Jun 8, 2021

Eyeball Developments

 


A number of years ago (I can't even guess how many.), my ophthalmologist informed me that I had a condition in both eyes called Fuchs' Dystrophy. The good folks at the Mayo Clinic describe the condition this way, "In Fuchs' (fewks) dystrophy, fluid builds up in the clear layer (cornea) on the front of your eye, causing your cornea to swell and thicken. This can lead to glare, blurred or cloudy vision, and eye discomfort.

"Fuchs' dystrophy usually affects both eyes and can cause your vision to gradually worsen over years. Typically, the disease starts in the 30s and 40s, but many people with Fuchs' dystrophy don't develop symptoms until they reach their 50s or 60s.

"Some medications and self-care steps may help relieve your Fuchs' dystrophy signs and symptoms. But when the disorder is advanced and your vision is affecting your ability to function well, the best way to restore vision is with cornea transplant surgery."

Gradually, the effects of this condition have become more pronounced and onerous.  A few weeks ago, during a regularly-scheduled exam, I told my doctor that I'd like to consider a surgical remedy.  He informed me that during the years since I was initially diagnosed, some new techniques had been developed for dealing with the condition. There happen to be a couple of expert corneal surgeons in Birmingham whom he would be happy to refer me to.

Thus it was that last Wednesday I drove to Sheffield, Alabama, to meet with Dr. Jack Parker, M.D. and Ph.D. Dr. Parker is the son of a father-son surgical team specializing in corneal surgery. Dr. Parker's credentials are impressive, as described on the Parker Cornea Website: "Jack Parker is considered one of the world’s foremost authorities on the treatment of keratoconus and Fuchs dystrophy. He is currently the only U.S. eye surgeon fellowship trained at NIIOS–the Dutch institution that developed modern corneal lamellar surgery (DMEK, DSEK, and Bowman layer transplantation).

During medical school and residency at UAB, Jack collaborated with world renowned corneal surgeon Gerrit Melles of Rotterdam. Following completion of a UAB ophthalmology residency, Jack completed a joint fellowship with NIIOS in Rotterdam and his father at Parker Cornea in Birmingham. Jack’s PhD thesis Recent Innovations in Minimally Invasive Anterior and Posterior Lamellar Keratoplasty was co-promoted by Dr. Melles and Dr. Martine Jager and was accepted by Leiden University on July 4, 2017. Jack currently serves on the board of Directors of NIIOS USA."

Needless to say, I feel extremely fortunate to have made contact with such a highly qualified practitioner.  He greeted me most cordially on Wednesday and then examined my eyes.  He confirmed that I have a mature case of Fuchs, but the good news is that my corneas are not yet scarred (a condition that can result if the disease progresses long enough).  He suggested that I would benefit from a procedure called Descemet Membrane Endothelial Keratoplasty (DMEK). In this process, the back layer of cells on the cornea is removed, after which the same layer of cells (called the Descemet membrane and endothelium) from a donor cornea is implanted on the back of my cornea.  Talk about micro-surgery!  Sources on the internet describe the procedure in much more academic terms, "DMEK is a partial-thickness cornea transplant procedure that involves selective removal of the patient's Descemet membrane and endothelium, followed by transplantation of donor corneal endothelium and Descemet membrane without additional stromal tissue from the donor. The graft tissue is merely 10-15 microns thick. Similar to DSAEK, direct contact with the DMEK graft tissue should be avoided to prevent endothelial cell damage and graft failure. A clear corneal incision is created, the recipient endothelium and Descemet membrane are removed, and the graft is loaded into an inserter. After injecting the tissue into the anterior chamber, the surgeon orients and unscrolls the graft, and a bubble of 20% sulfur hexafluoride (SF6) is placed in the anterior chamber to support graft adherence. A variation known as Descemet membrane automated endothelial keratoplasty (DMAEK) utilized an automated preparation of the donor tissue that left a rim of donor stroma peripherally for easier tissue handling, but the procedure is no longer performed due to advances in DMEK that have allowed for easier insertion and manipulation of the graft tissue."

There's a really informative animation of the procedure at https://youtu.be/7Ai8PxaXE2s

Dr. Parker suggested that we start with my right eye, which would benefit the most in visual acuity.  Today, I had a call from his scheduler and I'm scheduled to have the first procedure on Tuesday, July 6th.  I'm really excited.

Reading the comments from people who have undergone this surgery is enlightening and encouraging.  People talk about almost instant results, "miraculous" changes in clarity of vision, and amazing changes in color perception.  I'm incredibly grateful that we have such procedures and dedicated specialists available in my lifetime.  Recovery will take about a month before we repeat the process on my left eye.

Jun 6, 2021

David Page Robbins February 14, 1940 - September 25, 2018

Dave Robbins in the 1960s

A few days ago, I was explaining to someone how I became a member of the Sigma Chi social fraternity.  When I left my home to attend the University of Rochester, I wasn't certain that I wanted to join a fraternity.  My brother Bill had been a member of the Chi Psi fraternity at the University of Michigan, but there wasn't a Chi Psi chapter at Rochester. My father had been a member of Delta Sigma Delta at Michigan, but that was a dental society. Thus, there was no legacy tradition that would motivate me to become a member.

I had looked through a list of fraternities at Rochester, and could relate to three of them. Our good friends, the Gardners, had two sons at Rochester who were members of the Alpha Delta Phi fraternity.  My father's insurance broker, Chick Heckenburg, had been a Psi Upsilon brother. My "Aunt" Betty's late husband, "Uncle" Ned (Edward McGrew) had been a Sigma Chi at Northwestern.  I decided I'd visit these houses during the Fall rush period and see if the idea of fraternity membership might interest me.  I don't think I realized until I had arrived on campus that one of my sister's high school friends, Dave Robbins, was attending Rochester and had become a brother in the Sigma Chi house.

When rush week rolled around, I visited these and several other houses.  The group that I seemed to "connect" with was the Sigme Chi brotherhood. I decided I'd go back for a second visit if I was invited.  Shortly thereafter, I read something in the Campus Times that dampened that idea. It seems that the Sigma Chi national consitution had a "White Clause" stating that only white males were eligible for membership. That ran directly counter to my personal culture and belief framework. I prided myself on my non-racist attitudes.  I then decided that even if I were invited to the Sig house, I wouldn't respond. I could navigate four years at Rochester perfectly well without a fraternity.

I received an invitation to return to the Sigma Chi house for a follow-up Rush Smoker (Doesn't that term sound archaic?). I ignored it. The next day, I received a phone call from Dave Robbins, asking if we could meet to discuss Sigma Chi.  I explained my reason for ignoring their invitation.  He was persistent and we met for coffee at the student union.

Dave presented it this way. He, too found the white clause to be abhorrent. There was a "Grand Chapter" coming up the next summer at which he was quite sure it would be removed.  There were several undergraduate chapters, including the Rochester chapter, that had been informed by their host universities that the clause must be removed by a specified deadline or they could no longer be recognized by the institutions. You could do a whole lot more to bring about change from within an organization than from the outside.  Would I please reconsider?

Dave, in his extremely low-key approach, had changed my view. I subsequently pledged and was initiated into Sigma Chi. The white clause was removed the next summer. Our chapter survived. I eventually served my chapter as its Social Chairman, Pro-Consul (Vice-President), and Consul (President). The brotherhood and its principles have been a most powerful and meaningful influence in my life.  I have never regretted my decision to become a brother.

Today, the fraternity is a remarkably inclusive organization, celebrating its diversity. In 1995, Sigma Chi adopted its Statement of Policy on Human Decency and Dignity. Sigma Chi’s Executive Committee approved the formation of a Diversity and Inclusion Commission.  When the Commission was formed, the international Grand Consul stated, "The commission is charged, foremost, with listening. They will listen to anyone who wants to speak. All opinions, thoughts, perspectives and recommendations are encouraged and needed. They will be responsible for organizing the thoughts of the collective and distilling those thoughts into a series of recommendations to be brought forward to the Executive Committee. Recognizing the urgency of this work and the importance of tackling the subject of diversity and inclusion in our Fraternity,"

Dave Robbins was right.  I owe him a debt of gratitude for his wise counsel.  Unfortunately, I recently learned of his passing.  His obituary speaks volumes about his character.  All Honor to His Name!

Obituary for David Page Robbins:

David P. Robbins, 78, of Fredericksburg, passed away on Tuesday, September 25, 2018.

David was born in Schenectady, New York. He spent his school years there and his summers in York Beach, Maine. In 1961, he graduated from the University of Rochester with his fiancée, Martha Lightbown. They were married later that year. David served in the US Army Reserve 1962-68. In 1965, he graduated from UC Riverside and returned to the east coast. He and Martha raised their two daughters in New Hampshire and later retired to Virginia.

David was a lifelong learner. He was a passionate public educator (US history and geography) at New York and New Hampshire schools for many years. A cheerful, friendly man who was full of wit, he loved talking with and learning about others. He treated everyone with equal respect and interest, touching the hearts of all who met him. He was deeply committed to helping the overlooked and the underprivileged. David was exceptionally musical: he sang, played the piano, listened to music all day long, and collected vintage sheet music. His other special interests included baseball, maps, current events, statistics, and religion. He was a lifelong Christian—a Presbyterian as a child, an Episcopalian as a young adult, and then a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, where he served as a pianist, teacher, and leader for almost 40 years.

Above all, David adored his family. He delighted in his beloved wife, children, grandchildren, and great grandchild and spent many hours communicating with treasured extended family. He kept a journal, wrote his personal history for his posterity, researched family history, and covered his walls with family trees and pictures of his ancestors and descendants.

Left to cherish his memory are his devoted wife of 57 years, Martha; children, Beth Austin (Gary) and Meg Andrew (Bruce); grandchildren, Michael (Rachel), Sarah, Becca, and Daniel Austin and Wil, Amy, Henry, and Martin Desposorio; great-grandson, Clive Austin; brother, Doug Robbins; nephew, Joseph Robbins; niece, Deborah Speckhard (Jesse); cousins, Joanne Smith and Paula Page (Lee); and many other cousins, nieces, and nephews. David has now joined his parents, Barbara and Ralph Robbins; aunt and uncle, Muriel and Clayton Robbins; niece, Sarah Robbins; nephew, Thomas Robbins; and cousin Joanne’s husband, Bruce Smith.

A service to remember and celebrate David’s life was held privately, per his wishes.

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to Doctors Without Borders (https://donate.doctorswithoutborders.org/onetime.cfm), the American Indian College Fund (https://collegefund.org/make-a-gift/?source=website), and the United Negro College Fund (https://www.uncf.org/ways-to-donate).

David P. Robbins (1940-2018)


Marvin Collins, Doctor of Motors

Collins Garage as it appeared in the 1960s. Entrance on the right.

I moved to Norman, Oklahoma, in August of 1965.  My only transportation was my 1932 Plymouth Model PB business coupe, which I drove from my former Navy duty station in Groton, Connecticut, to Norman. I went by way of Milwaukee, where I had to attend a Navy indoctrination training program at Marquette University. Within a few weeks of my arrival, I decided to find a mechanic whom I would trust to work on my prized vintage car.

I spoke to a number of newly-made friends and colleagues at the University of Oklahoma and concluded that my best bet might be Marvin Collins, the owner of Collins Garage at 420-422 East Main Street in Norman.  The following Saturday, I drove my old Plymouth to that location and ventured through an open door.  I saw a lone mechanic bent over the front fender of a fairly new car.  I spoke after a short delay, "Would you happen to be Mr. Marvin Collins?"

   The man emerged and greeted me with a cigarette locked between his lips, "I sure am, and who are you?"  This began a friendship that would last many years.  He admired my car, asked how long I had owned it, told me that the early Plymouths were fine machines, and agreed to help me maintain it.  He was amazed that I had chosen to drive the car halfway across the country.

I learned from Marvin's business card that he jokingly referred to himself as "Marvin Collins, Doctor of Motors." I also realized that the trademark Chesterfield hanging from Marvin's lips was a permanent fixture.

Over many years of employing him to work on my cars, I realized that Marvin was a walking encyclopedia of automotive knowledge.  A specific example that comes to mind was the day I walked into the shop and he was working on a late 1940s Lincoln with its flathead V-12 engine.  The owner had rebuilt the carburetor, after which the car refused to start.  Out of frustration, he had towed the car to Collins Garage to see if Marvin could help.  Shortly after I walked in, Marvin got in the car, hit the starter, and the car burst into life.  He fidgeted with the carburetor to get the idle speed where it belonged, then turned off the key.  "Poor fellow that owns this didn't realize they made a design change halfway through the model year.  All it needed was a different economizer valve."  That's the kind of obscure information that resided in Marvin's head.  Keep in mind that this was a 20-year old car at the time.

Marvin was outspoken. He didn't mince words.  One day, I happened upon an early Saturday morning estate auction being conducted on a front lawn in an older neighborhood in Norman.  I registered as a bidder "just in case."  Before the auction concluded, the auctioneer announced that the family had owned three cars.  The first to be sold was a 1957 Cadillac Sedan de Ville with only 35,000 miles on its odometer.  It soon was mine at a hammer price of $735.00.  As a proud new owner, I immediately headed down to Marvin's to show off my new acquisition.

Marvin saw me pull in, walked around the car surveying its merits, then asked, "Is this yours?" I nodded. "Didn't talk to me before you bought it, did you?"  I didn't like what I was hearing.  "You're gonna pay me a lot of money if you keep driving this thing." 

It turned out that the 1957 Cadillac engine, a 365 cu. in. V-8 (shared with the Oldsmobile 98, I was to learn) had a fatal design flaw.  The webbing around some of the valve seats in the cylinder heads was too thin and would develop thermal stress crack over time. Marvin and I scoured the junkyards in and around Oklahoma City and acquired three spare "good" cylinder heads for each side of my engine, "just in case."

Sure enough, within a few months, I started to notice a rough idle and a compression check revealed which cylinder head had cracked.  Upon removing it, the crack was easy to spot. We retrieved one of the good heads, made sure everything was nominal, and installed it.  

I was at the garage just as Marvin was about to start the rebuilt engine for the first time.  It cranked over, started, and then produced a horrible loud metallic clattering sound.  Marvin instantly shut down the engine. His character as an honest man was then displayed. "There's something in one of the combustion chambers. That's my fault. Any costs from this point forward are on me," he said.

We later reconstructed what probably happened. After the cylinder head was installed, as well as the intake manifold, we concluded that a small washer on the workbench had adhered to Marvin's sweaty arm.  When he reached across the engine it dropped off of his arm and into one of the openings in the intake.  When the car started, that little washer was ingested through an intake valve and was bouncing around inside the combustion chamber. 

Marvin used a borescope to spot the culprit, removed the appropriate cylinder head for a through inspection and to remove the battered washer.  After completion of the reassembly, the car ran beautifully.  I had to replace one more cylinder head before I decided to sell that car.  Marvin, as usual, was right.

Marvin Collins was a rare breed -- incredibly knowledgeable in his chosen profession, honest as the day is long, and one of the most decent human beings you could ever ask for. He passed away in 1987 at the age of 66 and is buried in Norman.  I feel privileged to have benefitted from his skill and knowledge as a Doctor of Motors.  Even more, I feel blessed to have called him a friend. 

† RIP 


Feb 14, 2021

A Cane-Inspired Poetic Memory...

Mary Ann showed me a picture of a new cane she had ordered.  She said that when she saw the handle, she simply had to get it.  I said, "It looks like a toucan," and immediately was reminded of a poem.

Very few can Tell the Toucan
From the Pecan — Here's a new plan:
To take the Toucan from the Tree,
Requires immense agilitee,
While anyone can pick with ease
The Pecans from the Pecan trees.
It's such an easy thing to do,
That even the Toucan he can too.

From: How to Tell the Birds From the Flowers: a Manual of Flornitology for Beginners (Nature Series No. 23) Hardcover – January 1, 1907, by Robert Williams Wood (Author, Illustrator). Dr. Wood, a world-famous physicist and inventor was a good friend of my friends growing up, the family of Dr. Alfred Theodore Goble, a professor of physics at Union College in Schenectady.

An Unexpected Family Connection...

Edward S. Farrow 1898-1962

In January, 1962, in my senior year at Rochester, my Sigma Chi brothers honored me by electing me to serve as Consul, the president of the chapter.  Not long before that, I had learned that Edward S. Farrow, a resident of Rochester and a former international president (Grand Consul) of Sigma Chi, had suffered an acute brain aneurism and was comatose and in critical condition. Mr. Farrow had retired from Kodak in 1958 as Vice President and Assistant General Manager, with over 37 years of service.

Ed Farrow had a unique role in the establishment of the Sigma Chi chapter at the University of Rochester.  In the late 1920s, Sigma Chi had collectively decided that they were no longer interested in expanding to additional campuses.  But Ed Farrow, who at that time was a young engineer at Eastman Kodak, wanted the undergraduates at Rochester to have the opportunity to become brothers in Sigma Chi as he had done at MIT a few years before.  In 1929, he was aware of an outstanding local fraternity at the University of Rochester (I recall that it was Sigma Delta Epsilon) that would be a perfect candidate to petition Sigma Chi for acceptance as a new chapter.  So, in spite of the prevailing "no growth" attitude of the international fraternity, Ed Farrow made it his personal mission to add at least one more chapter. He brought a crew to the campus and made what today would be called a promotional film depicting the men and activities of the local candidate fraternity.  Then he traveled the country visiting chapters, showing the 16 millimeter black and white film, and making his case for the establishment of a new chapter at the U of R.  His one-man campaign was successful, and in 1932 the Gamma Pi chapter of Sigma Chi was recognized and its first brothers initiated.

In 1962, as I assumed the leadership of that chapter, Ed Farrow was in a vegetative state, not expected to live.  I proposed to the chapter that we rededicate our chapter room, the place we conducted our most solemn fraternal ceremonies, to the memory of Brother Farrow's devotion and service to Sigma Chi. Every brother embraced the idea.  We had some brainstorming sessions and decided we would refurbish the space and place a memorial plaque above the fireplace in the basement room that served as our dining room and chapter ceremonial room.  I contacted Marnie Farrow, Ed's wife, to advise her of our plans and to ensure that we would not offend her or cause any emotional pain by moving forward.  She wholeheartedly supported our effort.

I wrote a letter to Mr. Lloyd Balfour, CEO of the Balfour Jewelry Company, the official Sigma Chi jeweler at the time, to determine if they could produce a silver plaque, etched with a likeness of Ed Farrow and containing a dedicatory inscription.  Our alumni and brothers would donate to pay for this memorial panel.

Mr. Balfour, himself a prominent Sigma Chi alumnus, responded within just a few days. He advised me that he and Ed Farrow were close friends and that he was thrilled that we wanted to honor Ed's many years of service to Sigma Chi.  He proceeded to say that he would like to donate the memorial plaque and couldn't imagine charging the chapter for its manufacture.  We would be receiving his contribution in a few weeks and he was honored to be part of this tribute. The next part of his letter took me by surprise.

Mr. Balfour said that he noticed my last name was Mead.  He recalled that in the early 1930s, a woman named Ethel Mead Van Auken had been largely responsible for bringing the jewelry business of the Alpha Chi Omega sorority to his company.  He wondered if I was related to that person to whom he was especially grateful.  As I have written in a previous blog entry, I knew that woman as Aunt Ethel, my father's sister.  I wrote back to Lloyd Balfour to advise him of our connection.

A few weeks later, the engraved plaque arrived.  It was stunning!  The engraved image of Ed Farrow was remarkable and the inscription was flawless. And so, on a sunny spring Saturday, a date suggested by Mrs. Farrow, the chapter gathered for a formal celebration and dedication. Dignitaries from the University and the fraternity participated, as did Mrs. Farrow and one of the couple's daughters.  Just a few months later, in August 1962, we lost Ed Farrow at the young age of 64. His death impacted many institutions, the city of Rochester, and hundreds of friends. In his community, Ed Farrow had served as president of the Rochester Civic Music Association, board member of Rochester Art Gallery, vice president of the Rochester Council of the Boy Scouts of America, and chairman of the finance committee for the Episcopal Diocese of Rochester. In addition he served as a member of the Corporation of M.I. T.  As we say in the brotherhood of Sigma Chi, "All Honor to his name!"

Jan 20, 2021

Mike Armstrong, Gone But Not Forgotten

Michael F. Armstrong
1941-2020

A few days ago I was reviewing the Christmas cards we had received this year and noticed that one of the names missing was Mike Armstrong. I first met Mike Armstrong in 1959 when he entered the freshman class at the University of Rochester. I can’t recall who first introduced us. Mike was from Ballston Spa, New York and so we had been relatively nearby neighbors growing up but had never known each other. We became close friends through a common interest in physics. Not long after we had established a friendship I began talking to Mike about possibly joining the Sigma Chi fraternity. Mike decided not to pledge a fraternity until his sophomore year at which time he did become a Sigma Chi pledge and I became his big brother. We had a lasting friendship that that went on for years. He was initiated into the fraternity in 1961. 

Mike and I had some fabulous experiences as undergraduates. One time he had acquired a 1953 Ford convertible. It was a very tired car. We had driven home for a weekend and were on our way back west on the New York State Thruway on Sunday evening after dark when a horrible sound erupted from under the car. We were sure there was some major mechanical problem so we pulled over decided to sleep in the car and worry about solving the problem the next day. The next morning when we got out of the car and walked around it we noticed that it had nothing more than a flat tire. We changed the tire and were on our way. We didn’t share that story with very many people. We lived together in the Crosby Dormitory our last two years at Rochester. We remained close friends who corresponded regularly over the next several years. 

One of the funniest experiences Mike and I had involved an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting although Mike was never an alcoholic. Mike had gone to work for a company in Florida, Ryder Systems, that implemented information technology systems. He had gone to Memphis on a business trip to discuss the implementation of one of their systems for a company in Memphis. He called to inform us that he was driving and asked if he could drive through our hometown of Fayetteville on his way back to Florida and perhaps spend the night with Margo and myself. This was probably in about 1985. I had only recently gotten sober and was trying to get to as many AA meetings as possible. Margo and I had heard that one of our favorite speakers, Father Hilary Dreaper, a Benedictine monk, was speaking that night at an AA meeting in Lawrenceburg, Tennessee. I suggested to Mike that since he would be driving right through Lawrenceburg on his way to our home he could meet us at the AA clubhouse in Lawrenceburg. We would go to the meeting together, then go out to get a bite to eat, and then come to our house. It was a plan!

As usual Margo was late and we didn’t leave the house on time in order to be at the meeting prior to its start. Mike had arrived in plenty of time, found the location of the AA house, gone in and gotten himself a cup of coffee and sat down to wait for us to arrive. The meeting started. They started reading excerpts from the AA "Big Book" and introducing members of the local AA group. Mike was convinced that I had done this as a practical joke. Of course we arrive 15 minutes late, found a place to sit next to Mike and the rest was just a great story.

Gradually our friendship grew more distant because we never lived in the same area for any length of time. Nonetheless we stayed in touch, corresponded, and exchanged Christmas cards.  In about 1992, I invited Mike and his wife Bettie to come to Tennessee and hike up Mt. Le Conte in the Smokies.  They flew into Knoxville where a small group of my fellow hikers picked them up and we proceeded to spend the night in Townsend prior to our two-day hike.  I got the impression that this was not Mike's idea of fun.

This year when I realized that Mike had not sent a Christmas card I began to search for his name on Google with various tags that might locate some information on him such as Mike Armstrong University of Rochester. Sure enough I learned the worst -Mike had passed away last July. Even worse, he died of Lou Gehrig’s disease, the dreaded ALS. A further search revealed that the ALS foundation has a forum used by victims of this horrible disease and that Mike had been a regular contributor for several months. Reading those entries on the ALS forum I could hear his voice clearly speaking to me of the experience he was going through. I only wish I could have been there to help. It makes me regretful that sometimes we let relationships die when they need nurturing. 

His obituary reveals the life of a unique and very talented individual:

Michael Frederick Armstrong

Michael Frederick Armstrong passed away on July 20, 2020, in Hansville, Washington, after waging a courageous battle against ALS with humor and strength.

Michael was born on March 6, 1941 to Frank and Virginia (Hawkins) Armstrong. He received his Electrical Engineering degree from the University of Rochester in 1963 and worked for the University of Rochester Computing Center for fifteen years. In 1973 he met Bettie Francis scuba diving in the waters off Grand Cayman Island and they married in 1981.

Michael loved problem-solving, learning, teaching, mentoring and all things computers and airplanes. He built his own crystal radio and received his Ham Radio license, call sign K2RDB, at the age of thirteen. Michael was vice president of Information System for Ryder Corporation in the 1980s and some of his most cherished memories were as SHARE president from 1986-1988. Michael was also a pilot, a licensed aviation mechanic and a Quiet Birdmen member. He volunteered at the annual Sun N Fun Fly-In in Florida and assisted with rewiring WWII airplanes at Fantasy of Flight. There wasn't a tool, manual or book he didn't like, and he secretly wanted his own hardware store (so he could play with even more tools). He relished receiving calls from friends with challenges, so he could show his problem-solving skills. His college years were so important and transforming for him that he created an Endowed Fund at the University of Rochester to provide educational opportunities for future students. No one was ever a stranger in Michael's eyes. He loved life, music, laughing, and appreciated his incredible klatch of family and friends. His beard could never hide his big grin and Mikey's twinkly blue eyes always made you smile.

Michael is preceded in death by his father and mother. He is survived by his wife and soulmate, Bettie, his sister, Patty and all of his loving extended family members. His ashes will be interred at Hansville Cemetery, Hansville, Washington and the Armstrong & Hawkins Family Plot, Corinth Rural Cemetery, Corinth, NY.

A memorial service date is pending until sometime next year. If anyone wishes to honor Michael, donations may be made in his name to the ALS Association Evergreen Chapter at webwa.alsa.org.

Mike, I will always miss your company and know that you are loved and missed. All honor to your name. ÎŁÎ§

Aug 28, 2020

A Manresa Retreat...

The Palm Tree Lined Drive Entering the Manresa Property

I have written previously about Frank Priest, who was one of my first sponsors in the recovery program of Alcoholics Anonymous.  Frank was a very important influence in my early recovery.  He guided me through the twelve step program with compassion but also with a level of discipline that I sorely needed.  Much of the time that I spent with Frank involved conversations about the steps, my progress in proceeding through them, and Frank's guidance on my continued growth.

Step four of the twelve step program is, "[We] made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves."  I had proceeded under Frank's guidance to complete this "inventory" step, when one day he called me at Hughes Aircraft, where I was working.  "What are your plans for the weekend?"  Coming from Frank, that could have had all kinds of implications.  I told him that I had no plans.  "There's a men's AA retreat this weekend at Manresa, and I've made a reservation for you.  I'll cover half the cost.  It'd be a good time to do your fifth step. (Fifth Step - Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.)  You need to do this.  Are you in?"

I agreed to go, but had to ask what and where Manresa was, what was a men's AA retreat, and a number of other questions.  I'd never heard of an AA retreat. The answers were fascinating.

Manresa was a Jesuit-run retreat house in Azusa, California.  This was about 40 miles from where I was working.  Frank informed me that check-in was Friday afternoon, that most guys would arrive in time for dinner, which would be served at 6:00 PM in a common dining hall.  He informed me that the tradition of conducting men's AA retreats at Manresa had begun with a recovering alcoholic priest lovingly referred to as Father Barney and that they had been held for several years.  This annual retreat was a continuation of the first one, held in the 1960s.  Although there were now a number of retreats focusing on recovery hosted throughout the year at Manresa, this was the "real deal," going back some twenty years.  Frank assured me that I would benefit from some fellowship with new AA friends, some profound discussion meetings, prayer and meditation, and completing my fifth step.

A little research reveals some interesting history about the Manresa property.  There's a Web site devoted to the "Father Barney Retreat" that continues to this day.  That site informs us, "In 1947 the property for the new Jesuit Retreat House, to be called “Manresa”, was purchased from two descendant sisters of the early Slauson family in Azusa, California.  The land was once part of the old Rancho Azusa from the early 1800’s.  A large portion of the property was sold to the Monrovia Nursery, and, was to become the largest potted plant nursery in the country.  The Retreat center was located on an island of land within the nursery property and jutted up against the foothills at the east end of the San Gabriel Valley. A very long palm tree lined driveway connected Manresa to the outside world.  The Jesuits owned and operated the Retreat House from 1947 to 1994."

I asked someone at work that week how long I should allow to drive to Azusa on Friday afternoon to arrive in time for sign-in and dinner.  I was shocked when people suggested I leave by 2:30 PM.  This was to drive from El Segundo to Azusa - a distance of around 40 miles!  Allow 3-1/2 hours!  I was told, "You'll be taking the 105 and the 605. They're both like parking lots on Friday afternoon."  I left at 2:30 on Friday.  I barely made it in time.

I recall distinctly driving into a tree-lined road that went through countless acres of flowers with hundreds of laborers tending them as I approached what looked like a mansion in the middle of nowhere.  This was Manresa, and a magic place it was.  It was an imposing somewhat modern Spanish colonial building, although I have been unsuccessful in finding pictures of the structure.  I found a parking place and walked to the main entrance, beyond which was a registration table.  I recognized a couple of the men standing near the entrance from having seen them at AA meetings in LA's South Bay area.

         The only picture I've been able to          
locate of Manresa - One of the 
Chapel Doors shown in a book of 
Mid-Century Architecture in America,
Honor Awards of the AIA, 1949-1961
I checked in and was assigned a room.  Soon I had stowed my clothes, washed up for dinner, and returned to the dining hall.  Dinner was served cafeteria style.  After we were seated, the blessing was invoked, and a series of short introductions followed.  I can't recall the name of the spiritual leader's name, but he was a recovering alcoholic Jesuit priest from Spring Hill College in Mobile, Alabama.  

One of the more interesting introductions was of a man who had just celebrated his first AA birthday.  It seems that the previous year, this fellow had attended his first AA meeting and was clearly desperate to get sober.  A number of the men at the meeting where he happened to show up were regular attendees at this retreat.  They took up a special collection, got him some clean clothes and a bath, and had brought him out to Manresa on his second day sober.  Over the serving line was an abstract painting of the Last Supper.  It was done in powerful sweeping shapes in vivid and brilliant colors.  The fellow, now sober for a year, explained that when he entered the room the first time, he saw that painting and thought he was experiencing hallucinations related to delirium tremens (DTs), an experience that he had been very familiar with.  His story brought the house down with laughter.

As I recall, we were given a schedule of AA mini-meetings, periods of prayer and meditation, and opportunities for one-on-one meetings if we wanted them.  I specifically recall periods of reflection walking through the exquisitely kept Manresa gardens.

I met Father Terry, more properly Father Father Terrance L. Mahan, head of the Manresa Retreat House. He was perfect for the job, deeply spiritual, but with an outgoing, warm personality.  I found a quote from Father Terry in a Los Angeles Times article on religious retreat houses in southern California done in the 1970s.  “It’s more and more true today that people live a mad life,” he said.  “To spend a weekend where you do not have telephones or people pressing you for one thing or another allows you to give to yourself and reflect upon your higher power, your God, whatever you might believe in.
“It can have a great deal of meaning.”

I met a gentleman named Mike at Manresa who had been sober for several years.  He had also served time in prison for murder.  I asked him to hear my fifth step and he accepted.  It was a transformative experience.  There's something very liberating about putting the past behind us and moving forward.  I still had many steps ahead:
Step 6 - Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
Step 7 - Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
Step 8 - Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
Step 9 - Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

Ah, yes, those amends.  I had those to still look forward to.

I recall that on Sunday morning, as we gathered for breakfast, the priest who was leading the retreat rose and asked for our attention. "The Catholic Church is kind of funny in its attitude about Holy Communion.  Even though Jesus was really inclusive in His ministry, the Church only wants Catholics to receive Communion in the church.  As far as I'm concerned, if any of you plan to attend my Mass at 9:00 AM in the chapel, you're all honorary Catholics.  I won't be checking IDs."  His remarks really captured the spirit of fellowship that prevailed that weekend.

I shall long remember Manresa the place and Manresa the experience.

Even today, when I reflect on those who have contributed to my sobriety, I think about Frank and my many other sponsors, people like Mike and the other folks I've met in AA, and the clergy, recovering and otherwise, who have helped make the spiritual journey so uplifting,