Dear Louie,

A long time ago, I wrote to you.

A longer time ago you replied. Now I write, soon you will reply, if the spirit moves.

Nothing new here in southeastern Wisconsin.  Without news what is there to discuss; death, taxes, left, right; conservative or liberal.  Much about nothing; viel über nichts!!

Here in the Garden City of Hartford, Wisconsin, nothing has happened and the odds are nothing will happen. The activity for the next week will be to prepare for the Christmas delivery of gifts to the poorer members of society, by us the aging decrepit, elderly guys who salve their conscience by aiding the less fortunate. Sounds like Scrooge - and it might be somewhat like Scrooge. Seems we do get crotchety as we age. But a group of us old geezers and younger ones do get together, prepare lists, beg for cooperation and attempt to aid our fellow friends during Christmas time.

Dear Louie,

Allow me to use you and a letter as an outlet to an amazing night of no sleep.

Yesterday, I received bilateral injections of an epidural nature in the L4-L5 anatomy to hopefully relieve low back pain for aging spinal stenosis.  About ten years ago, I had an episode of back pain and was given a course of steroid injections with amazing relief.  This year, I irritated my condition by diligent gardening and, I suppose, by kneeling and praying for rain. Both results were less than hoped for, but both caused aggravation of lower back pain. Exercise helped, but the pain persisted. 

Dear Louie,

You might have seen this letter before, but thought you might enjoy it again - long ago, we were young.

The River

One of the constants but not one of the major elements or features of Hartford has been and is the Rubicon River. In 1935 the WPA built attractive stone buildings for events and storage. The river was widened as a swimming hole and wading pond. In today’s standard the pond would be a mud hole, but in 1935 it was a charming swimming hole where we would congregate for summer afternoons.

There under the tutelage of Mrs Ulrich, a recreational program was held. Most of the attendants were kindly leaders, untrained, but attentive and inventive. Running races, baseball games, playing on the swings, climbing ladders and trees, sunning on the banks… all activities of summer were carried out.

Dear Louie,

During the past two weeks, I have had a period of absence of good productive thoughts, a time of almost lack of thinking, a time of difficulty in coming to conclusions, of making judgments, of proceeding in writing, but a time of some accomplishment.

Hi Louie,

June 6 , 1944 was a great day, an important day for me; after two years, nine months of which were spent on Adak, I was discharged from the USNR.

June 6, 2012 was a day of awakening for me. June 6, 2012, I
attended a funeral for the wife of a classmate from med school. It was as awakening to me as much as the discharge from Adak; but for unrelated reasons.

Dear Louie,
Over the past four years a group of “young men” in old body frames have met four to five mornings each week for coffee, tea, and conversation. Each morning is a free association conversation with a wide variety of themes; ample swings of emotions, and examples of tolerance, learning, and what at times passes for wisdom, but if the truth be recognized, are examples of partial thought recall and often staggering memory loss and confabulatory substitution.

Louie,

I sent this to one of my golfing buddies a few weeks ago.

Golf is a great game.

A greater game when shared with friends.

Enjoy,

Jim

A Life, A Career, A Look Back

I was born March 14, 1926, in Hartford, WI., and have lived there my lifetime. I was born in the hospital where, later, for 40 years, I practiced medicine: six years in General Practice and thirty-four years in Internal Medicine.

I attended grade school at St. Kilian School, from which I received the 2005 Distinguished Graduate Award. I graduated from Hartford High School in 1944 and immediately entered the U.S. Navy, spending ten months on the island paradise of Attu in the Behring Sea as an electrician and teletype repair man.

I had always desired to study medicine and was disappointed in being directed to an Electrician’s School rather than into the Navy Medical Corps- their loss. On discharge, I enrolled at Marquette University for premed and later was accepted at Marquette University School of Medicine, from which I graduated in 1953. I am a member of AOA.

Following graduation, I interned at St. Joseph’s Hospital, Milwaukee, and there was introduced to the concept of Internal Medicine under the instruction of Sam Rosenthal, M.D. , the most intuitive practitioner I have ever met.

Dear Louie,

As one ages, age becomes an accepted associate. All or most of our actions are controlled by, modified, stimulated, or inhibited by advancing age and associated problems. Initially, we laugh about aches and pains, clumsiness of actions, or memory loss. Later, we rue the day of aging and wonder where youth, or at least middle age, has gone. We laugh at forgetfulness and silently curse the missed appointment, we recall days of full calendars, but are happy with a day without ringing telephones.

Dear Louie,

So often after the fact, after the death, after the divorce, after the auto accident, the survivors, those interested in the tragedy, those who lend aid, those folks who have stood by are left with nothing, a real loss and emptiness of spirit. Because one is empathetic, caring, and attentive does not guaranty peace and calmness after the loss.

I well recall a two a.m. visit to the medical floor of the hospital. I was summoned by the charge nurse to attend a critically ill patient, a patient of one of the older physicians of the community. On arrival, I was greeted by the charge nurse, who also was the night nurse on duty. She was distressed and agitated.

One of the Letters to Louie where both JLA and Louie talk about moving into the New Year… wishing they could do so with the same gusto as when they were younger. A story about adjusting to physical limitations as we age.

Dear Louie,

During the early to mid-nineteen fifties, an annual Medicine Show would appear in town and be set up at the Schwartz Park. There, for two nights, many would assemble and, in a carnival atmosphere, listen attentively to the pitchmen of the Show. Tonics were sold, diagnoses were suggested to the crowd, and all sorts of ailments were addressed. Music, talking, and showmanship addressed many complaints of the crowds. The power of suggestion of the pitchman convinced many of diagnoses and cures…

Dear Louie,

I believe I wrote to you that I would be attending an Honor Flight to Washington D.C. as a guest of the program for veterans of WWII. On November 3, I was privileged to be a guest and travel with my son, a Naval Veteran, to the Memorial of WWII. The trip was remarkable in content, in organization, and most impressively in participation of, yes, thousands of interested men, women, and children, who stood in greeting to us at Mitchell Field and Dallas Airport in Washington D.C. The flight originated at Mitchell Field at 5 a.m. with registration, pictures, and I.D.s for the day.

Hi Louie, Charles, and Bob,

Our friend Tom W. died yesterday. He had been very ill for the past year, suffering from probably pulmonary fibrosis secondary to farmers' silo disease, a disease of exposure to nitrogenous materials occurring when silos were opened from the top.

This occurred many years ago and produced gradual lung destruction. I saw him a few weeks ago, and he was realistically awaiting some infection to take him. He thought he might have made it through the winter. Emmy B. is in a nursing home and has some dementia.

75 Years of Friendship… has a way of conjuring up many memories and is proof that the friends we make when we’re young are true & lasting.

We take so much for granted; awakening in the a.m., getting up, dressing, and going about our "chores,” and as we age… just going about. Recently, I’ve been troubled with symptoms of spinal stenosis, which cause distress - greater distress than I would like to acknowledge.

Dear Louie,     

I awoke this morning at 3 am. I had been dreaming, a disturbing dream, and couldn’t fall asleep again at this ungodly hour.  I dreamed that my son Tim had told me of his retirement.  He, being a lawyer, was anticipating retirement at 58 years of age.  Truly I am unable to recall if he told me or if it was a dream.  I couldn’t understand why he would consider retirement at this, the most productive time of his career. 

It disturbed me; I could not sort dream from a real state. 

Hi Louie,

On this wet, cold afternoon, not all is bad. In fact, I have just finished a project which has vexed me for the past 2 weeks. I have been attempting to install the revised Sync program for Dorothy's Ford. It seems that the electronic sync program of the newer Fords was a botched job, and the program was revised after many complaints. The new program was sent to the buyers with instructions for installation. Sending electronic instructions to anyone over the age of 75 is nonsense, as the neurons for these gadgets were only installed in fetuses after 1970; before that, any conceptions were without a wiring diagram, and these new gadgets are not helpful, only a wart on the psyche of us older folk.

An earthquake, off the coast of Chili, generates a Tsunami headed toward Hawaii, scheduled to arrive in six to eight hours, nothing between the two land masses; just imagine what it must have been like in the days of Magellan. Sailing on the Pacific Ocean, named for peace and quiet, lack of storms, and monotony of days. Suddenly there occurs a rogue wave, higher than the poop deck, more threatening than a loaded pistol held to the buccaneer's head; this is what happens each and every day during the lives of individuals.