My Dad

Dr. Gordon A. Taylor Sr., 1914-1988

Were he alive today, Dad would be celebrating his 97th birthday this week. I was lucky in life, my dad was my best friend. It was always that way. It just happened. There's a word "simpatico" which means the special relationship that exists between people when words need not be spoken, yet there is a level of peace and compassion that goes beyond mere words. We shared that feeling.

Dr. Gordon A. Taylor Sr. was always Mr. Personality—he laughed, he told stories, he entertained my friends. He was a man of the people and fun to be around. Few people knew that beneath that friendly exterior was a man in dire, and I mean dire, financial straits. My earliest memories include our family's acute, persistent money problems. Every month was a financial nightmare at the Taylor household. The mortgage, four sons, school clothes, car payments, taxes, bills, bills, bills—there was NEVER enough money, and our situation grew more desperate each year.

My dad was not a lazy or unskilled man, just unlucky. He was an optometrist who professionally just couldn't make the transition from rural Galena to upscale, suburban Hinsdale. For the Taylors there were no vacations, no new cars, no new clothes, and leftovers night after night plus the constant threatening calls from bill collectors. This was the 1950s, so there was no credit card maneuvering in play here. He borrowed from everyone—banks, savings and loans, and finally relatives. He even borrowed money from his high school and college friends—$100 here, $200 there, just to keep us going. I knew these people. I spent time in their homes, played with their children. I will always remember who they were and what they did for us during our financial odyssey. In spite of their help, it was not enough.

I came home from junior high one day to find neighbors gathered in our front yard. It was not for a picnic. The local utility company was using a huge backhoe to dig up our front yard so they could disconnect our water main for non-payment. There was both pain and embarrassment on Mom's face when she asked if I had any money? I went to my bedroom where I kept my life savings from babysitting and mowing lawns ($34.75) safely hidden in a Skippy peanut butter jar. The water bill was $34.35, so Mom threw the jar at the poor workers and screamed at them to leave and by the way, keep the change. It was one of the very few times I ever saw Mom lose her composure. The memory of that event is forever burnt into my psyche. Things were terrible, but they got worse.

That same evening Dad came home from work with a U-Haul. The sadness and pain in his eyes was deep and profound as he announced in an almost inaudible whisper, "We have to leave tonight." We all stood there in silence. We had not seen it coming. Dad went on, "The bank wants us out tomorrow. No more reprieves, no more loans, no more delays, we're leaving!" We all had tears in our eyes as Mom asked, "Where are we going?" The reply was, "I don't know" and with that we packed up our meager belongings.

Dad felt like such a failure. It was clear by his every move. His back was bent over, his eyes were red, he wouldn't look any of us in the eye. He appeared gaunt, his spirit broken by a cascade of economic calamities. At 10 p.m. the job was done, and we were prepared to leave. As we started out the back door for the last time, the phone rang. The phone rang! Who could possibly be calling? Dad picked up the receiver the rest of us went outside to wait and wait and wait. It seemed like forever. Finally, Dad came out and quietly announced "I got some money." We unloaded the U-Haul and never spoke of that night again—never! That was clearly the worst of it, the nadir of our financial nightmare if you will. We still had some bad times, but after that horrible day, things gradually got better for our family.

Dad held down three jobs; Mom, two; and we four boys did our part as well. Gradually Dad paid everyone back. It took 20 years, but he did it—the banks, the savings and loans, our relatives, and finally his friends. In some cases his friends said they didn't want the money back, they were happy to help but Dad insisted.

Near the end of his life (June 1988), Dad and I were having lunch together which we tried to do every time I got back home. Table 23 at the Cypress Restaurant in Hinsdale was our little piece of paradise. This would be a lunch like no other in my life before or since. I mustered up my courage and finally asked THE QUESTION. "Dad, why did you pay everyone back?" He certainly didn't have to. He and Mom never had much of their own since they'd spent their entire adult years paying back all those loans. My question prompted Dad to get a twinkle in his eyes—he was excited. It was like he'd been waiting a lifetime for someone to ask him that simple question. A big smile came across his face that had known much adversity in its 74 years and he said, "Gord, when you and your brothers were growing up, I could never give you much. No car, no fancy clothes, no money for college, not even any spending money. But I did what I had to do. The measure of a man or woman is not the size of the house they live in, nor the type of car they drive, or even where they buy their clothes. The true value of an individual is what they stand for and how they live. Yes, I could have given up but I wouldn't. It was important for me to show you the importance of dignity, self-respect, pride, and integrity. I had to pay everyone back. It was the right thing to do."

I got up from my chair, walked around to where my dad was sitting, hugged him as hard as I've ever hugged anyone in my life and whispered "Thanks Dad." It was simply all I could say, but I knew how much it meant to my best friend. It was a seminal event in my life.

Dad was gone a month later, but his legacy lives on. He taught me that the most important things in life aren't really things at all; that while we can't all be Nobel Prize Laureates or find a cure for cancer, we can all make a difference in this world if we choose to do so. My dad lived by a simple creed which good friends Jim and Suzi Miner were kind enough to frame for me. It hangs in my home office and reads:

It's not what you get,
It's what you give.

It's not what you say,
It's how you live.

It's giving the world the love it needs,
It's living the life of noble deeds.

Strong for the right, the good and the true.
These are the things worthwhile to you and to you and to you.

That quote says all that needs to be said. What we do for others does make a difference. It doesn't have to be big—it just has to be. It can be a smile, a hug, an attaboy, or a pat on the back. My family endured our economic crucible. It wasn't easy, it made us stronger, and we survived because Mom and Dad knew no other way.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Comfort Zone

Dixon Correctional Center, Dixon, IL

As I approach my 65th birthday which I'm told is one of those life milestones, I've had occasion to reflect on the topic of comfort zones. Until last year, I'd spent the overwhelming portion of my life in a vast comfort zone. I'd led a pretty much idyllic life as things always seemed to fall in place for me. The only exception to this was during the Ph.D. pursuit. For some this is an exciting academic adventure. For me, it was awful, painful, and degrading. Without getting into great detail, every time I'd get within 50 miles of Gainesville, Florida, home of the University of Florida, I would find myself breaking out in nervous perspiration. Now this is not the kind of sweat you get from exercise but rather the pungent type that comes from fear, nervousness, and anxiety. Fortunately, I was able to return to my comfort zone in June 1980 with the Ph.D. in hand.

The past year has provided three separate incidences where Diane and I have exited our comfort zones: twice voluntarily and once by necessity. Neither one of us is a big risk taker and we like staying within the "box." While we enjoy travel and new experiences, we also like stability and predictability. It is no secret that Diane and I like people and when possible try and show others how we feel about them. This is just the way we are and of course my recent odyssey has returned the favor to us many times over. One recurring theme in this blog and our lives is the importance of family and friends. Relationships sustain, nurture, and enrich us.

Our cancer experience clearly shook us to our foundation and abruptly moved from a tranquil Florida respite to a world of doctor appointments, hospitals, biopsies, CT-scans, MRIs, PET-scans, PEG, chemo therapy, radiation, and the MASK. And that's just for starters. While I have entered a new comfort zone, I still get little reminders that not everything is where I want it to be. My taste buds remain compromised, salivary activity is an issue, and I had a couple of choking episodes while in Chicago last week--nothing serious but it happens. Trust me, a serious illness has a dramatic impact on those closest to you.

Because of my job as the "alumni guy," Diane and I had occasion to visit nursing homes on a regular basis. People we got to know when I got into alumni programs in 1978 simply aged. They had become our friends and while we were in our 30's, they were in their 70's, 80's, and beyond. Just because their residences may have changed our friendships did not. We simply were more mobile than they and that continues to this day. Let me be clear. I don't think either of us ever woke up in the morning and said, "Oh good, let's go to a nursing home today." Yet, we would wake up and say, "let's go visit George or Joe or Olive or Margaret or Mabel or whomever." My guess is you've all been to a nursing home and there are parts of that experience that are not pleasant but you still go. Our experience has been that even if you find yourself out of your comfort zone when visiting someone in long-term care, it is important to remember the comfort you bring to the person you visit.

You never know where a friendship will take you. Last week, Diane and I visited a college classmate who finds himself in the Dixon Correctional Center. He is a kind and gentle man. He actually lived in Seal Hall at WIU when I did, and we shared some life experiences. His incarceration is a tragic story and to say the least, he is way out of his comfort zone but copes as best he can. It took a little coaxing to get Diane to join me in a trip to a prison, but friendships run deep and no surprise here, Diane is a good sport. As we pulled up to the prison, I thought "oh my God, it is the Shawshank Prison." Our comfort level reached a new low when we entered the prison walls and were patted down and made to put all our belongings into a locker. Sitting there with our friend was not uncomfortable but we couldn't help but feel emotions of profound sadness for his predicament while simultaneously feeling that we were making his day just a little better than it otherwise may have been. We shall return.

Don't be afraid to exit your comfort zone to support or help a friend or family member. You know who you are but there's no doubt in my mind that for some of you seeing me at 153 pounds at 35 Indian Trail took you out of your comfort zone but you did it. And for that, THANKS!!

The Storm of 2011

It has been quite a week for those of us living in the Midwest. Here in Macomb we had 20 inches of snow and 20 wind chills--such fun. I know I am “on the mend” as I shoveled for two hours on Tuesday and three hours on Wednesday in high winds and bitter cold. The driveway was “shut” by a four-foot high drift, three-feet wide, but I got it done. Now, my back was a little sore and my PEG insertion a little bruised but what the heck, it was an adventure and I survived. I continue to make progress in very small increments and am resigned to the reality that I will never get back to where I was when this adventure started but I am alive and in what appears to be good health.

I continue to have a couple of issues beyond the dry mouth and taste buds challenges. Every three weeks or so, out of the blue I get a bloody, and I mean bloody nose that is so dramatic it actually shocks me in its severity. I got one last week in the middle of the night and had to change pajamas and soak the sheets and pillowcases and take the comforter to the dry cleaners. Now, I did wait until morning to do all this, but it is a mess when it happens. My other adjustment is to the sounds I now make. I get this goofy cough when I clear my throat that sounds like a dying bullfrog (I really don’t know how a dying bullfrog sounds but you get the picture) and resonates throughout the house. It simply has to bother Diane as it is simply not natural; however, she is a good sport and doesn’t say anything. If this is where I am, I really have little to complain about and am looking forward to our Florida excursion at the end of the month.

These are the difficult days of winter, but I advise you all to take heart--March is less than four weeks away and soon the grass will get green, the trees will sport leaves, the snow will disappear, we can shed our heavy coats, tulips will bloom, and the Cubs will again play baseball. I do have a little cabin fever myself but keep busy with upcoming Across the Miles preparation and that keeps my mind busy. Not that it matters but I pick the Packers to prevail over the Steelers 21-17. Have a great weekend.

The Road Ahead

I'm back, sort of.... I still need to figure out the balance thing in terms of what I can and cannot do which, of course, is nothing new for me. This week provided a vivid example of what I mean. In the morning, I interviewed Tom Carper, former mayor of Macomb and now Chairman of the Board for Amtrack, on Across the Miles. The focus was on the future of passenger rail in the United States--very informative. My next stop was the Macomb Rotary Club where I was asked to speak on "making a difference," a speech I have probably given a thousand times. Things began well and then life got in the way. As I was taking a bite of pork tenderloin, the young lady who was to introduce me inquired as to whether my bout with cancer would affect my speaking. I swallowed and turned to answer her question when the pork inconveniently got lodged in my throat. I put a napkin in front of my mouth, walked across the room to the men's bathroom, hit myself on the back, and dislodged the contents of my mouth in the sink. Not a pretty sight but my throat was clear.

I returned to the table and reassured Esther that this didn't happen too often and I would be fine. When I got up to speak, I found that for the first five minutes or so my voice was rather strained because of stress I had temporarily put on my throat. Things got better, and I successfully completed my remarks. This resulted in a learning experience. Of course, Dr. Diane had cautioned me earlier not to attempt to do both an hour interview and a speech in the same day, but naturally, I knew better. In my defense, had I not choked I would have been fine but that's not the way things worked out. Patience, Gord, patience.

As a person who has dealt with cancer, your view of the future changes. I continue to deal with salivary issues and my taste buds are very slow to recover but progress is being made. I NEED to remember that! But my perspective on things is a bit different these days. One of my tongue cancer pen pals reminded me recently that if you are cancer free with base of tongue cancer for 2 years the prognosis is very good. Jeepers--that shook me up a little as I just assumed I was "in the clear" and didn't think about a possible reoccurence. I guess that's my positive mental attitude.

Michael Douglas and I'm rather upset about this, has gotten much more publicity than me regarding our mutual base of tongue cancer condition. Ok, ok, I'm just kidding here. Douglas did an interview with Matt Lauer, and Michael said two things that really caught my attention. When Lauer asked him how cancer has changed his life, Douglas replied, "I'm now in the third act of my life." As someone who is turning 65 next month, I realize that cancer or no cancer, I too am in my third act. Matt mentioned that Michael will now have another descriptor added to his name: cancer survivor, to which Michael replied with a big smile, "From your lips to God's ears." I liked that very much.

During the course of the interview, Douglas mentioned that he was struck by the level of genuine affection family and friends had shown him during this difficult period. That comment really resonated with me as both Diane and I have been bolstered by the way we are treated. It seems like every time we are out, people come up to us and are sincerely happy to see us. Not that this hasn't always been the case, but it is different now as we know folks are responding to our "situation." It is just nice to know that people care, really care.

I Got the Girl

Diane & Gordy, August 31, 1968

It was nothing special, just another laker but that particular night would change my life FOREVER!! It was April 1, 1967 (Yes, April Fool’s Day) and four guys from Seal Hall had blind dates with four “girls” from Grote Hall at Lake Argyle State Park. I ended up with Diane Paulsen from Winthrop Harbor. She thought I was kind of funny, not particularly good-looking, but what the heck it was just a blind date. As I recall, and I recall it vividly, we drank a couple? of those little cans of malt liquor and I believe kissed a little. A couple of nights later it was a Dairy Queen date, then a movie, and pretty soon I was a goner.

We got married on August 31, 1968, and somewhere in the vows we both mumbled something about “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.” Little did we know what lied ahead. The Vietnam War was raging, but we took a chance and it was off to The University of Florida where I had a fellowship, and Diane got a job as a secretary. We left Illinois in a 1960 Chevrolet Impala that already had over 100,000 miles on it and $700 in our pocket. We returned to Macomb and Western Illinois University in 1970 and this has been our home ever since. Three terrific children, a fine son –in-law, wonderful daughter-in-law, two fun grandsons, and a couple of rewarding careers and by and large, it has been all positive.

Now let’s be honest here. There were some ups and downs. After all, I am a product of the 1950s and I believed that marriage was a 50-50 proposition: the 50 % Diane gave and the 50% I took. It took awhile but I ultimately grew up (sort of) and realized how lucky I was that fate had brought Harry and Ann Paulsen’s oldest daughter into my life. I won’t say raising the kids was a breeze but we figured it out and parenting came pretty easy to us.

Good health has been our good fortune throughout our marriage until that biopsy report on March 4, 2010. What a bombshell. Remember a couple of paragraphs ago where I mentioned “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health?” Diane learned first hand what that meant. Now I am the one who had cancer, and it has not been the best thing that ever happened to me BUT and it is a big but, for seven months, it was all about me. People sent me cards, emails, phoned me, brought over soup, and did whatever they could to help out. Heck, I’d be out for a walk and women would stop their cars in the middle of the street and run over and give me a hug. That was pretty neat. I didn’t experience that much pain as I was heavily medicated. It was difficult but I don’t remember a lot of it. Not so for Diane.

For the duration of my battle, she was the one who fed me through the feeding tube, ground up medications, fluffed up my pillows, got me water, drove me back and forth to Burlington, made all my doctor appointments, screened phone calls, answered the same questions a thousand different times, managed the upkeep of the house, supervised the kitchen remodeling project, and was there for my every need. No medications for Diane to ease her pain as she watched her husband atrophy and go from 180 to 153 pounds and there was nothing she could do about it. At times, I could see it in her eyes. Here was this guy who had literally never been sick and he was in a life and death struggle and her job was to do all she could to help me recover. Remember, she has our kids to think about and her 89-year-old Dad and 87-year-old Mom who also needed her in their lives.

Never once did Diane falter in her new duties as caretaker. Oh, she raised her voice a few times, took some long walks alone, got out for an occasional dinner with friends but she was always there for me in ways I will never comprehend. Relative normalcy has returned to our lives. I improve daily and the taste buds/ salivary glands battle continues but life is pretty good. I hope our lives are such that I never have to pay Diane back in kind, but let me assure you that if that day were to come, I will be ready to return the favor. We have always lived by the Golden Rule; it has served us well.

As I type this and I actually am typing this today, I get a bit teary-eyed when I think back to how lucky I was on April 1, 1967. I have been blessed. Family and friends have always been there for me and for that I am most grateful. Yet as I approach my 65th birthday next month, I realize that my greatest blessing is meeting and sharing my life with Diane Margaret Paulsen. She is off for a much-deserved visit to see the Stevensons in Corpus Christi. I love you, Diane. Safe travels.

Maury and Don--There for Me

Don Patterson

Maury Coats

Oh, I’m so delighted to see 2011 arrive. 2010 was, shall we say, just not my year. I’ve said my thank yous to everyone I know but if I’ve inadvertently omitted someone, I apologize. There are two people who played a unique role for me this past year, and I need to thank them publicly. Don Patterson and Maury Coats were my knights in shining armor. Seldom did either of them say anything to me that I wanted to hear but rather they told it like it was. After all, they had been there and each, in their own way, gave me sage advice.

Don Patterson had tonsillar cancer and when diagnosed, he was at Stage Four. Don was the head football coach at Western Illinois University for many years so we knew each other quite well. He spoke at our alumni events from time to time; we became friends. When word got out that I had base of tongue cancer, one of the first calls I got was from Don. He was brutally candid but what do you expect from a college football coach who makes a living motivating college men. Don was the first person to utter the words to me, “Gordy, I can tell you four things. The diagnosis is serious and scary. The treatment will be awful. The recovery will be painstakingly slow and difficult. And, my friend, and always remember this, the prognosis is usually excellent.”

Don and I spoke frequently over the next 8 months as he prepared me for what was to come: fatigue, nausea, loss of appetite, inability to swallow, living with a feeding tube, loss of weight, and a thousand other issues that I would face. He also told me I would get to know and appreciate Diane like I never had before. As he said, “Cancer tests a marriage, but you and I are both lucky, me with Lisa and you with Diane.”

One event in particular sticks out regarding Don and his role in my odyssey. I told him that PEG had been inserted in my stomach. The date was April 20, 2010. I did not know anything about how it would “work” and frankly I was a bit overwhelmed. That very afternoon there was a knock on the door. It was Don and Diane escorted him to my room which he entered carrying a stand used to hook up my feeding bag. He left the room for a couple of minutes and returned carrying several cases of the now infamous “product.” Next he showed me what to do and got me started. Naturally, he didn’t have to do any of this but he did. It was a moment I will never forget. There we were, a couple of old jocks, one on the mend and the other preparing to embark on an adventure with an uncertain ending. I didn’t realize it until months later, but Don’s act of kindness and compassion had a profound impact on me. He knew what I didn’t know about what lied ahead and he was there to guide me.

I need to include a quick note of clarification here. The folks at the Macomb Home Health Center were also terrific in setting me up and I do not want to minimize their efforts on my behalf.

Maury Coats is a different story. You know Maury. He’s the WIU grad, class of 1959 who received, but never read the Western News or my column therein, and had the audacity to look me in the eye in my family room and say, “Gordy Taylor, never heard of you until Eldon and Maureen Hare told me some guy they knew had the same kind of cancer I had.” You remember what happened next as I wrote about it earlier here. Diane Taylor had to be helped off the floor laughing uncontrollably with tears in her eyes as she looked at her dumbfounded husband.

My comments regarding Maury are not as lengthy as those on Don, but they are no less heartfelt or significant. My first contact with Maury was a phone call. He called “out of the blue” after hearing about me from the Hares and said, “I’m Maury Coats and I had base of tongue cancer and I’m here for you.” Bingo!! Maury had the precise type of cancer I had and was a three-year survivor. He was marvelous and though he was currently in Massachusetts we emailed and spoke on the phone. He sugarcoated NOTHING but had a way of putting me at ease. “Take the medication, don’t overdue it, this will be tough BUT you will survive.” Like Don, he related that I was fortunate to have a supportive wife and that his wife Sandi had been there every step of the way to support him.

On a visit to Macomb to see the Hares, Maury and Sandi took time from their schedules to make what I refer to as the infamous visit to 35 Indian Trail. There on our couch was a real base of tongue cancer survivor, and he looked robust and healthy. There was hope for me. Maury Coats had never met me but he has been the other bookend to complement Don Patterson and to both men I say, “Thanks guys for being there for me. Your support has been invaluable.”

A Look Back and the View Ahead

A Look Back

To be blunt, 2010 was quite a year at our house. What started as our usual fun trip to Florida developed into our own personal odyssey that we hope is not soon, if ever, repeated. I will not rehash all that happened here but a couple of observations are in order. Over the holidays we have had many visits with loved ones, and it is clear that, for me, I lived May and June pretty much in a drug-induced fog or coma. People will mention things, and I vaguely at best have some idea what they are talking about. All I can say is that I am glad 2010 is over and that it ended on a very positive note health wise.

Diane and I ended the year with a bang. Clean bill of health on November 29th, precancerous face treatment on December 1st, PEG removed on the 3rd, a great week in Chicago December 7-13 visiting family and friends, and finally a visit with the grandsons, Jennifer and John in Texas December 14-22. It is good to be back home, but it was exciting.

As I assess 2010 and the state of my health, I need to be honest with myself. I am better, much better, but I am not 100% nor will I ever be. I need to get my hands around this "new normal." I am walking an hour everyday and lately have even done so outside bundled up quite well. BUT, I still have an occasional choking episode--nothing too dramatic, just a quick exit from the table while I expectorate to clear my throat passage--more embarrassing than anything else. The salivary gland issue is a pain but is what it is and is endurable. My major complaint or issue is the taste buds. Imagine eating EVERY meal, and it is never pleasurable. I get it done but can't taste much and have to gulp lots of water to simply get the food down to where it needs to go. I can taste a little but not like the old days and it is frustrating and frankly a bit depressing. I'm told by my sponsors, Don Patterson and Maury Coats, that it will get better over time but yes, I'm a little impatient.

Also, it's the little things that get my attention. I get pain in the back of my head at the end of the day, have an occasional nasty bloody nose, don't feel like jogging or doing some of the high energy things I used to take for granted. My guess is, this is all part of the deal that comes with poisoning your body with chemo and radiation while killing the cancer so I am not surprised, just wondering what part of all this is cancer related and what part is being almost age 65. It has only been 7 months since treatment stopped and I'm told, "give it a year" so I will dutifully acknowledge that reality and reserve lamenting this part of recovery until June 10, 2011. All in all, 2010 an interesting year for the Taylor family but I am clearly ready to have the focus off me and on brighter topics in 2011.

The View Ahead

I am confident that 2011 will be not a good, but an excellent year as my recovery progresses. I have made ONE major decision and believe it is in my best interest but know it will disappoint some of our Florida friends. While taking a long walk along the waterfront in Corpus Christi a couple of weeks ago, it dawned on me that two months traveling to, staying in and returning from Florida to Macomb driving 3000 miles might not be the ticket to good health for Gordy Taylor in 2011. There is a certain comfort to my "routine" at 35 Indian Trail and the stability it brings me. Short trips are fine but for now, I don't think I'm ready for the "long haul." Consequently, we have decided to "stay put" for the next couple of months with the exception of a return trip to Texas by Diane in January and a possibly brief visit to Chicago in February.

I will keep busy with Across the Miles and visits to the Spencer Rec Center on campus to walk and attempt to build up a little muscle tone after the misadventures of the past year. We will finally use some of those Marriott points and venture to South Beach Miami for two weeks the last week of February and first week of March--come on, you didn't think we could totally wean ourselves from Florida did you? I am comfortable with this decision and based on where my body is now, feel moderation is the way to go in 2011. Our best to all of you for a healthy, happy, productive 2011.