We Did It

We threw Suerk a big party.

Here is a link to some of what we did.

http://www.juliamacinnisphotography.com/Suerk/

Your Letters

I started this blog for Suerk because there were too many of you to be in personal contact with. In the end, the blog served a far greater purpose. It provided a great many of you the conduit through which to send Suerk your love. There are hundreds of emails in the 'forpaulsuerken' inbox. I read them to him during my daily call -- every day at 11am. It was a rhythm I imposed on him initially, but one he grew to depend on -- that daily call. Whenever there was a new email I read it to him. One regret I have is that we never worked out a way for him to respond to the emails. He never seemed to have the energy to actively participate in the exchange. But he loved getting any and all news from his friends. He lived for it.

John Koontz (Mercersburg '95) wrote two of the letters in the inbox. They are wonderfully representative of most of the rest. They are personal, emotional, proud, appreciative, honest. Suerk was fortunate to have had those many months to get letters like these, and he knew it. He loved it. With John's permission, here are two of his.

Suerk,

I’ve tried to reconnect with you recently, but was convinced that my continued refusal to embrace Facebook and the like had prevented me from getting through. I got an email from my big sister, Michelle that has explained your recent episode and my inability to find you.

You’re surely getting lots of letters and visitors, and part of me wants to jump on my motorcycle (wanted one ever since seeing you ride yours among your legion of cross country runners) and ride through western Pa to see you. But instead I’ll keep this short and sweet.

As has been par for the course in our relation, I’ll talk about me… I figure it will tickle you to know that I terminated my subscription to the Rush Limbaugh newsletter before I even graduated from Mercersburg. But I hope it will make you proud to learn that last year, I quit my lucrative project management job to join a start up venture hoping to deploy solar power all across North America. I decided to tell you this at this time of all times, because it is quite easy to see how much I have changed since I first met you in 1992 or so. I guess anything can happen. I have always attributed much of my success to you and have fond memories of both the fun and hard lessons you bestowed on me. In particular, I was always amazed at how people respected and admired you.

Before your news reached me, I was rereading some of your advisor notes to my parents, and on March 4th, 1995 you wrote “Someday we might look at this time in John’s life as the point where he decided to be the person we all knew he could be.” As usual I am a bit behind schedule, but I will say this: I, and many others who have crossed paths with you Suerk, could not achieve and wouldn’t know how to decide to achieve, but for knowing you. You are that important!

I miss you. Get well… and be good to your amanuensis.


From just another of your screechy first tenors,

John B. Koontz, Jr. ‘95



Suerk,

I’ll make this short….ish. I think of you often. Your impact on who I am has been profound. To prove this point, I’d like to tell you about what I am most proud of after my wife and two little girls. In 2008, the kid across the hall from you in Keil Hall that made a point of rubbing his Rush Limbaugh newsletter in everyone’s face, the kid who sang first tenor, despite having the voice of Kermit the frog (hey, it ain’t easy being green), the kid who learned that he was truly an “emotional rollercoaster” when he found out that he would not be a prefect (or perfect for that matter), the kid who still writes run on sentences and thinks they should rank with alliteration and hyperbole as writing tools, achieved a dream. I dreamt that I could be part of a solution instead of a complainer and a whiner in this world. Much of what you taught me, in actions and in words, in carrots and in sticks, has sunk into this thick skull and taken root. I don’t intend to brag or boast but to show you how far I’ve come. Somewhere in south Jersey there is a flooring manufacturer that is generating a significant percentage of their energy from the sun. (That’s it. That’s what I’m so damn proud of. [In my world, sentences should end in prepositions too.]) When I first met these people, these flooring manufacturers, Mannington Mills, in 2007, I felt like I was trying out for the Octet. I couldn’t believe they even agreed to see me. As I walked in their conference room and realized that I was talking with some heavy hitters (CFO, VP Environment and Safety, Director of Maintenance), it occurred to me that they were there because I had been taken seriously. A switch flipped in me and I delivered the best (and most successful to date) presentation ever. I felt like I was in a retirement home in Chambersburg. I relaxed and new that what I had to offer was good enough! A year and a half later they had a 602.7 kW photovoltaic system on their roof (In its first day and a half of operation it generated the equivalent of what my family uses in a year). Suerk, you probably won’t ever know how much of an influence you have had on this world. I worry/struggle with what my own impact/legacy will be constantly. You continue to teach me, because I imagine that you don’t even care to know. It isn’t about knowing what impact you’ve had; it’s about making sure you put it all out there and didn’t hold back. I intend to follow your example and I thank you sincerely for setting it.

I love you Suerk! Happy New Year!

John B. Koontz, Jr

Accommodations

Mercersburg.edu has an accommodations listing for travelers. Here's a link that will lead you closer to it. Click HERE and scroll down to the "Accommodations" click, and there's also a "Getting Here" aide for those who might need it.

Suerk's Obituary

Suerk dictated his own obituary within weeks of the accident in July 2008. Here it is, almost exactly as he had intended it.

Paul Maxwell Suerken
Born in Erie, PA on March 31st, 1938
Died on March 21st, 2010

Paul Maxwell Suerken , 71, of Hilltop Road, Erie, died following a prolonged illness after suffering a spinal injury in 2008. A native of Erie, Paul was the son of the late Maxwell Crouch and Alice Sherman Suerken.

Paul was a graduate of McDowell High School in 1956, and a graduate of Dartmouth College in 1960. He then earned a Masters Degree from Dartmouth in 1981. For thirty one years, Paul taught at the Mercersburg Academy, a residential school for boys and girls, 9th -12th grade, in Mercersburg, PA. In boarding schools a teacher wears many different hats. Paul taught English, Music, and led several musical groups, both vocal and instrumental. He also was a cross-country coach. He was in charge of two different dormitories, chaired the English Department and was a college counselor. A life long bachelor, Paul considered his students to be his family. Paul was an avid runner and ran thirteen marathons, including two Boston marathons. During the school year of 1981-1982, Paul taught in England at Cranleigh School in the county of Surrey. Paul loved his job and there is evidence to show that his students loved him back. Paul loved to travel.

He is survived by many cousins and his “family” of former students whose lives he deeply touched and enriched through his tireless good counsel.

Memorials may be made to The Paul Suerken Scholarship fund at Mercersburgs Academy, 300 East Seminary St. Mercersburg, PA 17236

From John Koontz (Mercersburg '95)

I cried for Suerk again today. I heard about the reunion in August and I'm stoked. I've read all the posts and I feel badly that I didn't learn how to write nearly as well as so many other Suerk disciples. But what Suerk did for me is help me deal with emotions. I have always been a tough nut to crack but Suerk, I think, prided himself on his ability to handle all comers.

I entered his world knowing I couldn't sing. I left the Academy a first tenor, one of Suerk's projects. I smile while I cry today. Suerk continues to help me deal with my crazy emotions. I miss you Suerk, and will probably get emotional every time I see the Cleveland Indians logo, or a Boston terrier, hear "Four Strong Winds," or think about my responsibilities as a mentor to my children. Suerk taught me about mentors too.

A Note From Mr. Plantz

Mercersburg very much needed a Paul Suerken. Founded with the staid old English Finishing Schools as a model, Mercersburg Academy was an anachronism that neither met the spirit of our new democracy nor the needs of a rural Pennsylvania student body in which landed gentry and lords were missing.

Neither the endearing spontaneous guffaw nor the after-class: “Hey Suerk, how about a run?” fit the intended mold. The spoken student had not obviously stood at attention when Suerk entered his classroom until the authoritative signal was given to be at ease. Yes, Modern Mercersburg owes him much.

Leonard Plantz

Faculty 1943-1984

A Word From George Alter

Paul is the only person I always referred to as my mentor. I have had a love of many types of music all my life. When I arrived at Mercersburg in the fall of 1967 I was very “wet behind the ears” and immature. Thru the next 4 years interacting with Paul thru Glee Club, Octet, and living on his floor for 3 of those years, I grew so much as a person because of my constant interactions with him. With regard to music, Paul taught me so much about why I liked music – teaching me about musical elements like overtones, harmonics, and key-changes among hundreds of others. Paul’s sense of humor was legendary and was perhaps his greatest teaching tool. Paul would give little life tips that many of us carry with us to this day. I was recently talking with a fellow Octet member who told me that his career managerial style was formed years earlier when Paul told him that it was OK to get angry as long as you remained fair towards that person thru your anger. He gave examples of how this advice had helped him many, many times. Paul and I were once talking after an Octet reunion practice and he summarized my sense of humor by telling me in a few short sentences how he thought my mind worked – not to be repeated in this format. Trust me, he was dead-on.

Those of us who were fortunate enough to be in his Octets simply worshipped the man. The 2 Octet reunions that he organized remain the 2 best reunions or anniversaries I have ever participated in during my entire life. The reason for this was that they allowed you to truly “go home again”. If you go to a lacrosse reunion, for example, you quickly realize that age is not allowing you to equal the nostalgia that you remember in quite the same way you did when you had the first experience. At an Octet reunion, we practiced like crazy for a couple of days and then performed on Saturday night for the school. The experience was identical to any Octet performance, or practice, or B.S. session I had while I was at the ‘Burg. The music was still there. The performance anxiety and then the reward was still there. Most of all the love was still there and it flowed directly thru Paul’s heart. I shall miss him more than any other friend I have ever had and remain so lucky and proud to have been Suerkenized for life.

Be at peace, Paul, and save me a 2nd tenor spot in the choir you are currently directing,
George Alter ‘71

P.S. I still want the baby-solo on ‘Their Hearts Were Full of Spring.”

A Memorial Service for Suerk

We will celebrate Suerk's life with a service in Mercersburg at the Burgin Center for the Arts in the Simon Theatre at 6pm on 21 August 2010.

No Pity

If you've found it painful picturing Suerk living the last twenty months of his life in a nursing home, consider some things.

We found a way (the money) to move Suerk to a private room one year ago. A private room would have had space for his books, art and clocks, and some furniture from home. As it was, there was barely room for two folding chairs by his bed. The new room would have been better for him visually, and more comfortable for his visitors to linger. As it was, when a nurse came to tend to him, you had to get physical just to get round one another. A private room might do him (and us) some good. So I thought.

Suerk refused. Wouldn't even consider it. "I love Jim," he said, "And I won't leave him." Jim is the 86 year old WWII vet with a partially amputated leg whom Suerk could have nearly reached out and touched through the curtain had he been able. Jim and Suerk sang together. Like Suerk was, Jim is a radio man. He hates watching TV. He listened to Suerk's. Like Suerk, Jim's a baseball man (Yankees). Sorry Suerk. And like Suerk did have, Jim has an encyclopedic memory. They finished one another's sentences, and lyrics. Rarely but sometimes, the pages in the encyclopedia were smudged. It was important to have Jim when Suerk struggled to remember that it was the "ausen fay" he had requested with his "frim fram sauce." And it was important for Jim to have Suerk to help him remember that he had ordered his "chafafa on the side." Suerk secretly rejoiced for Jim when the Yankees won the World Series last fall. And if that's not love...

We finished the renovation on 872 Hilltop Road last October. Suerk knew I was doing it in order that he might move back with full-time care. I kept him apprised of the work all along. He also knew that when the work was completed he would be asked to make his decision. The concept worried him some. For that I was sorry. But there were no secrets. I wanted this to be a process for him. I wanted him to arrive gradually to the time when he knew it was his decision to return home, or not. In the end he was relieved to stay where he was.

Western Reserve is a modest, low-slung, shabby, simple little nursing home. There's nothing aesthetically pleasing about the place. But there he felt a part of a thriving community. Thriving toward an imminent and not-so-distant ending, maybe, but thriving nonetheless. He did not care how the place looked. "That's for the visitors," he'd say. "I like keeping my eyes closed most of the time anyway." He loved the nurses, the aids and the orderlies -- never recognizing or acknowledging their rank. He knew their husband's, wives', girlfriend's and boyfriend's names. He worked to remember their life stories, and he succeeded in that. He liked teasing them. You can imagine how they returned the love. For them, he was an extraordinary treasure -- one of the few who could really converse with and get to know them. And he was the one resident whose conversation, if it soared over their heads, happened because his vocabulary and thought structure transcended their own -- not because his capacity had diminished or dissolved. The good people who tended to Suerk at Western Reserve valued that and showed him as much.

The point is obvious. His last months were happy months and Suerk was happy where he was. Happy with his roommate. Happy with his people. He thrived there like he did in every other community. He had the same tools of adaptation and agility in life there in the bed as he's had everywhere else he's traveled. He never pitied himself and hated the thought that we might pity him. He never begrudged not hearing from some people. He was humbled, but loved hearing from those who took these last months as the the time to tell him how much he meant to them. He remained deeply occupied living in his last community until the very end. He had few regrets. I believe that he died with a full and happy heart. No pity.

The Trip To Erie

The staff at the nursing home thought there might be another infection brewing on Thursday the 18th. On Friday test results confirmed that, and Suerk dutifully swollowed his anti-biotic pill. By Saturday, for the first time since the accident, it seemed the infection might not respond to the treatment. One of Suerk's favorite new friends, Nurse Tammy, called Sunday morning to say she was fairly certain that this was the end. Cousin Jerry Cohen rushed over and called back to say, "Get here if you want to see him again." Tom Weber, Dave McChesney and Rabbi Bush hurried to his side, talked, prayed, told stories, laughed. Tammy called as I was boarding my flight Sunday afternoon to tell me he was gone.

They kept him for me until I arrived. It was something they asked if I wanted. I was unable to answer them, so they kept him, and I'm glad they did. It helped. I thought I might talk to him, but I didn't. I just thought thoughts.

On several occasions over the months Suerk had indicated he was no longer interested in a funeral service. He wanted a concert at Mercersburg. He knew that. He no longer liked the idea of something at a funeral home. By Monday late morning, Tom Weber had arrangements finalized for a gathering at the Erie Maennerchor Club where Tom and Suerk were members. Twenty-one of his closest Erie cousins and friends came together. Rabbi Bush blessed the gathering with the breaking of bread, read a poem, and we ate. After that we went around the room and all but three of us spoke. The stories were wonderful. That did not surprise me. What struck me most were the handful who'd known Suerk for ages, but who had only grown to love him during these twenty months since the accident. Again and again, we heard how Suerk had managed to maintain his intense interest in others, his acute sense of humor and his phenomenal memory. Always the Suerk we knew until the end.

31 March 1938 - 21 March 2010

Suerk died peacefully at 5pm yesterday. His final decline lasted for two days without agitation or struggle. We will honor and celebrate his life this summer in Mercersburg.

3/31/38

Suerk will be 72 on the 31st. I'm flying up to Erie next weekend to help him find a way to celebrate and to encourage him and his handlers to make sure he gets to that Erie Philharmonic concert in April. It won't be easy. Transporting him to the concert requires that he continue getting used to sitting upright in a chair -- something he resists. Encouraging him is all we can do. Let's hope.

Back to the Theft

The purpose of this trip last summer was, of course, to visit with Suerk. But there was much more to do, too. Having been in the care of the nursing home for about one year, Suerk’s own funds were exhausted. We needed the guidance of an elder law attorney to help us transition him from his Medicare status to his imminent MedicAID status. So we had a Friday afternoon-long session planned with the attorney. (More on that another time.) And as I’ve mentioned, we also had work to do and decisions to make regarding the home renovation. All that and a visit with Dad, Dave Tyson and Don Hill would make for a good and busy weekend. But everything would change because of the robbery we learned of on our flight into Cleveland.

Stephen and I endured our connection from Cleveland to Erie in kind of sick, stunned silence. Where would we begin? And how would we break the news to Suerk that his house had been robbed? We drove the rental car directly to Hilltop Road and found that the neighbor had been correct. Everything of value that could have been removed from the home was gone – family silver, antique tables, the entire clock collection, and Suerk’s most valued possessions, his violin and bow. All were gone. None of the neighbors and friends had any idea when the goods were removed. And other than some uneducated suspicions, we had no idea who might have robbed the little home on Hilltop Road.

Stephen followed his smart instinct to the local pawn shops while Suerk and I were meeting with the attorney. He had already located many of the valuables on display and tagged for sale at two Erie Estate Buyers’ locations by the time we’d completed our session. That evening the police started their report and dusted the home for prints. The next morning, with a Millcreek Township police officer and a detective by our side, we started confronting pawn shop owners and collecting the valuables. By Saturday evening, the detective’s mini-van, the officer’s cruiser and our rental car were filled with Suerk’s belongings from four different shops.

During the process of the retrieval, it became clear who the suspects were – acquaintances of one of the sub-contractors helping with the home rehab. Suerk’s is a nice, quiet neighborhood. But word of an unoccupied home under renovation spread beyond the respected group of contractors working on the place. No one in the neighborhood noticed when two thugs backed their truck to the garage and filled it with the goods. The local pawn shops, following the letter of the law under which they operate, but not the spirit of the law, accepted the lie the thieves offered. Namely, that they had inherited the valuables from a family member.

The aftermath of the crime continues to unfold months later. We did recover most of the pieces, but the most monetarily valuable of his belongings are gone. The bulk of the silver had already been hauled off for melting and could not be recovered. Erie Estate Buyers, conveniently for them, had already sold six of Suerk’s most valuable clocks, and they have not been helpful in leading us to the clients who bought them. About a week after our departure, our new friend, Detective Chris, did locate Suerk’s beloved and unscathed violin and bow at a local instrument shop. The suspects were tracked down within a week of our trip. Both pleaded guilty. Both had prior arrests for similar crimes as this one – ‘theft by taking.’ Sentencing has yet to be accomplished. It will have been a month shy of one year since the theft when the sentencing finally happens. Like in most places, the wheels of justice in Erie turn slowly.

Clearly, there was tremendous luck in the timing of our visit. Had our trip happened a month later, little or nothing would have been recovered. But there were other pieces of luck which seemed to fall in place. After another unfortunate but less catastrophic violation of Suerk’s property had occurred shortly after his accident, Suerk’s then power of attorney and friend, John Bush, took video and digital photos of everything remaining in the home. We were able to use these images as solid proof of ownership of the goods for sale in the shops, and also to identify which items had already been sold. Also, the theft of the silver helped seal the fate of the thieves. Pennsylvania law requires precious-metals pawn shops to get photo-identification. The identification the thieves offered was sketchy, but it presented us with another solid lead. What’s more, they failed to steal every piece of the silver, so the unique “S” monogram on three forks remaining in the home, and the matching “S” on the few pieces that weren’t yet melted proved to be more damning evidence.

I know it should not have surprised me that Suerk took the news in stride, but it did. He was more worried about Stephen and me and the trouble we had walked into than he was about the loss of his things. The loss of possessions, no matter how painstakingly collected over the years, was not something he intended to mourn over after all he’s been through. He repeated many times, “These are just things.” This kind of attitude is classic Paul Suerken. If you ever wonder how much injury someone can survive, and how much insult to injury one can endure with a good attitude, look to Suerk for your answer.

I read him this entry today before posting it. When I finished there was a prolonged silence. Then he asked, “Matt, what’s that phrase my mother used to use, and the one your Grandma Helen still uses?” Before I could get it out, with his wry, dry sense of humor, he imitated them both.

“Isn’t that the limit! Isn’t that the limit!”

Occasional Dementia

I need to use an entry to describe something that has taken a couple of Suerk’s visitors aback. Some who visit know that Suerk occasionally suffers from dementia. It’s not severe, and it does not happen often, but it is with him occasionally. What we’ve learned through the months is that these spells of unreality seem to indicate some sort infection is building. The strange thing is that the dementia arrives long before fever or other concrete indicators of trouble. Suerk does not seem rattled by these episodes. He seems to marry the unreality well with reality – sort of the way one would after a vivid dream – not really certain in the groggy aftermath if an event really happened, or not.

On a recent visit, Suerk asked that I pull the cord on the side of a framed piece of artwork. “The subjects will dance around the room when you pull it,” he said. I thought he was joking. He was not. And yesterday he asked me if I had responded to the emails he’d sent me. He does not send email anymore. So it looks like an infection is beginning again. When it becomes evident to the doctor, the prescribed antibiotics work well and the ‘visions’ do stop for a while – sometimes months.

Other than that, life for Suerk is normal – his normal. He’s looking forward to starting Michael Shaara’s “The Killer Angels,” and looking forward to attending his first Erie Philharmonic concert since before his fall in July of 2008. If all goes as planned, he will attend the concert on 17 April. If you're interested, here's a LINK.

Stuff

More than a year ago, I began looking for way to return Suerk to his home on Hilltop Road. Nursing homes have their place. I do believe that. I know there are people who are best served by them. I had visited Suerk's nursing home enough to know that the staff there are extraordinarily kind and attentive. They love him. But I thought we could do better for him. I was motivated by my notion that he would have more to live for back in the home he loves. I wanted him back with his books, his music, his photos, art and clocks. I wanted him to have access to more than a couple hundred square feet of institutional, nursing home sterility. So beginning in early Spring of '09, Stephen and I went to work preparing the home for his return. To put it politely, the little place on Hilltop Road suffered from a case of deferred maintenance. Suerk calls it benign neglect. Whatever. Nearly every square inch of the home needed attention. So we hired contractors, started with a new roof and worked our way down to the basement. New roof, soffits, gutters, down-spouts, full exterior and interior painting, new flooring, chimney work and foundation repair. The work took about six months. We weren’t certain we would find a way for him to return home, but the work had to be done. We felt the issue of transferring him home would work itself out, eventually. In the meantime, the home repairs would have the place prepared for the patient, or ready for sale, whichever eventuality presented itself. During one of the trips up to supervise the work, we were fortunate enough to coordinate our visit with the visit of three old friends – Ron Simar (aka Dad), Don Hill and Dave Tyson. They drove up to Erie to visit Suerk, and also with the intention of lending a hand with the work on the home. It was on our trip to Erie when a neighbor called with the news the house had been robbed of all its valuables. The nature of our visit was profoundly altered. More on that next time.

Suerk's Discovery

Flat on his back in a bed in a nursing home, Suerk somehow manages to find things in his world that inspire him, and that encourage him to share with others to inspire them. He urged me yesterday to post this link. He has discovered a girl whom he cannot get off his mind. In the word of the sommelier at the Airport Inn Suerk loves to besmirch, "Enjoy!"

Here's your:LINK

Update

I know my neglecting this blog has some followers wondering if Suerk is alright. Some of you have said so. I’m sorry I may have contributed to what’s already a healthy dose of worry for Suerk. He is doing quite well, all things considered. He thoroughly enjoys the holidays. He doesn’t get depressed. What he loves about this time of year is hearing from ‘his people.’ He thrives on the reports that come with the cards. During our Thanksgiving visit, Stephen and I cleared his bulletin board and surrounding wall of the cards from Christmas 2008, making way for the new mail which will probably remain until next year. That’s how he likes it. Remember, it’s important to use Suerk’s new address (posted on the right column of this page) when writing him. While mail sent to the home at 872 Hilltop will likely get forwarded, it will probably be delayed significantly.

There’s a lot to say about the process that’s going on around Suerk. Don Hill made mention of some of it in the note he wrote last summer. I have been answering the questions those remarks prompt as I am asked, but soon I will offer the details on this blog. Suerk agrees with this. I will begin next time by describing the unfortunate theft at the home on Hilltop Road Don mentioned -- a sad story with a not-so-sad ending.

Until then. . .

An Octet Concert for Suerk

The Octet surprised Suerk with a concert three Saturdays ago. I have been tempted to write about it, but I wasn’t there and I wanted someone who was there to put the words together. Suerk’s thought was that one of the Octet members should write about it and now one has. Gilbert Rataezyk put this piece together for the Mercersburg News. Quite the dramatic tale, this one. The experience was dramatic for Suerk, too. Maybe “a shock” would be a better way to put it. Being in the condition he is, he finds refusal to be an element of control he relishes. He would have refused such a concert were he asked. So, instinctively, Richard Rotz decided not to ask. It was perfect. Suerk was on top of the world for days afterward, and he thanked us for not providing him the opportunity to refuse. The boys had a great audience in addition to the residents – Suerk’s friends, neighbors and cousins were invited to gather for the surprise. The praise for the concert the boys gave has been flowing steadily since. What a gift for all involved – especially for Suerk!

Here’s young Mr. Rataezyk’s piece for the Mercersburg News – in full.


The Octet gives back what Paul Suerken gave to Mercersburg

Paul Suerken was the musical director at Mercersburg from 1964 until his retirement and he made a footprint on the soul of Mercersburg throughout his 30 years at the Academy. Suerken was originally appointed as the musical director of the band as well as teacher of music theory and composition courses, but his influence beyond the music room was tremendous. As time passed, Suerken went on to teach English and coach the cross-country team: running with the students and keeping them motivated every day. “Suerk,” as he came to be known, also began something that Mercersburg could not have predicted would have such tremendous longevity. During his time as musical director, Suerk had seen male a cappella groups, singing in four and five part harmony without musical accompaniment, the type celebrated on college campuses across the country. This was the beginning of something new: Paul Suerken had a project. At the time, Mercersburg had a male vocal group, but nothing compared to what students were doing in college. “They would perform Broadway tunes with some song and dance,” Paul Suerken remarked. Suerk wished to bring something more to the community that would surpass Mercersburg’s male vocal group. That dream eventually turned into reality and a musical legacy, made up of eight different male singers each year: the Octet. After 30 years, Suerk retired from teaching but spent time each year coming back to see the school musicals. Unfortunately, three years ago, Suerk was in an accident that left him paralyzed from the neck down and confined to bed and he hasn’t been able to return to Mercersburg since he was moved to a nursing home in Erie. Richard Rotz, current Chorale, Band and Octet director, heard the news of Suerk. Rotz wished to bring him a bit of happiness since he had brought so much joy to Mercersburg. Rotz later explained to the Octet about Paul’s situation and the impact that he had made on Mercersburg and; together, they agreed to travel up to Erie during the Long Fall Weekend: to show Mercersburg’s appreciation and love by giving back to Suerk a taste of what he had started.

The trip began on a dark October afternoon. The rain was pouring and the group all seemed to be a bit under the weather. The boys packed into a Mercersburg van with their little bagged lunches and faithful companion, Mr. Rotz, and headed for Pittsburgh.

As the Octet drove toward Pittsburgh, each member tried to conserve energy as well as get back the energy lost due to the cold. The van eventually made it to Pittsburgh after stopping at truck stops to get snacks and chow down on lunch bags. Before the group turned in for the night to rest, the Octet stopped in the center of Pittsburgh to attend a concert of American composers: Aaron Copeland, Samuel Barber, and John Williams. The Octet sat eagerly to hear the six pieces lined up for the evening. The Pittsburgh Ochestra was fantastic, playing El Salón México, Overture to The School for Scandal, Adagio for Strings, and Medea’s Meditation and Dance of Vengence. After the intermission, the concert concluded with an abstract piece by John Williams, Concerto for Horn And Ochestra, with guest Horn player, William Caballero, and one of Aaron Copeland’s most famous pieces, Four Dance Episodes from Rodeo. All together, the Octet came out of the Concert Hall gleaming with joy.

After the performance, the Octet squeezed back into the Mercersburg van and tried to navigate the streets of Pittsburgh. After several minutes of loud boyish banter and teasing remarks, “We’ve already been here,” Rotz finally found his bearings and headed off to Dan Politoske’s apartment, an old friend of Rotz. Politoske and Rotz both attended Michigan at the same time: Rotz attending to receive his graduate degree while Politoske was getting his Ph. D. in Music Education and Theory. Rotz had told Politoske about their plans to travel up to Erie in order to sing for Paul Suerken. Politoske graciously opened up his apartment for the Octet on our journey to Erie.

Everyone awoke early next morning and headed towards Erie. After another few hours of recuperation and extended silence, the van pulled into the parking lot of the nursing home where Suerk lives. As soon as the Octet entered the building, they began looking for a room in which to warm up their voices after the long sleep. After a few minutes of vocal gymnastics and run-throughs, the boys tip-toed through the building to find Suerk. The Octet surprised Suerk as he was eating lunch by entering while singing a Mercersburg classic, De Animals.

“You should’ve seen his eyes. They just opened right up when he heard you boys sing,” said a close friend of Suerk’s who had been there to see the Octet sing for him.

The Octet was immediately surprised in return by Suerk’s liveliness. His spirit had surely not slacked since his last visit to the Academy over two years ago. He was always making jokes and laughing.

The Octet proceeded to sing several songs and, in between songs, Mr. Rotz spoke to Suerk about our trip up to Erie as well as to us about The role Suerken played at Mercersburg. Once the performance was over, the numerous friends and relatives who had come to see the Octet sing for Suerk gathered around for some group pictures.

At last, the journey was over and the group turned back toward Mercersburg. As the Octet left the nursing home, the boys came out with a new appreciation for singing. The clouds had parted and the boys had stepped out from under the weather. All seemed right. That day, Paul Suerken had become someone to remember for each member of the Octet. Surely, Suerk won’t be forgotten by the many people he has touched and the legacy that lives through year spent by these Octet members singing and the other hundrends of boys that have sung in the Octet. The Octet will forever be giving back what Paul Suerken has given to Mercersburg.

An Elderly Quadriplegic

Suerk reports that a rather daft nursing home aid asked him what he planned on being for Halloween. His reply? "An elderly quadriplegic." To which she responded, "Oh really? What's that?"

He Gave Me The Keys

When I read the 11 September posting to Suerk, he reiterated with clarity something he'd attempted to put into words once before. I wrote it down. Here's what he said.

Anyone who knew Jim Smith well has random memories that are funny, absurd, and like his life itself, contradictory. Ask someone like me who loved Jim deeply, and you will get an unending parade of humor, tenderness, joy and passion. One only has to look at his wife, Carol, and their three children to get the nature and scope of this great man.

I miss my faithful, loving friend.

Suerk's dear friend Kitty Whitty wrote me yesterday to share a piece Jo Schlegel wrote to honor Jim. Here is Kitty's introduction to Jo's words. Suerk would want me to share this with all who follow the blog.

From Kitty:

Jo Schlegel recently posted a tribute to Jim Smith she wrote on Facebook. It is beautiful. I share it here and hope you will share it with Suerk. Some of the details are different, of course, but this is exactly the way I feel about Suerk and Jay Quinn. They 'gave me the keys.'

From Jo Schlegel:

Jim Smith gave me the keys.

Jim entrusted me with keys to big, heavy doors, large wooden crates, backstage rooms, and secret entrances to Gothic structures. I could steal away at almost any hour to hack through some massive toccata and fugue at the organ in the Chapel. Or, at the grand piano on stage in Boone Hall, I could end a disciplined practice session by sight-reading some Rachmaninoff prelude audaciously, extemporaneously (in the sense of having no regard for the metronome), and with preposterous fingering. And why not: the ghost light was there to shoo away any imaginary detractors and other bogeymen. Alone and undisturbed in these dimly lit performance spaces, I was free to contemplate a life in music – even as whatever noise I had just presumed to make reverberated through the gigantic hall. Spend even a little time practicing under those conditions and you realize there’s no point having the keys or sitting at the keyboard unless you intend to make echoes you and the ghosts can stand to listen to. No one else has given me that kind of space. Only Jim Smith.

A life in music, or a life without music. “Do, or do not. There is no try.” Sure, it holds: Jim was my Yoda. If only he could have lived nine hundred years.

Our nickname for him was Schmutley. Hannah and Sarah may not remember, but the class of ’81 had an embarrassment of riches in two inimitable imitators: Nick Fuhrman (who I understand makes a great Watergate Caesar salad) and Alex Iden, the Click and Clack of Marshall and Irving. Greet either declamation legend with a curt clearing of the throat, a la Walter Burgin, and one could be treated to a commercial-free marathon of all thirteen episodes of their Emmy-winning Season One, each beginning with the signature line, “Ahem. We. Begin. Again.” No faculty member, fac brat (including Ted Smith), or dining hall worker was sacrosanct (“Breakfast is over, you’re going to have to go sit in the alcove, I’m going to have to tell Mr. Hoppe”), and the legend built up to a command performance at a school assembly. What I wouldn’t give to have that material on DVD.

Walter, as headmaster, was a natural touchstone; the cough became a sort of class greeting. But it was Schmutley who provided some of the richest material for Alex and Nick’s schtick. Alex could conjure up James Winston Smith with a slumped shoulder and an asymmetrical, wrenched smile that would instantly remind me of wry critiques of choral entrances, deliberate mispronunciations and malapropisms, and Jim’s protective yet storied relationship with Bryan Barker. (Yes, there were impressions of Bryan.) It got kind of meta when Jim started doing Alex’s impression of Jim, so you’d get this exaggerated snarl of a smile. That’s when you knew he really cared.

Bryan was still the school’s carillonneur in those years, playing brilliantly from memory, quoting Byron verbatim. But he was also starting to drive through brick walls and ring in jubilant Easter mornings in the middle of the night in Lent. Jim confided in me that there just weren’t that many carillonneurs, so he figured he would learn. Indeed, I could hear Jim practicing up in the tower once in a while when I was in the Chapel, and seem to remember climbing up into the tower to watch one of them play. It was like something out of a P.D. James mystery.

Many of my piano lessons were in the house on Seminary Street, and there was always some creature or another passing through that beautiful room – tow-headed toddlers, older brothers, small dogs, and sundry Winebrenners and their derivatives. In my fact-challenged memory the piano is made of mahogany, sits on museum-quality oriental rugs, and is surrounded by custom-built bookshelves crammed with first editions. The dogs are in love with the furniture.

I sang in the chorale and the madrigal singers, and participated in Wednesday chapel services. Jim started the women’s ensemble while I was a student. I remember some repertoire: Liebeslieder Waltzer; Britten’s A Ceremony of Carols; Jim’s Happy Birthday arrangement (which I recently found); Jim’s composition “Surely the Lord Is In This Place,” which I’d love to have if it’s been preserved; trying to sing “I Know that My Redeemer Liveth” at the Easter sunrise service. I remember not wanting to sing the final verse of “The Times They Are A Changin’ “ at baccalaureate because it seemed disrespectful of parents. I remember lots of madrigals in various languages. I remember a trip to the outskirts of Baltimore for some kind of singing pageant that seems to have lasted several weeks although I’m sure it was just a weekend; and the unforgettable powder-blue polyester dress with the six-inch ruffle collar that passed for concert attire. Very Karen Carpenter. It was also that weekend that I learned the term “swing choir.”

Jim was that compassionate taskmaster who held people to their highest expectations of themselves – not out of compulsion, but out of respect for people’s talents. Jim embodied the school’s ideal of “integritas” by inspiring people to be true to themselves. It wasn’t about enforcing major school rules; it was about fulfilling your potential. There was never any question whether you would. Jim, where were you when I needed you in college, surrounded by people who are now household names?

He gave me the keys. They opened doors to vast spaces, architecturally inspired, acoustically brilliant, inhabited by great minds and musicians of our time. Majestic spaces accessed not through grand entrances but through back doors, stage doors, performers’ entrances, passageways to stages and choir lofts and balconies and towers. Iron gates and steam tunnels at Yale. At Trinity Church in Boston, the stairs behind the choir loft which led to the then-unfinished undercroft, past some cats and boxes of archives, up into a small restroom, out into the vestibule and up into the back balcony, from which I would magically appear to sing little solos at Candlelight Carol Services over the years. The stage door at Symphony Hall, where a security guard buzzes you in to a heavily painted basement passageway that smells like the cleaning fluid they used to use in elementary schools. The Shed at Tanglewood, with its industrial concrete backstage area that seems like an unlikely aesthetic in which to meet Bryn Terfel or Andre Previn or Christopher Plummer or my husband. At Carnegie Hall, where you enter on 56th Street, show a badge, and take a service elevator to a top floor for warmup; then wend your way down many staircases, action movie style, to enter stage right and look up, suddenly breathless at the reality of where you are and who’s there with you. Even stage entrances to places like the KKL Luzern or the Royal Albert Hall, where you might meet Kenneth Branagh in line for coffee. The view from the risers, in whatever venue – maestro’s face; the soloists’ backs. Seiji’s kinesthetic genius – the way he gives cues with his pinky, his hair, his tongue. Levine’s way of coaxing great singing out of people without ever making them feel tense. Even the informal spaces, the chapels at vacation spots, the outdoor performances, the gatherings around pianos, the sendups and parodies. Jim gave me the keys.

A life with music. And the space in which to contemplate what sorts of echoes the ghosts might enjoy. Because if you’re going to spend all that time in all that space, you might as well make a decent sound.

Jim Smith

Suerk had intended to dictate some words regarding the loss of his friend Jim Smith. He has stopped suggesting he wants to offer the words, and after encouraging him for a two weeks, I have stopped encouraging him. He is simply unable. Larry Jones will see to it that Suerk receives a recording of Jim’s memorial service. Suerk is looking forward to hearing the words others use to honor Jim, and especially looking forward to hearing the good music that honors all who are able to attend the service. In lieu of Suerk’s words, here’s Jim’s obituary.

James Winston Smith

James Winston Smith, 70, former member of the Mercersburg Academy faculty, died peacefully in his home the evening of August 20, 2009.

Born in Baltimore, Maryland on May 11, 1939, he was the son of Helen Tilghman Smith and James Winston Smith. He grew up in College Park and Laurel, Maryland.

A graduate of High Point High School in Beltsville, Maryland, he graduated from the University of Maryland and Westminster Choir College in Princeton, New Jersey, where he earned a Master’s in Music.

He began his music career at St. Mark’s School in Dallas, Texas, before coming to the Mercersburg Academy in 1965.

During his 36 year tenure at the Academy he served as teacher, organist, choirmaster and choral director. He was Head of the Fine Arts Department for five years and developed the Mercersburg Academy Chorale and Woman’s Ensemble. He was also a longtime member of the American Guild of Organists.

In 1981 he was appointed the Academy’s carillonneur. He played the bells nationally and internationally, ultimately achieving status as a Carillonneur Member with the Guild of Carillonneurs of North America.

In 2008 he was honored with the dedication of the James W. Smith Memorial Bell, the final bell in the Academy chapel’s 50-bell carillon.

Mr. Smith was very active in the local community. He was a longtime member of the Franklin County Heritage Society, helped create the Historic District in Mercersburg and served as President of Mercersburg’s Borough Council for many years.

Surviving are his wife, Carol; a brother, Winslow; a son, Ted; two daughters, Hannah and Sarah; and four grandchildren.

A memorial Service will be held Saturday, September 12 at the Mercersburg Academy Chapel at 2 p.m.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be directed to the Mercersburg Academy, c/o The James W. Smith Memorial Fund, 300 E. Seminary Street, Mercersburg, PA 17236

From Don Hill

Ron Simar, David Tyson, and I met Matt and Stephen at the Suerken home in Erie the weekend of August 15. The primary purpose was to see and visit with Suerk, of course ... something I lacked the courage to do earlier. We also came to help them in the ongoing process of getting the house in shape for Paul to come home (if that is possible) or to be sold. By the time we arrived, Matt and Stephen had discovered the house had been broken into and burglarized, something Matt can report on better than I. He spent most of Friday and Saturday with police, a worthwhile investment of
time, as the culprit has been caught as well as most of the stolen merchandise. The downside ... not much got done on the house.

Paul's state of mind amazes me ... I'd like to believe it is constant, but can't help thinking he simply rises to the occasion for every visitor. He has long known how to do this. He resists prompting about the status of the Tribe, a painful subject this year. He can't hear enough about old friends and their families. He asks about everybody, by name, and he does a helluva lot better with the names than I do. If you don't look under the covers, he looks great ... has lost a lot of weight, but he had also gained a lot of weight before the fall; net effect - he looks like Suerk, better than right before the fall. And when he smiles, which is often, you know for sure who you're talking to. What makes him smile? Send news about yourself and your mutual friends. He devours it. Send it to Matt (forpaulsuerken@gmail.com). Matt talks to Paul daily, and he'll pass it along. Another thing ... give him a head rub; Ron will show you how.

A number of Suerk's neighbors came over when they saw cars in the driveway. These are good people; the lady directly across the street has done yeoman's work, voluntarily cleaning the interior of the house up after it had sat idle for so long. Another family put Matt and Stephen up for the weekend. Matt has learned more about Medicare and Medicaid than any 41 yr-old should know; he has also engaged a crackerjack elder-law attorney to make sure Paul gets every benefit he can.

The downside ... Paul is in a nursing home. If there is any intellectual stimulation in the place, it is not happening near him. None of the patients who sit in wheelchairs in the hallways seem to have a cogent thought. It is not a rehabilitation facility, it is a nursing home. The nurses adore him ( and one has to admire them immensely, too, for what they do ), of course; they don't see many patients with whom they can have meaningful discourse. They also baby him a bit ... they keep a small supply of beer for him in a fridge at the nurse's station. They help him use his Ipod and cellphone when they can, but reading or surfing the net are not things he is doing... and he indicates he is OK with this. There is little space in his half of the room to make those things happen, even if the right equipment existed. He tires pretty fast, so long periods of concentration would probably be difficult for him anyway. The thing I noticed about the nursing home is something Matt mentioned in an earlier blog...it is very clean, and it doesn't have the urine smell that seems to permeate most places like that. He has a good appetite and the food appears to be passable. It is probably also very predictable... I'd like to get a good meal shipped to him once in a while, even fast food, just for variety.

The Suerken humor is also still alive and well... the nurses like it, even when it goes over their heads. Paul doesn't lack for visitors, but he would welcome more, I know. It would be a very unhappy site, if you were to do so... except for Paul. He doesn't feel sorry for himself, and he makes certain, just by the force of his personality, that you don't feel sorry for him either. I won't wait so long before going back.

Don Hill

Visitors

Suerk's roommate and best friend from Dartmouth College, Ed Johanson, flew up to Erie last week. On the heals of that visit, Andy Crago (Mercersburg class of '67) flew to Pittsburgh on his way to visit family and detoured through Erie. Stephen and I will fly up on the 14th of August to meet with Suerk's attorney and work on the house. That same weekend, my dad and Don Hill will drive up with a group of current and former faculty from the School. Suerk is thrilled. He claims not to enjoy being the center of attention, but he doesn't really have a choice.

Mike Stanford's Letter to Suerk

After turning in my assignments we settled into a weekend of visiting. We watched lots of Indians baseball -- including a seven run, 9th inning come-from-behind victory over Tampa. Suerk levitated. I visited with his friends, cooked out with his amazing Cohen cousins and worked on getting the house on Hilltop Road back into shape -- an ongoing project.

The words I used in the June entry regarding Suerk's having "taken to the bed" have taken many people aback. I make it a point to discuss the issue as often as possible during our daily talks. Suerk points out that the 'rehab/therapy' really wasn't rehabilitating anything. His paralysis is permanent. And more importantly, though he is a 'quad,' Suerk has a tremendous amount of feeling from the chest up. Even the slightest physical manipulation causes him tremendous pain -- neuropathy. He does not like to be moved. So for now he has in fact taken to the bed.

Today, on the first anniversary of the fall in his kitchen on 8 July 2008, I can say with certainty that Suerk looks forward to each new day. He has an amazing ability to compartmentalize that which causes him emotional pain. And he is sustained by the outpouring of love and appreciation that his friends and students have shared over the months. Here is one letter that goes a long way in helping to sustain him.



Paul

There's no reason at all you should remember me, out of the thousands of students you taught, but this is Mike Stanford. I took sophomore English from you at Mercersburg in 1968-9. Short, pretty nerdish, glasses, not too popular. If that helps.

I discovered my lifelong intellectual passion--poetry--in your class, as you led us through Perrine's anthology Sound and Sense. I still remember some of the comments you jotted in the margin of my papers. For example, "Don't flaunt erudition," after I'd quoted an obscure poem by Hilaire Belloc just to impress you with my 15-year-old brilliance. You were impatient with all pretension and sloppy thinking. But ultimately I did very well in your class. Your praise made me believe I would grow into a writer and a scholar.

I have an indelible memory of the way you led the class--*conducted* it, really--your arms raised, gesturing, your whole body visibly vibrating with your joy in the works you were leading us through.

Your influence certainly followed me, after I left Mercersburg, went on to graduate from another prep school, then served three years in the Marines, graduated from Duke where I wrote a lot of poems and edited the literary magazine. I worked for a couple of years in publishing in New York, then moved to Charlottesville and took a PhD in English at UVA. I wound up teaching humanities at the university level for 19 years, then got restless and went to law school in my spare time, becoming a lawyer at the age of 53. I'm currently a public defender in Phoenix, of all unlikely places.

You seemed to believe in my literary talent so much that I've always hesitated to get in touch with you because my writing career never really took off--I published some poems in my twenties, a handful of scholarly articles in my thirties, But just last week I learned that my first book--an anthology of poems about the law, by writers from Chaucer to the present--had been accepted by University of Iowa Press. I have another book--a critical study based on the anthology--underway. And I’m noodling around with some more creative stuff based on my day job as a lawyer. So your influence has rippled forward to inspire me with some late-in-life ambitions. Rather, I guess, like your taking up marathon running after reaching 40.

Two days ago I thought to Google you and was saddened to learn of your accident. At the same time I was struck though not surprised by the outpouring of love and support you've received. At this point in my life I've taught thousands of students myself, but I can't imagine that I've made as deep an impression as you have.

One day in class you read Tennyson's "Ulysses" and then turned to me and said, "Did you like it, Mike?" At the time I was a little embarrassed to be singled out, but later felt nothing but fortified by your gift of those lines. You're a tremendous teacher, Paul, and a fine man. You continue to inspire us all--to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

with deep affection and respect

Mike Stanford

Memorial Day Weekend

There's not a lot to say about how I found Suerk Memorial Day weekend. Physically, he's almost the same as he was the last time I saw him. The difference is, he's less mobile than he was. He was hardly mobile last time I saw him, but now less so. Before, he was turning his head more, shrugging his shoulders. His arms moved more. His hands and fingers looked swolen, but normal. Now his neck is stiff. He turns his eyes, but not his head. His hands and arms are stiffly curled up under the covers. No more motion there. He refuses all opportunities to move. By that I mean he does not participate in physical therapy -- mostly stretching. He will not leave the bed. The nurses plead with him, informing him regularly, "We are 'designed' to be upright," and that, "For two hours a day, at least, you need to be sitting in a chair." Nothing doing! I have asked him how I should explain to friends that he has 'taken to the bed,' not engaging outside his 100 square feet of space. He says, "Tell them I love the bed." When I say, "I cannot do that because I know it's not true," he says, "Let's not go there now." So there it is.

As ever, mentally, he's still 'all there.' There were some things he asked me to bring, and he wanted to get down to business before I could pull up a chair. First, he'd been exasperated because he thought there was one cast member from Godspell whom he could not remember. This is something he'd been wrestling with for more than a week before my visit. With the help of Susan Simar and Shirley Zeger, I presented him the program from 1978. He scanned it quickly, realizing he'd only imagined the missing cast member. His mental list was totally complete. And when his eyes reached the names and photos of John Swing and Kitty Whitty on the program, he wept openly, reading their names aloud, tears freely streaming.

Then he wanted me to hold up the lyrics from Jerome Kern's, "Roberta's," "Let's Begin." So I pulled that out of my bookbag as directed. He worked through those lyrics with a kind of vengeance, pounding them out like he would do during Octet rehearsals, with an exaggerated emphasis on the rhythm. He explained why he'd asked me to bring those lyrics with me. As a young kid, he went with his parents to State College to visit brother Chuck and to attend a play. During intermission, when everyone else walked, milled and conversed, he sat alone, mesmerized while the band played "Let's Begin." It was the first time he'd heard that kind of rhythm played, and with a symbol. What had caused his intense desire to hear the piece was a 'missing beat' on the little, battery powered clock on the wall at the foot of his bed. The rhythm of the clock evoked that memory from his childhood. He hears the song as the clock beats, but didn't have the proper lyrics to go with it. Mission accomplished.

Finally, within the first minutes of the visit, he asked me to produce a copy of the letter that Mike Stanford had written him. After seeing it in print for the first time (I'd read it to him more than once), he asked that I tack it to his corkboard, facing the wall. He did not want to flaunt the letter to everyone who walked in the room, but he wanted it there, to know that it was there, and perhaps to show it to someone special should the opportunity present itself.

More on my visit later, along with a copy of Mike Stanford's letter.

Shawn Meyers to Serve on Bench

Suerk is overjoyed with the news that his friend and former student, Shawn Meyers (class of '86), will be serving on the bench of the Franklin/Fulton County Court of Common Pleas.

Here are two links.

Meyers for Judge

Meyers Victory

Baseball

The carillon in the chapel at Mercersburg is a stunningly grand instrument, not just because of the building it sits atop, but mostly because of the power of its sound and the broad reach the sound achieves -- all over the campus and through much of the town. It was back in the 80's when I was first exposed to the traditional sound that instrument made. Mr. Smith brought the bells to life for every big occasion on campus, and lots of small ones too -- the music always fitting for the original intention of the instrument in a way Bryan Barker would have approved. But each spring, on the hour, the day, and on the minute of the first pitch of that day’s first game of the official start of baseball season, Paul Suerken would engage those bells in a far more secular way than we were used to hearing, pounding out, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” And he would repeat, and repeat, and repeat with ever-growing permutations and flourishes, the song that spoke to him spiritually, and to his core. No one around could possibly miss hearing it.

Baseball has almost always been a huge part of Suerk’s life. When he was a kid, it was a girl named Lucille who was the best little baseball player in the Lakewood neighborhood of Erie where the Suerkens lived. They were great friends, Lucille and Suerk. Lucille’s parents were from Cleveland and they loved the Indians. That’s how his obsession with the Tribe started. But it was the summer of 1948 when Suerk was ten, his devotion to the Indians was sealed for life. That August, one of the neighborhood’s dads bought a block of seats seven rows behind home plate and took the whole group of kids Suerk played with to Cleveland for a game. Later that fall, ten-year-old Suerk was glued to a radio, following every move of the Indians' triumphant march to the Pennant, sometimes skipping school to do it. And it was in that fall of ’48 that the Indians won the World Series, beating the Boston Braves. If you’ve ever seen Suerk cheering on his Indians, you would know that even now, he is able to channel back to that enthusiastic ten-year-old kid who fell in love with Baseball and the Indians in summer of ‘48.

Suerk is flat on his back in a nursing home now, but this baseball season is shaping up to be a very happy one for him. On Opening Day, an old friend and another baseball lover (Phillies fan), Travis Fore (class of ’86) travelled up to Erie for a visit. They had a wonderful afternoon reminiscing. Suerk says Travis has an amazing ability to stay the same as ever. And two weeks ago, a man who has made Baseball his life, currently as Asst. General Manager of the Kansas City Royals, Dean Taylor (class of' 69), took the opportunity to visit with Suerk while the Royals had an off-day in preparation for their series with the Indians. Suerk has always been moved by Dean’s devotion to Baseball. They have remained close through the years because of their shared respect for one another, and for the Game. Here’s what Dean had to say about his visit.

The visit was very enjoyable (a little over an hour) and I was fortunate enough to be able to bring him autographed baseballs signed by Grady Sizemore (his favorite player) and Cliff Lee, along with an Indians hat that he wore for a large part of my visit. I didn’t have a camera, but the next time you or someone else makes a visit, a photo on the blog of him wearing the hat might elicit a few smiles from the readers, if he wants do so. We spent quite a bit of time talking about both baseball and the ‘Burg, as one would expect. I was pleasantly surprised that he was quite upbeat and seemed to be dealing with the reality of the situation as well as anyone could be. It was a moment in time well spent for both of us, and I’m thankful I was able to make the trip.

I am travelling back to Erie Memorial Day weekend for a visit, and to explore further the possibility of Suerk’s returning to his home on Hilltop Road. We'll watch lots and lots of baseball while I'm there. I’ll be sure to snap that photo of him wearing his new hat.

Suerk's Birthday

Suerk never has cared much about marking his birthday with any kind of celebration. This year is no exception. Yesterday he had a nurse connect him with his friend since boyhood, Tom Weber. The message, “Don’t let anyone throw any birthday stunts. No hoopla!” Tom promptly cancelled the parade.

I try to keep the ‘feelings discussions’ to a minimum. He offers what he wants, when he wants. I pry when I think it might help him, but that’s not often. It’s important to me that he not associate my calls with therapy sessions. He never did take to that kind of thing. But yesterday I said the obvious to him. “I guess there was no way you ever could have imagined you would be celebrating your 71st in quite this way.” In true Suerken fashion, he said, “Boohoo! Poor me!" I don’t exaggerate when I say that I have not heard a hint of self-pity in his voice since the accident. And as you can see, he finds self-deprecation far more appealing than he does self-pity.

As always, I read Suerk the letters that come through the email address, "forpaulsuerken@gmail.com" He loves having that connection.

Turning 71

Suerk has been transferred to St. Vincent Hospital for a few days to receive treatment for pneumonia.  His nurse reassures me that they were using an abundance of caution in admitting him.  Without full use of his diaphragm, a condition that accompanies his paralysis, he is more susceptible to lung infection.  Hence the cautious intervention.  We expect him to be back in his room at the Western Reserve nursing home in a day or two.

 

Suerk turns 71 on the 31^st.  I keep wondering how such milestones will impact his mood.  I anticipate hearing sadness in his voice when we talk.  I expect to find him suffering from depression.  Explain to me how a man who was active and fully mobile just eight months ago can adjust to life flat on his back, in a bed, in a nursing home, with a sense of self, a sense of dignity, without anger, and with a sense of humor.  I continue to be inspired.  So I expect on his 71^st birthday, we will talk and laugh like we do on any other day.  We’ll share memories.  We’ll talk politics.  And I will be glad to have him still in my life, in part because he still manages to find some joy in living.

Coping

Suerk and I have talked a lot lately about friends we know who are mourning the illness and loss of loved ones -- people and pets. He reminded me of a letter I read to him last summer from young Maddie Winebrenner. Here it is.

Dear everyone-

Rossall, my 14 year old dog, is being put to sleep tommorrow. He had bone cancer, one good leg, lime disease, authritus, and mental issues. I feel really bad and he has been with me ever since I was born and before that. I also now have a 19 week old puppy named Lucy. People I go to school with, if you know and love rossall wear black tommorrow to be respectful of this...I will never smile my awesome maddie smile until I feel I could move on which could be a while...Rossall will allways be in our hearts if you had met him. He was a strange, but good dog...and I love him...


Much love,

maddie

Inguguration Day

Suerk and I share a friend who offered the words that follow in his blog. We thought it might be right to share his words here today.




rise up; it is a brand new day

My Grandfather, the one whose name I share, was raised at the family place by a woman his father used to own. His father, whose name I also share, is buried there in the family graveyard, just feet from his slaves. His grave is elaborately marked, but not that of his son's nannie. Just simple rocks. A low, stacked stone wall separates them, the named and the nameless.

There is a walnut chest of Aunt Janie's passed from generation to generation that occupies a place of honor in our family. It is Aunt Janie's Chest, a gift to her favorite white child and it sits in the bedroom of my father, whose name I share.

My father, I was to learn later in life, lost a job and changed a career because he marched and preached for those who lacked his same rights, those nameless souls that languished in poverty, ignorance and discrimination. The broken. The destitute. Those full of grace. The nannies and the craftsmen and the toilers. Those across the wall.

So the election of a black man to this nation's highest office resonates deeply within me. It rattles through my core and calls up emotions I didn't know I had. Emotions probably shared with generations of like-named men. It breaks through the layers of prejudice and hate and violence and fear. It breaks down so many walls, real and imagined. More than anything, it makes me proud of my family, proud of my country, proud of what we can achieve. Indeed, there is hope.

JTBjr

A Visit With Jamie Finlay '87

I have stopped asking Suerk his permission for a visit from an old friend. He tends to fret over it, often telling me to tell the visitor not to come. That's why Jamie's visit on Tuesday the 6th was a surprise -- a surprise and a gift for Suerk, and for all the rest of us. Jamie's words that follow will reveal why.

Matt




Perspective...


There are specific events that happen to us and our friends over the years that truly open our eyes and widen our perspective. The news of what happened to my friend and our friend Suerk in July 2008 was such an event.


Driving up from Pittsburgh this Tuesday I was preparing myself for anything and everything...would Suerk receive my surprise visit with joy or would he feel guilty that I had come all the way from London to see him. How was he going to receive a friend not seen for over 10 years and former student from almost 30 years ago? Yes, I was a wee bit nervous as I walked into the reception at the Western Reserve Nursing Home in Erie.


To say that everyone at the hospital knows Paul Suerken would be an understatement. At reception announcing my arrival to see Suerk, the 3 staff around the desk in unison told me which room he was in. At the same time a couple of staff walking past told me too...this a scene Scrubs with a chorus of staff in unison announcing his room number at the same time! This 'news' from so many immediately felt good.


Down the corridor, then turning right, I walked into his room at 11:30am, 30 minutes later than he was told earlier in the morning that he was to receive a surprise visit from a friend coming from from far away. I peeked round the room dividing curtain, looked at Suerk lying in his bed and said, "Hey stranger, long time no see...sorry I'm late!" About 10 seconds of silence, lots of blinking from Suerk, then a deep intake of breath and, "Oh my...oh my...Jamie...what a wonderful surprise! Then after another pause as we comprehended we were looking at each other Suerk said, "You British students back in England...turning up late for class you were always saying, (pausing again to say in his best British accent!), 'Sorry Sir for being late!"


It was an emotional opening few minutes for the both of us. I walked round the bed to his side to give him a kiss and caress his head...we both managed to hold back our tears of joy and happiness in being together in the same place and time after last seeing each other when I drove through Erie in 1997. I sat on the end of his bed and when asked wiped tears and 'gunk' from his eyes. (Suerk liked the word 'gunk'!) Beaming smiles from both of us and 3 hours of wonderful conversation began.


From earlier blogs from those who have spoken with and visited Suerk I too can add that our dear friend and mentor is 'still all there' and his mind is still as sharp as a pin. There he was recalling our days since our paths first crossed in a classroom at Cranleigh School in Surrey, England in September 1981 for General Studies when I was a 12 year old British student and Suerk was starting his exchange teaching year. Names of former Cranleigh students, faculty and events that took place pretty much tripped off his tongue as memories were triggered.


Then lunch arrived...the time that I had hoped to be with him so I could feed him. We began to laugh recalling a phrase often used in Kiel Hall during my year at Mercersburg, 1986 to 1987...then Suerk boomed out in a hearty strong voice, 'Feed me baby...feed me awwlllll night long!!"


Also noted in an earlier blog, feeding Suerk is a politely requested rhythmic pattern. And with this lunch it was, "...juice...meat...beans...rice...,juice...meat...beans...rice..., juice...meat ...beans...rice," with the rhythm occasionally broken by, "bread...coffee," and dabbing his chin from any mis-entered serving by me. When it came time to serve the lime sorbet we joked about whether either of us had seen anything in nature that matched the vivid green in the cup!!


After 3 hours it was time to leave. Suerk was beginning to look tired and he wanted to get an afternoon nap in. The surprise visit bringing up past memories and thoughts of the future had tired him. I promised I would come back to the USA to visit him wherever he was and that next time my visit wouldn't be a surprise. We thanked each other for the wonderful time we had just spent together. I walked round to Suerk's side, gave him a kiss and again caressed his head and shoulders as we said our final words. "It's at times like this I feel like Stevie Wonder!," said Suerk as his shoulders jigged up and down. He said it was a sign of happiness from him. As I moved to the end of his bed Suerk smiled and said, "I love you Jamie." I walked back to his side and rubbed his other jiggling shoulder, "I love you too Suerk." As we both tried to hold our composure Suerk barked out, "Now get out of here before I start to cry!!" "Me too," I said as I turned passing the room dividing curtain out into the corridor.


To sum up, I'll be honest in stating that despite Suerk saying he is comfortable in the current hospital and that the staff are great, I believe that I, those of you reading this, other former students, faculty and parental friends of Suerk can muster together to do somethings to make his future life as comfortable as possible, maybe with life outside the nursing home back in his home and provide him numerous things to look forward too. I would go as far as to suggest a campaign called,"Do It" or "Do It For Suerk". 'Do It" is what he used to shout at students in England to give them a boost, (sometimes to get his way!), and it's what he had printed on his t-shirt when he trained and ran the London Marathon in 1982. "Do It" was barked out by Suerk again during my visit as he advised me on some future decisions I have to make.


Getting back onto I-79 heading south as the snow swept across the road I cried pretty much the 100 miles driving back to Pittsburgh...for almost 30 years Suerk has taught me perspective on life as a child, a student on both sides of the Atlantic and he continues to give me perspective on life as an adult. I can't wait to see Suerk again...




JAMIE FINLAY '87




James Finlay | photographer


10 May 1982 -- The Day Before the London Marathon -- Time -- 3hr:5min

This Is Your Life

Yesterday, Gaga, aka Kitty Whitty, wrote me to provide this link. One of her comments struck me. She said the blog was like a Paul Suerken edition of "This Is Your Life." I like that.

Speaking of Suerk's life, he is settled into it for now at "Golden Living," Western Reserve. The hope is that he will one day qualify for 24 hour care at home on Hilltop Road. That will take time, but it is his goal, and it does give him hope.

Here's that link

A Visit From Andy Crago '67

Since Alumni Weekend in the fall of '83 when I shared cider and bread with Soapy Howard and Suerk in the Swank apartment and listened to the two of them discuss an entire generation of kids who'd come before me, I have been amazed at how Suerk has managed to know so many kids so well. Each of us remain a very real part of who he is, what he values and what gives him purpose in life. Andy Crago is one of those 'kids.' He flew from Orlando to Pittsburgh for a four and a half hour visit that he and Suerk will never forget. Here's Andy's letter about that visit.








Paul Suerken...A man of influence, a brilliant mind and an unwavering sense of humor. Against all odds, as a result of his paralyzing accident, Paul or "Suerkey" as I know him, retains all of these captivating attributes, as I had the good fortune to validate a few weeks ago in Pittsburgh, Pa.



Although Matt had pretty much prepared me for my visit, and I knew it was the right thing to do, I still prayed for the "right words" as I flew up from Orlando, having never chatted with a quadriplegic, let alone a paralyzed friend.



My fears of saying the wrong things dissolved as I entered Suerk's room in the Harmarville Rehab Center, when as I yelled Suerkey, he just as quickly and instinctively yelled "Andyy." I knew instantly that Paul's spirit was intact and this was the same guy I learned to love over 40 years ago as a young, impressionable teenager, living at an all male (at the time) prep school.



Upon exchanging opening pleasantries, I had the good fortune to have Suerk ask if I could get him a Wendy's Frosty. Seems this was what he wanted more than anything in the world, at this particular time. As we talked and I fed him his beloved Frosty (medium, chocolate), he didn't let my long winded stories keep him from constantly reminding me he was ready for another mouthful, by opening his mouth wide and looking directly at the Frosty. He savored every spoonful, as much as I enjoyed assisting him in fulfilling this important request.



For 4 and 1/2 hours we reminisced....each firing out names, nicknames, swear words we had mastered and experiences we shared. His mind is sharp, certainly sharper than mine. We laughed as we mutually remembered the good times at the 'burg.



Paul has accepted his fate...."stuff" happens, as he would say. If he had his druthers, would he want things to be the way they were before the accident...sure he would. Instead, he is focused on doing what he can and what he especially wants is to be able to get on the pc. I am certain that with the many options (gadgets) available to those in similar circumstances, Paul will be communicating with us once again.



As we said our farewells, Paul was preparing to be transferred the next day back to Western Reserve in Erie. I told Suerkey to take care, kissed him on his bald head and told him I loved him.



I will forever remember the twinkle in his eyes, his closed mouth smile (as I left) and what he meant to this impressionable 59 year old kid. "New Boys" together in 1965....friends for a lifetime.



Andy Crago

Class of 1967

Address Change

Please note Suerk's new mailing address which will remain in the tab on the right column:

Western Reserve
Patient Paul Suerken
1521 West 54th Street
Erie, PA 16509

814.864.0671

From the Ritz to Motel 6

It appears that my lack of words regarding Suerk have people worried. Don't be worried. Suerk is great. The absence is about me. I was happy with Jackie Powell's note and thought it should stand for a while. But then I got caught up in preparing for a vacation. Then I got caught up in having a vacation. Now I'm caught up in not having a vacation. And within the next little while I plan on getting caught up in having another vacation -- just 18 days away.

Whether or not I keep this blog updated, I do keep in daily contact with Suerk. His time at Harmarville has been wonderful. While the physical therapy there has not undone his profound paralysis, the treatment there has been an unimaginably powerful therapy in all other ways. As one of Suerk's former students from the class of '67 put it to me yesterday, "Suerk is at the Ritz, about to return to Motel 6." Harmarville has been the Ritz -- every need met and "at his pleasure," as they say. It's the return to Motel 6 that you should know about.

Suerk is, like most of us would be, swept up in the red tide that is our Medicare/health-care system. He has a certain number of days allotted to him during which he qualifies for certain types of care. His rehab days are numbered. When they run out, he falls into a different category. This new category requires that he return to a nursing home until, MAYBE, he can find a way to qualify for 24 hour home care. So he is returning to Erie. We thought the return would be on or around 15 December. Yesterday we learned that insurance requires a more immediate transfer which will happen tomorrow. I will update this page with his new address when he has one.

A Word From Jackie Powell

To Friends of Paul Suerken
From Jackie Powell

When Matt Simar told me that Paul is now in HealthSouth Harmarville Rehab in Pittsburgh, I was delighted because it is so near. Harmarville is just 5 miles away from where I now live (Longwood at Oakmont, a retirement home near the Oakmont Country Club - scene of last year's PGA golf tournament.) Harmarville is an outstanding faciility where Paul is getting the best of care and is glad to be there. It was hard to see him the first time for me since his accident - trapped in a body which lies or sits very still, a far cry from the Boston Marathon runner. But Paul, typically, is making the best of it. He is a realist about his condition, talks about it freely, and seems to have accepted things as they are and intends to remain as happy as he can. He is probably the favorite patient of aides, nurses and therapists who work with him as is clear from the way they speak with him when they come by - he is so appreciative of everything they do for him. While he has some difficulty talking because of shortness of breath, it has not dampened his spirits or enthusiasm. When I saw him first a few days ago, he beamed and said that I looked "wonderful", and I responded with a grin - "I wish I could say the same for you" at which we both had a good laugh. It was so good to hear that familiar laugh and see the smile and dancing eyes. Yes, Paul is there. He wants to hear any news, asks about various people, and we talk about so many differenct things. The campus there is beautiful, and a couple of days ago they took him outside for the first time in a wheelchair, which he enjoyed immensely as the day was warm and beautiful. I shall see him several times a week as long as he remains at Harmarville - it is a joy to me to reconnect with an old and dear friend. His friends mean so much to Paul.

Suerk's Vote

Dear All,

Just so you know... we were able to get an absentee ballot for Paul so that he could vote!! So he did... and took his part in this historical election!

Joanna

Mrs. Jones

From Morning Edition, November 5, 2008 · Along a rural highway in central Texas sits a small white house with some cows grazing out back and a wheelchair ramp leading to the front screen door. Inside that house lives Amanda Jones, 109, the daughter of a slave. No one in her family, least of all Jones, thought she would live long enough to vote for the man who is to become the first black president.

Jones is the living link between the time when black men were owned as property and the time when a black man has been elected president of the United States.

She wears a pink gown and sits in a worn recliner. Thick glasses magnify her rheumy eyes — eyes that have witnessed two world wars, a great depression, and the arrival of jazz, television and antibiotics. Born in 1899, Jones has lived through a half-century of institutional segregation and a second half-century of attempts to erase that legacy.

"The white is over everything," she says. "I never thought the colored would rise up" and accomplish this.

She thinks the election of President Barack Obama is "a blessing."

Family History Includes Hardship

Jones is a deeply religious woman. On the wall, next to pictures of her many grandchildren and great-grandchildren, is scripture from Joshua and framed sheet music from The Old Rugged Cross.

Her father was Emmanuel Alfred Roberts, who was emancipated in 1865 at the age of 12. He took the name of his last master, a farmer and rancher named Abe Roberts.

He eventually married Moriah Josephine Washington. They farmed on Alum Creek, east of Austin, and had 13 children. Amanda Jones is the sole survivor.

She remembers very little of what her father told her about slavery days.

"When he was a little boy, he herded [the master's] sheep," she says, and he protected them from mountain lions that then prowled the forests of central Texas.

She went on to marry C.L. Jones, who farmed and ran a small grocery in Bastrop County. She worked as a maid before raising 10 children of her own.

The first president Jones voted for was Franklin D. Roosevelt. Like all black citizens, she had to pay a poll tax to vote.

"We would pick cotton and save our money to pay taxes," she recalls.

The poll tax was finally abolished in Texas for all elections in 1966.

Setting A New Standard

Obama's election now gives the extended Jones family — and millions like it across the country — a new standard for their children.

Jones' daughter, Ruth Jones, is 73.

"And I told my youngest grandson, [who] is 10, 'You can be anything you want to be. You can even be president of the U.S.,'" Ruth Jones says. "He thought that was so funny. He really did. He said, 'I can be the president!' I said, "You sure can, but you really have to apply yourself.'"

The family is planning a large reunion at an Austin hotel when Amanda Jones turns 110 next month, under the nation's first black president-elect.

Motion

The last word I have regarding my visit to Erie is about Suerk's motion, or lack of motion. The 'Q' word is not something we whisper. Suerk is a quadriplegic. Last Sunday in discussing the Penn State/Ohio State game, he said, "The wonderful thing about quadriplegia is that you can watch an entire ballgame without interruption." The comment was intended to provide a laugh. Never is he looking for pity – ever.

Motion. Suerk turns his head. He has some use of his arms in that the muscles down to the elbow work somewhat on command. Often the arms move without command. The throwing (left) arm tries to curl up toward his collarbone involuntarily. The writing/conducting arm behaves better, but it might not be as strong as the left. Often he requests to have someone move his arms and hands back to a more comfortable position because they tend to climb upward unintentionally. He has lots of feeling in the places in his arms and hands over which he has no control. He's not happy about that kind of feeling because it's like a burning. If you think holding his arm or hand will give him comfort, think again. He's learned how to throw you a look that says, "Lay off!" The feeling is like fire, but it is feeling. Maybe one day the sense of feeling/burning will become motion again. That is the hope.

It is with this limited movement and his entire mind that Suerk is thriving at the Harmarville Rehab facility in Pittsburgh. The news from there is nothing but extraordinarily positive. He is demonstrating a strength and sense of hope that he has not possessed since the fall in July. John Bush spent the day with him yesterday and found Suerk deeply engaged in his therapy with a concentration and enthusiasm that John Bush calls, "inspirational."

More Later.

A Note From Joanna Bush

I know what you mean about feeding Suerk, and it feeling quite uncomfortable at first... and the "rhythm" you fall into...'

But the thing that amazes me is Suerk's constant gentlemanly demeanor. The "please" before every bite... and the humor about the food!

Suerk has had a hard time dealing with the move, but he is forging ahead, and the transfer is set for 10AM on Tuesday, Oct. 21. Dave McChesney and I will be accompanying him on the trip. When we get there, I will try to find out how we can all communicate with him.

Keep him in your prayers, because the next two weeks I am sure will be especially hard.... new people, new routines, and very few friends at his bedside. I know that I will only be able to get there once a week... and some of his friends cannot even make the trip. It is about 2 and a half hours from Erie... so a trip there, time with Paul, and a trip back will take a good 6 hours... not easy to do when you have family demands of your own.

Stay in touch.

Pittsburgh Rehab

Suerk has decided to embrace the idea of attending a rehab facility that specializes in spinal injuries. Tomorrow an ambulance will take him from Erie to Pittsburgh. Joanna Bush and Dave McChesney will accompany him and get him settled in.

Here is the new contact information.

HealthSouth Harmarville Rehabilitation Hospital
320 Guys Run Road
Pittsburgh, PA 15238
(412) 828-1300

Harmarville closely guards their client's security. A password is required for all correspondences -- including phone contacts. Email your request for a password to:

forpaulsuerken@gmail.com

Elephant Scabs

If you’re fortunate enough to visit Suerk during mealtime, you’ll find that you will be the one he chooses to have feed him. I was taken aback. I have been through a lot and I have seen a lot, but somehow the act of feeding my teacher gave me a strange chill. That chill vanished quickly, though, and the rhythm of the feeding became comforting in a way. “Meat, please. Juice, please. Peas, please. Juice, please.” Eventually, you learn the order of things and can anticipate him before he needs to make the request. And the rhythm is punctuated with humor and laughs. I never did share the food with him, and no one would want to given the contorted facial expressions he displays upon tasting most of what he eats. One afternoon when I lifted the cover off the platter, Suerk took a look at the veal and conjured the voice of Doc Prevost. “Oh, Jesus! Elephant scabs again!” But he ate the scabs and most everything else served him. And that’s how that went.

Pat, I’d Like to Buy a Vowel

It’s time to write about my visit with Suerk last week, but there’s so much to say. I don’t know quite where to begin. To start, it’s important to say that Suerk is doing very well. His spirits are high. Therapy is going well. His loyal friends continue to visit him daily. He’s engaged in the baseball season, politics and current events. Cleo and Gigi have a new home and this has brought him a large measure of peace. There is one issue he faces which brings with it a bit of anxiety, and that is whether he wants to transfer to a more specialized rehab facility in Pittsburgh while his insurance still covers the tremendous cost. The admission staff from that facility will be visiting him soon to make their case. There are two issues which will make the decision difficult for him. He does not want to leave Erie, even for a short duration. And he has serious doubts whether a specialized rehab facility can help ‘rehab’ his 70 year old, mostly paralyzed body. He is open-minded, though, and he wants to hear the experts make their case before he makes his decision.

Western Reserve

During our conversation yesterday Suerk said to me,

Hold on a minute, Matt. Wayne! WAYNE!!! Yes, Wayne, would you mind turning that TV down? WAAAAYNE!!!!! Yes, thank you. Please turn that TV down. (MY GOD!) Okay, Matt. My God! I never thought I would be on a first name basis with Pat and Vanna! I didn't even know what the in the hell the 'Wheel' was, and now I find myself buying vowels!

So Suerk and his roommate are torturing one another with their TV selections. While there are two TVs in the room (about six feet apart separated by a curtain) Wayne’s remote controls both sets. Often, when Olberman or Matthews are ranting particularly exquisitely, or when I was there, smack in the middle of the Biden/Palin debate, Wayne will change both sets to something like Spike TV. You can imagine Suerk’s frustration and the expletives the frustration demands. He takes it in stride, though, along with everything else that has befallen him.

This leads me to the place – Western Reserve. In one way, it’s the nicest nursing home I have ever visited in that there is no smell -- none. Much more importantly, the staff is extremely attentive day and night. Suerk has a device mounted to his bed he calls his blowpop. When he raises his head and places his lips on the blowpop and blows, the nurse responds immediately. And as you can see from Nurse Nancy’s comment, the staff is loving and compassionate. Suerk is the only ‘quad’ in the whole place. The nursing staff is well aware of his unique story and their compassion shows. So he’s in a good place, for now. We can only hope and trust that he will make the best decision for himself regarding the specialty rehab in Pittsburgh. The decision is his.

There is more to come. For now, know that Paul Suerken is well. He continues to be deeply moved by the wonderful wishes and messages coming his way. His hope is that, eventually, he will have a way to express his love and thanks in return.

More on my visit later.