues to not have any pain, and in fact has been relatively strong this past week.  Ask him how he is and on a good day, he will say "I am strong, strong like ox."  (ed note: perhaps should be strong and stubborn like mule)  However, the shortness of breath becomes more noticeable every day.

The opportunity for a fourth and last chemo is this week, but the consensus is the pain and difficulty it will cause will not be offset by enough benefit.  That's for Pha and his oncologist to decide on Tuesday.  For today, we've got football games being recorded for watching later this afternoon and we continue with the Hollingsworth motto:

Learn to bear what must be borne.

  

Downtown New Haven Good Time and Happy Fellows Club

TGP arrived in New Haven in the fall of 1955.  As a freshman on the Old Campus, he met Rocko and Bob because they were in his entryway.  Paul was in three of his classes because the pre-meds were together in alphabetic order.
There were eight of them sophomore year, but for junior and senior year, they were six strong.  They called themselves the Downtown New Haven Good Times and Happy Fellows Club.  Apparently, they frequently led off dinner in Calhoun College by blowing the curtain rod that they turned into a horn (and later engraved with DNHGTHFC).  Toot de de toot do toot. TGP stood behind the tall guys, Ted and Paul.  They are pictured below in all of their glory, with the brass horn across their laps.

Paul (Killer) Killenburg

Horace (Rocko) Montague

Clyde Jones

D Vertrees (Holly) Hollingsworth  (I refer to him as TGP)

Ted Calhoun

Bob Laird

Pha was, of course, the "exalted blower".
Clyde was the "Immortal water closet"
Rocko was the "Imperial Banger of the Board"
There were other names, but himself can't really recall them at this point.

There were ample other adventures.  Rocko and TGP were discussing just this past weekend  who first met Louie, the white lab rat.  Rocko thought that Killer put it on TGP's desk.  TGP is confident that it was Laird's desk, because Laird was a serious studier.  Killer had "borrowed" Louie from the chem lab.  Whoever met him first, Louie became a staple for the DNHGTHFC.  Louie lived in the player piano in the living room of the suite.  Louie liked it there because it was warm, but objected strenuously whenever anyone actually played the piano.  Louie also tended to participate in the poker games that were a regular staple of the suite.
The roomies have made a nice habit, especially over the last 30 or so years, of spending some time together.  Here they are in 1982, while the first of their progeny (?could that be me?) was in New Haven.  I shared Calhoun with Killer's boy, Chris, starting my junior year.  Note the bananas are now overripe.

Jones, Laird, Killenburg, Montague, Hollingworth

There is a VHS of the 35th reunion that I hope to get converted and posted.  TGP does a lot of the talking for the class of '59.  On an interesting side note, in Pinehurst, if a VHS tape goes bad, you have to go to the porno store to get it fixed.  But, we will post what we can from that VHS tape when we can.

Fast forward to 2011.  Killenburg died suddenly last year.  Laird and Rocko made it to Pinehurst on Thursday for a last visit with TGP.  The club now includes wives, since it is hard to get everyone together.

Lifelong friendships are a precious thing.


In recalling all of this, Pha says "We thought we were the cat's pajamas".  I suspect they really were.

TGP Speaks

He's not Garbo, but I've got three good stories.


Jumping in the tobacco barn  (recorded 9/2011)

Aunt Dorcus' nose (recorded 12/2010)

The hardest day in private Practice (recorded 12/2010)

Our hole in the ground by the creek

MA & I had a quick trip back to Kentucky last weekend.  We got to see the progress on Millstream 2.0.  A picture being worth a thousand words, I won't bother with any more description than is necessary.


First, if you missed it earlier, is the final demolition of Millstream 1.0

The view from the front.  I hope to have a series from standing right here over the next few months.

The view from just outside the garage, then the view up from the creekbank toward the house (straight on and then a little left), then turning around to see the creek up close.

 The hole in the ground which will be the foundation.

I think it is telling that I picked the picture of me swinging on the creek when I started this blog a few years ago.  I'm looking forward to moving back home.