Pedro

It was Thanksgiving week, 2005.  I remember sister Sophia calling me on Monday morning because TPG had had an event and been taken to the hospital.  On the very first call, it seemed like things might resolve themselves quickly, (something about a gall-bladder), but by mid-morning, it was clear I needed to get to Pinehurst.

Muv had been awakened by Pha wandering in the night, delirious.  It took all of her strength to get him to the bed and and wait for the EMTs to come and take him to the hospital.  Soph was there with first light and brother Dunn and I were there later on Monday.

They removed Pha’s gall-bladder, but that did not seem to have any impact.  The doctors knew by the end of the day that Pha had had a stroke, but it wasn’t clear how bad things were.  He remained unconscious and the medical staff assured us that that was common in situations like these.  “Give it 48 hours before you start to worry”, they said.

Sister Piel was in Boston at this point, great with child.  She couldn’t fly, so Paul began scheming about how to get her down to be with the family.

We had meetings with various doctors on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, but not much progress.  Pha continued to be non-responsive.  After I asked the infectious disease doctor a couple of questions to clarify things, he asked if I was a physician.  I did manage to respond “No, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night”.

We had a very subdued Thanksgiving in Pinehurst.

By Friday morning, we were past the point where it was normal that Pha remained non-responsive.  I was in the room with him, talking to him as we had all been doing.  I explained that Piel couldn’t fly, so Paul had rented a big van with a reclining chair and that if Pha didn’t get better, Piel and Paul and Max were going to have to drive down I-95.  Given Piel’s condition and the long drive, they would probably have to pull over at South of the Border.  If Piel happened to go into labor there, the new baby would have to be named “Pedro”. At that moment, TGP moved his head from left to right and said “Pedro”.  I’ve never heard anything better.

Piel et al did fly down that Sunday.  Piel hid her Lucy belly with a very large Starbucks bag as she boarded the plane.  Max was 25 months old at that point, but under two flies for free, so Piel and Paul wrapped him in a baby blanket and kept him in their lap.  

Pha’s recovery was slow, and included a 4 week stay for M and F in Atlanta with us the next spring for him to have heart surgery.  

He did recover though, and somewhat surprisingly, it was not his heart that got him in the end.

And I never look at Lucy without wanting to call her Pedro.

Lucy holding stuffed Sparky

A Eulogy for Pha

Before the funeral in Pinehurst

All four of the kids talked about Pha at the funeral in Pinehurst on 2/18, then again here in Georgetown last Saturday.  Mine is below:

What a bunch.  That’s what himself would say looking out on this group today.

God gave us a lot of grace at the end.  No pain, and a steady but not too long trip out.  He always liked the adventure, and now he’s on the ultimate adventure.  He’s with Denzil & Polly and his brothers, Keeley, Val, Kevin and Elizabeth, and playing Russian bank with Liza.

What are we going to do when any of us feel sick and want the wisest medical phone consult imaginable?  And if his answer was ever that you needed to go see a doctor, you knew you were in trouble.

The Great Pha.  That’s Pha spelled “P” “H” “A”.  Muv and Pha evolved as simplifications of the more formal Mother and Father strictly required in the family a generation earlier.  I remember it as being coined during the trip my father took with my high school class to Williamsburg where we added “THE” and “GREAT”.  He seemed to enjoy that so much that it stuck.

He’ll want us all to “Have a Nice Navy Day”, even today.  He certainly got to see the world when he left Georgetown to join the Navy.  His time in KY clearly had a strong impact at least on me - I’m back on the land we grew up on together.

There are too many stories to count.  One of my favorites was the baseball pickup games - driving through Georgetown and kids jumping in the back of the station wagon.  If you didn’t run out a grounder, it was two outs.  After one of the games, we had a very special treat and went to Burger Queen (I’m not going to sing the song, but yes Burger QUEEN was the first fast food restaurant in Georgetown).  Always short of cash, we had to pose mustard as cheese on the burger, and water as a flat Sprite.

After Sophia and I were 12+, sometimes we would get put out of the car before the family checked into a hotel.  We would just wander the halls until we found everybody.  “How old are we at this place?”

He loved his grandchildren, but never really got past his aversion to dirty diapers.  At 1 ½, Eleanor was staying with Grandmother and Grandfather at the townhouse that we called the squish-o-plex in Bethesda, MD while MA & I were gone, Eleanor made poo-poo for papa.  As a doctor, I guess himself couldn’t ignore it, so he put her in the car, drove both of them down to the school where Alice was teaching.  He held Eleanor up so Muv could see her through the window of her classroom and stop class to change the diaper.  Blood and guts wouldn’t get to him, but he didn’t like diapers.

His change of command from Jacksonville was in June of 1995.  Pha was able to make the party a birthday for Caroline as well as his celebration.  He even had it say happy birthday on the cake.  He was a great grandfather.

During the last few months especially, his favorite stories were about times he had told people things he thought they needed to hear that they weren’t necessarily interested in hearing.  While looking through memorabilia, he found a box of letters both to him and from him.  You have never heard the phrase “boy I write well” so often in an eight hour day in your life.

TGP put a lot of stock in the Myers Briggs test.  He’s an ENFP.  Listen to the description that he saved of that personality type:

ENFPs are warm, enthusiastic people, typically very bright and full of potential. They live in the world of possibilities, and can become very passionate and excited about things. Their enthusiasm lends them the ability to inspire and motivate others, more so than we see in other types. They can talk their way in or out of anything. They love life, seeing it as a special gift, and strive to make the most out of it.

He certainly made the most of his.

Mary Anne gave him a money clip that said: “With Money in your pocket, you are wise and handsome and you sing well too.”  That’s my father.

The tray he gave Muv for their 51st anniversary really says it all:

LI Annos We made beautiful things together We traveled the world What a joy, Amen

Children, music, laughter and theater

I’ve been married to my wonderful wife for over 28 years, and Pha gets some of the credit.  When he was exploring leaving private practice to join the Navy in 1980, he & Muv had dinner with the Hortons and their 17 year old daughter Mary Anne.  She had recently been introduced to some other Navy brat, so she involuntarily made an unenthusiastic face when Pha told her that he had a son about her age.  He took note of her reaction and tried to make it seem better for her.  He told her, “Don’t worry, you’ll like him.  He’s a blind, balding albino paraplegic”.  She laughed.

The Great Pha did love theater.  We saw him perform in his last play last September here in Pinehurst where he played an old man that fell in love with a woman, played by mother.  He wore his eyepatch and loved the playing that role.  Much of their theater experience in the 70s was at Playhouse in the Park in Cincinnati, with Pha and Muv in the audience.  The drive up from Georgetown was straight up 75, over the bridge then an interesting fly-over ramp that still exists to take the car up to the top of Mt. Adams.  He never turned off the cruise control.  Muv sucked in her breath so hard that we called it cleaning her teeth.  But he didn’t slow down his whole life, and he wasn’t about to let a curved ramp slow him down.

He somehow always made his optimistic outlook seem right to people.  We were blessed to know him, to love him and to be loved by him.

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)

Pha Status Update Labor Day 2011

It’s somehow hard for me to write these days.  I had hoped a three day weekend would bring me a muse, or something.  But here it is Monday and I’m just sitting down with the laptop.  I will admit to a little encouragement because I stumbled across a comment from the Teddy Shapou's grandson's wife on my favorite post from April '09. Like a cook enjoys watching people eat, a writer really enjoys folks reading their words. At least I will get out a status report on Pha for those of you that are interested in how it is going here in Pinehurst.

I put TGP's 1993 autobiography on Facebook yesterday (from this blog in Jan '09).  A little less maudlin than his posting his own obituary pre-emptively last month.  It’s a good read.
I am trying to get himself in front of iMovie to tell some stories.  I don’t think he’s up for writing at this point, but if I can coax at the right time, I think I get get some good recordings.  I’ll post them as soon as they happen if we manage that.  Caroline has a clip he did last Christmas about his sister, Dorcas.  If I can get her to post it, I’ll add a link here.

Pha is surprised when he feels weak.  Even with his heart problems and stroke 6 years ago, he still thinks of himself as never being sick.  We got to church yesterday morning, but that was about all the activity the day could afford.  We try to gauge the energy level and plan outings accordingly. His voice is strained and his balance is a challenge. But he is not in pain, has some appetite and can taste his food. Food not tasting like what it was supposed to was the worst part of the chemo for him. We watch something on Netflix or old home movies most every night after supper and relish whatever stories we get.

Sophia is coming from Charlotte to Pinehurst this weekend, as MA and I sneak back to KY for a quick visit.  We will get her started on a new MS medication, Gilenya, which is exciting in that it comes in a pill form.

The college roommates (Yale '59) will be here the next weekend.  The weekend after that, almost the entire family will be here.  We will only be missing Paul, Max and Lucy.  TGP will be up for those visits, as he was for the recent trip to Kentucky.  Without the additional inspiration, he is a little weaker each day.  It’s to be expected, but that doesn’t make it any easier on any of the four of us.
Mary Anne and I feel blessed to be able to be here and be some help, or at least a distraction.  It’s a small benefit of the 1000+ mile commute that I can spend my weekends wherever seems appropriate.  Pinehurst seems appropriate for the duration.
Muv and Pha have lots of pictures hanging on their walls and I am scanning everything I can.  Many of them have lost their color, or most of their color.  I asked cousin Rich to work on the 6 pictures from Thanksgiving 1970.  None of my generation was married yet and Wright had yet to be born, but it’s as complete a shot of the extended family as I think anyone has.  Below is Pha and his father, Denzil, in December 1940.

I also have some pictures Soph won’t want me to post of the time Muv and Pha inexplicably setup a family portrait for right after she had her wisdom teeth removed.


Hospice has been great.  I keep encouraging people to use that BEFORE they get to the very end of life.  It has relieved us all to know there won’t be fights about extraordinary measures at the end (can you imagine anything more anathema to Pha?) and they have been practical and emotional support, especially for Muv.

Keep those cards and letters coming for the folks that get mail here.  Email and text encouragement for MA and myself are also appreciated.  We may not start a lot of conversations, but we tend to respond.

 I will certainly be regular with updates as we hit any salient points going forward.


Remember:
You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.

LI Annos

August 15^th, 1960.  51 one years (LI Annos in Latin) ago today, Muv & Pha got married in Cadiz, KY.  As they celebrate their last anniversary, it’s easy to see that there is no way for this couple to ever have enough time together.

See below his Anniversary present to her.  The inscription is hard to read in the picture, but I typed it below.  Pha had the tray made during the Lexington visit last week and I smuggled it back to Pinehurst.  He gave it to Muv yesterday (even though they are big on doing things the day of) because she gave him a tie with horses on a Carousel that he was wearing for church Sunday morning.  They met during a UK production of Carousel, must have been summer of 58.

LI Annos

We made beautiful things together

We travelled the world

What a joy, Amen

Children, music, laughter and theater

There are lots of tears around the house, but there is also grace in having enough time to say goodbye.  Just as The Great Pha taught us how to live, he is teaching us how to die.

Mary Anne is in Pinehurst, at least for the next three weeks.  I’m flying in and out to Denver, but will be around as much as I can.

Given that the last dose of chemotherapy seemed to give Pha enough strength for the farewell tour to KY, he’s scheduled himself for another round of chemo this week.  He’s always been very good about measuring cost (both to us the taxpayer and to his comfort) versus the benefit of any therapy.  Apparently, it feels like another round of the nasty drugs is worth it.

I’ll try to write as emotions and time allow.  We welcome prayers for Pha and Muv and the whole family.

The shot below is from Soph's in Charlotte as they drove up to KY last week.

A day in the Life

Alice and Vert

Eben in utero

Spent all day with TGP and Muv in Pinehurst today.  Caroline has been here also.

We had bacon and cinnamon rolls for breakfast - the best morning meal in 51 years according to himself.  Once you're off the Zetia and not really tracking the cholesterol, menu choices can become more interesting.

We spent time together on the computer, so I know my way around things.  We spend a lot of time with old videos.  A little more recorded local news coverage than I might have chosen if I were the editor, but intermingled with some great film of Pha and his three brothers and his sister.  Also some 1991 shots of the cutest 2 & 5 year old girls you could ever hope to see.

Replaced oven range vent filters & cleared a bathroom sink.  There is a hinge that was out of stock at Lowes that will fix a kitchen cabinet; that will wait for the next trip.

All in all, I can't image how I could have spent the day any better.

TGP goes into hospice

Himself in 1959

My father, Vertrees Hollingsworth, was admitted to hospice today.  He was diagnosed with prostate cancer over a year ago and it has recently metastasized to the lungs.  Sophia, Dunn and Piel were with him over the weekend.  Caroline will be there later this week.  TPG & Alice hope to make it to Lexington in early August.   Mary Anne and Eleanor and I will visit in NC later in August.  

He's not in pain and, as always, has a great attitude.  I'm glad we can start hospice early enough for it to be a real help.  His oncologist is the Medical Director of the agency seeing him.  I've dealt with hospice professionally for a couple of decades and it is a tremendous service.

We welcome prayers from all those who know himself or any of the rest of us in the family.  It hasn't been an easy year+

TGP Autobiography 1993

Muv found this somewhere and I read it to the immediate family at the beach last July. I thought it was worth transcribing and sharing. I've been asking TGP to write for the blog and haven't gotten much reaction, so I'm using the writing I have from him. Remember this is almost 15 years old as of today.

Part the First - Where I have been

My parents began their lives at the turn of the century:

• my mother born first in 1898 as the only child of the union between a hotel/resort wealthy mama and an imperious country farmer turned mathematician/teacher father (whom she worshiped)
• my father one year later as the second/last child of a German beer-maker descendant (grandmother Addis) and a flashy con-artist alcoholic (who left his posterity nothing except the Hollingsworth name, being a poor side trip down from Valentine Hollingsworth's 1640 arrival in Delaware)

Mother grew up in Mt. Clemens, Michigan, where she:

1. learned the resort/hotel business,
2. gained a vast respect for books
3. was spoiled rotten by her doting father

thereby giving her deep recesses of self-confidence and a literary bent.

Father grew up in St. Louis, Missouri and acquired a smattering of German, a strong aversion to alcohol and a fondness for things mechanical.

They met as undergraduates at the University of Illinois and were soulmates for 48 years. What a bedrock upon which to lay my foundations! Mother brought intelligence, joie de vivre, literacy and interpersonal skills; Father was a Tau Beta Pi and had a Masters in Mechanical Engineering... a genius at that which seized his attention for the moment.

Throughout the 20s and 30s, my family grew to four very quickly (boy, boy, girl, boy) and while Father earned and lost several fortunes in the construction business. Mother wrote and published multiple volumes of poetry and some plays; she learned to go from two cars and several servants to scrubbing the brick sidewalk of our large St. Louis home without losing a beat. I put in an appearance 8 years after number four, in 1937, much to everyone's surprise ("Polly, dammit, you can't be. We can't afford this right now"), apparently having been acquired on a one year trip around the US and Canada in 1936, looking for military contracts to build another dam similar to Father's success at Ft. Peck.

Father struck it rich one more time in 1938 (found a flaw in the Texas Oil Company's mineral rights to the Salem oil pool in Illinois: obtained them for the "cauliflower strip", a road 1/2 mile long and 30 feet wide from which he and some other connivers took so much oil that Texaco bought them out) and so moved his brood to Kentucky in 1939. We bought a Bluegrass horse/tobacco farm 10 miles north of Lexington and set about learning the thoroughbred/sheep/cattle/fighting-banty-rooster business (everyone should grow up on a farm: the value of one dollar an hour wages is very apparent to all that have worked from dawn to dusk). My first real memory, other than those home movie induced, is one of the announcement of WW II and the departure of two older brothers: the eldest to Camp Blanding, Florida, to be a drill instructor for the duration and the second eventually to Europe with Patton's Army. The rest of the group stayed to run the farm and the horses. Father had retired by this time; two heart attacks before age 41, a severed arm in the 30's (implausibly sewed back on ... Mother wouldn't let them take it off as they should have and it worked! Never have understood that) and Graves disease about finished him. He claimed he had been put up on blocks by the war, just as his V-12 Lincoln Continental was. Mother was never phased by anything. She wrote and directed a major musical production in 1943 at the University of Kentucky and I tasted the theater, gaining accolades from which I never recovered. She led the family in Christmas plays written so that all had parts that fit our personalities. I was usually the goody-two-shoes.

Schooling for me began in 1943 at an eight-classes-in-four-rooms school that Mother thought would be good. "To walk with Princes nor lose the common touch" was quoted all the time, but sounded too fancy for my taste. It was close and I got to ride my bike the 1 1/2 miles each way. There I learned the 3 R's, a rigid meritocracy in which one had to earn the right to play in recess games and a rural approach to sexual education. We were all sexperts by second grade, seeing it practiced every day outside the school by various and sundry animals. Since Mother was the volunteer drama coach, I played the lead in several dramatic operettas.... even though lacking the requisite vocal talent. By the seventh grade, the total lack of social graces caused some concern, so I was sent to a private school in Lexington and discovered that money and privilege covered a multitude of ineptitudes. Quickly, back to my country place for the eight and final year of rural education and then on to a small semi-private "model" high school in Lexington: still possible before the consolidation of districts in the early 50's.

High school is a pivotal experience for most; mine was a pleasant four years with 28 people in the class, and inordinate number of whom would end up in relatively fancy institutions of higher learning. I began to learn about girls instead of cows, boys instead of horses/tobacco, and discovered I had modest skills in a number of areas but was outstanding in none. The choice of becoming a Renaissance Man or a Dilettante struck me. I played several sports, but could "start" only in swimming; I was in plays, in the band, the glee club and eventually was Valedictorian, the only area in which I actually emerged as a winner. I had a remarkably untrammeled child & young adult-hood. I was a fairly strong-willed, somewhat spoiled youth to whom opportunity had come as a genetic and cultural gift, unfought-for. It was now 1955: all my siblings were married and had appropriately multiplied..... I was known as "Uncle Vert" to at least 15 nephews and nieces. My kind and wise brother-in-law touted me on a trip east to school and I became the first of the clan to venture outside the state. I arrived in New Haven, Connecticut on a train and was greener than the grass on the Commons.
Four years later, I could write, think a little, knew my way around New York City and had been accepted to several medical schools. I carried music (I was in the Glee Club and the Band) and theater with me, but majored in American Studies and have loved history, education and teaching ever since. (Didn't give a fig about managing anything until about three years ago).

I met the love of my life in a Lexington summer production of "Carousel" and we were married in 1960, after one year (the worst) of medical school in Cincinnati.
The draft was still with us, so I joined a Navy scholarship program that paid nothing, but let me pick when I would enter upon active duty. Two children, one MD degree and a hellacious year at Receiving Hospital (Detroit's answer to Bellevue) later, the four of us were in Camp Pendleton, California for the most relaxed time of our lives. My wife is an accomplished musician and we were active in singing and church work out there until April of 1965 when Viet Nam began in earnest. By a miracle of uncertain origin, I was taken off the ship on two occasions and not allowed to go to Chu Lai or Saigon (both of which subsequently had Naval Hospitals with several of our friends in them soon thereafter).


We left Naval service and California in 1966, returning to Georgetown, Kentucky to join my closest friend from high school and an older established physician in the general practice of medicine. This would later become Family Practice as we shifted with the times and learned to treat things beside diseases. This was the growth time in our life cycle: family, work, responsibilities..... they all grew. I began to experiment with teaching at the Medical School a few miles down the road in Lexington.

Having found a true California baby in 1966, we had our last in 1968 and upon the latter's entry into kindergarten 5 years later, my wife returned to teaching music. Drama slipped for a little while as the time constraints of a 72 hour work week for me, and 80 hour work week for Alice (full time classroom teacher, church organist/choir director at two churches and +/- 20 voice or piano students!) made for a hectic 14 years.

We grew in the community, added to our home, made lots of friends and worked like crazy. Some 200 deliveries, medical student precepting and sundry medical procedures later (I was a "skin and its contents doctor") there had to be other things to do. Et voila! .............. the Navy casually sent me a recruiting letter.

Part the Second - Where I am Now

It was January of 1980. I began dreaming of three things: teaching, travel and time off (my three T's). We had a family conference with Alice and the three still at home, (#1 was a freshman at Yale by now, so we all decided his vote didn't count). #2 was a Junior in High School (JIHS) and the thought of moving for her last year (to Charleston, South Carolina, the duty station I had been offered) was anathema: one against. #2 was 14 and quickly figured out that he would be 15 in March, a full three months before he could get to South Carolina and take the driver's test that would let him drive a FULL YEAR before Kentucky would allow it: one for. #4 was finishing the sixth grade and figured she was going to a new school anyhow... and fourth children will do anything to avoid a fuss: one neutral/for. Alice looked at me and said, "Whatever you want is OK with me".. not a resounding for, but I counted it.

We sold the practice to my remaining three partners, sold the house (finally, in 1982!) cried with the folks on the staff at the little hospital and wrote a letter to the editor of the local paper to explain why I was taking no new pregnant patients. (I managed to deliver the last one while my wife oversaw the packout....smooth move). We arrived in hot, humid Charleston on 30 June 1980 and a new career/life began for all of us. The three T's and more!

I began the full time teaching required of a Graduate Medical Education (GME); to take young physicians, just out of medical school and convert them into knowledgeable specialists in Family Medicine in three short years. My wife taught in the SC school system and was selected as Teacher of the Year by 1983. I was learning and, having more field experience than the other faculty, became Assistant Head of the department. I spent some time at sea with the Saudi Navy (got a Navy Commendation Medal for teaching them how to use condoms without letting their Admiral know such were needed; adultery is an offense requiring removal of the offending "member".......my wife calls it my rubber medal to this day). By this time # 3 was a JIHS so the Navy naturally picked 1983 to send me to Pensacola, Florida to become head of that residency program. I joined the Faculty of Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences (USUHS), in Bethesda, Maryland at that time, since they sent medical students to us for training. BY 1986, #4 had been graduated from high school, so we moved to Washington to work in medical school academia on a full time basis. There followed two pleasant years as an Associate Professor of Clinical Family Practice, while Alice taught music to angels of the (North) Chevy Chase Elementary.

I became involved in Health Care Planning while in DC and, as the Surgeon General's Advisor for Family Practice, began to visualize changes needed in the organization/delivery of medical care to DOD beneficiaries. That led to several cross-specialty committees and before I knew it, Rota, Spain and Newport, Rhode Island had been selected as Family Practice Demonstration Project hospitals. The idea was to demonstrate the cost effectiveness/customer satisfaction achievable by introducing into the socialized system of Navy Medicine, the concept of continuity of care from a broadly trained specialist who would provide 85% of all care to a command/ship/finite number of families. The first hospital staffed with resources sufficient to the task was Rota; I went there as Medical Director in 1988 and became the Executive Officer in 1989, as we moved into a new facility.

What a gorgeous opportunity it is to live in another culture. To learn new values and an appreciation of one's own is enriching. My wife and I were visited by 3 of our offspring, various college and work related friends; we toured most of Europe and a little bit of Africa; she led the base chapel in song, the base choir in two huge fests and provided music for three theatre productions; I played parts in four plays and was the "face of the base", since I was always on TV explaining health care. I began pursuing the Masters in Management in earnest while there (via Salve's GIS program), having earlier completed the Naval War College curriculum by seminar. As Operation Desert Shield became Storm, I was suddenly ordered back to Newport as Commanding Officer of the local Naval Hospital; one that is undergoing a dramatic set of paradigm shifts. We are embarking on the Navy's first ever use of a civilian facility for our in-patients, while our doctors will be supplying the care. The out-patient portion of care will be rendered in a new facility by a large group of Family Physicians with lots of available consultants. Lots of challenges, lots of opportunities. Thus far, I have been challenged by no major setbacks/disappointments; I have been rewarded by not yet having reached my own private Peter Principle.

Part the Third - Where I am Going

This actually represents my first serious look at the future, at least as it affects my wife and me. As an ENFP (a Myers-Briggs classification that describes one who does not tolerate repetition or sameness for very long), I doubt that the challenges of my current position will hold sway for long. After the political and organizational complexities are ironed out and the mission becomes one of keeping a straight course, I will tire of it and request a change. The Naval Hospital in Charleston holds allure; nearby grandchildren, a residency training program, a large facility (250 beds) and a community with which we are both familiar and comfortable. After that, I have flatly refused to plan.....if flag rank is a possibility (and there is nothing more uncertain than that!), the thereafter will be taken care of by higher challenges. If not, I shall gladly serve out the requisite time to register my twenty years of active duty in whatever capacity the Navy wishes. There are not bad jobs, just bad attitudes (rather like the theater: "No small parts, only small players"). Therein lies my small secret of success....... I have enjoyed everything I have done and have had no major lasting disappointments. Each step along life's path has had a delightful form of recompense, not the least of which has been a wonderful marriage, a super set of offspring and a rewarding career.

In any event, in July of 1998 (at age 61) I intend to hang up my ancient stethoscope/Cross pen and embark on a set of world travels that will include exotic destinations, grandchildren, reading, music, theater and raconteur-ing. I intend to enjoy the trip through the rest of my life; the destination and the stops along the way no longer hold much in the way of fear or trepidation. I rather look forward to each day's challenges as the stimuli that will keep the blood flowing smoothly.

My epitaph? Simple:

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

As he says, it's great to be well brought up. Understanding the heritage helps us understand the present. Since this was written, he went to San Diego, then retirement from the Navy and several years in Pinehurst, where he and Muv still reside. He is now nine-toed, one-eyed stroke man, living and loving life.