From left, Ray McDade, a Tacoma HOG volunteer and Leo Mortell try their luck at the blackjack table.
Ray snags a tiny plastic fish. It is NOT easy! The bad news: It’s been a looooong time since I’ve written.
The not-as-bad news: It has not been this long since I’ve visited the Soldiers Home. I’ve been there for Reno Day, Volunteer Day, Memorial Day and several assorted Bingo days in between.
Here’s a quick catch-up of highlights:
1. March 8: Reno Day. The Tacoma Harley Owners Group roared out again to turn Chilson Hall into a gambling haven. And I turned out again to help staff the refreshment area, which grows more elaborate every year. This year we had two Crock-Pots with two kinds of meatballs; the traditional VFW Auxiliary sandwiches, fruit and chips; PLUS a giant street-vendor warming cart with fried cheese sticks and fried chicken strips.
I watched Ray McDade catch tiny plastic fish with a magnet. I delivered drinks to thirsty players. But my favorite encounter of the day was at the blackjack table, where Leo Mortell was racking in the chips.
From one end of the curved card table, I asked Leo whether he wanted a drink. From the other end, Leo yelled: “Did you ever dump that chump you were with?”
I didn’t know whether Leo was kidding or serious, but it didn’t really matter. I laughed out loud and said, in fact, I had.
“And thanks for yelling that across the table so everyone could hear ,” I said. He laughed, too.
2. April 10: Volunteer Appreciation Lunch. After missing a couple of these because of work, I was thrilled I could make it to the annual midweek, midday luncheon this year. The decorations were lovely. The tables were filled with volunteers. And there were things that looked like gifts (!) spread along a giant table near the stage in Chilson Hall.
Turns out they were gifts, and each of us got to pick one as we walked to the front of the hall to accept our official volunteer certificate. I was thrilled with my volunteer water bottle, but not so thrilled that we all were expected to say a little something. Thankfully, just as I started to mumble, one of the Recreation staffers said, “All the Bingo players are thankful for everything you do,”—and suddenly I had my “speech.”
“I just wish I could do more,” I said.
And then I won a flower/plant during the raffle.
A good day for the not-so-selfless volunteer.
3. May 26: Memorial Day. I’ve developed a comforting routine for these big, crowded services: I walk in and say hi to my fellow cake-and-punch servers, then look for the flag on the back of Ray McDade’s wheelchair near the front row.
This year I couldn’t find it. I had one panicky Memorial Day moment of, “Oh, no, no, no, no.” Ray is never not near the front row, early, for any Chilson Hall event.
Finally I saw his flag—not near the front row, but facing the front row. Among the ceremony participants. I grabbed my program and looked for his name: Ray was delivering the Roll Call this year—the list of all the Soldiers Home residents who had died since the last Memorial Day service.
The service was packed. People were crowding into the area between the last row of chairs and our refreshment table. Boy Scouts were twitching and giggling. I tried so hard to stay focused on the ceremony and not on my irritation, but it wasn’t working—until someone at the podium announced Ray’s name and I heard his voice over the microphone.
I got goosebumps. Roll Call is always moving, but hearing Ray read it was heartbreaking.
Afterward, he came back for cake, and I hugged him and told him he’d done a great job. A man next to us said, “Who’s the blonde?” And Ray said, “This is my friend, Sandy,” and squeezed my hand.
4. Bingo, Bango, Bongo. I’ve been to three or so Bingos lately, and not much has changed—except the start time for afternoon Bingo (now 2:30!).
The biggest Bingo laugh was when Leo Mortell announced that it was “bullshit” that his postage-stamp Bingo didn’t count. I laughed and said, “No swearing at Bingo!” And Leo said, “Well, goddammit, why not?”
My favorite post-Bingo moment was with Ray McDade, on June 7, one day after the 70th anniversary of D-Day. My mom had asked whether Ray had participated in D-Day. I didn’t think he had, because Ray told me his WWII story, but I didn’t know where Ray had been. So I asked him: “Where were you on D-Day?”
Ray’s mind is amazing.
“June 6, 1944,” Ray said. “I was at the prom at Vassar. It was a blind date.”
I laughed out loud. “What?”
Ray told me his whole story: He was in the Navy, at Columbia College, and someone from Vassar had posted a sign: “Five men needed as prom dates.” Ray and his friends had gone, for the whole weekend. They paired off and went to prom, played softball, had a picnic—and they took a special picture.
After that weekend, Ray went back to Columbia. He wanted to contact his date again. But, Ray said, “It was the height of the war, and I lost her information.”
In desperation—and wisdom—Ray sent the photo to Vassar and asked someone, anyone, to please help him contact his date. No one did.
“All I knew was that she was a Math major,” Ray said, and shook his head.
“Vassar," Ray said. "That was my one claim to fame.”
Ray later served on a ship off the coast of Japan as kamikazes crashed in flames behind him. He’s a father, a husband, a businessman, a friend and the best storyteller I’ve ever known.
“I think you’ve had a few others,” I told him, and I hugged him goodbye. Till next time.
The not-as-bad news: It has not been this long since I’ve visited the Soldiers Home. I’ve been there for Reno Day, Volunteer Day, Memorial Day and several assorted Bingo days in between.
Here’s a quick catch-up of highlights:
1. March 8: Reno Day. The Tacoma Harley Owners Group roared out again to turn Chilson Hall into a gambling haven. And I turned out again to help staff the refreshment area, which grows more elaborate every year. This year we had two Crock-Pots with two kinds of meatballs; the traditional VFW Auxiliary sandwiches, fruit and chips; PLUS a giant street-vendor warming cart with fried cheese sticks and fried chicken strips.
I watched Ray McDade catch tiny plastic fish with a magnet. I delivered drinks to thirsty players. But my favorite encounter of the day was at the blackjack table, where Leo Mortell was racking in the chips.
From one end of the curved card table, I asked Leo whether he wanted a drink. From the other end, Leo yelled: “Did you ever dump that chump you were with?”
I didn’t know whether Leo was kidding or serious, but it didn’t really matter. I laughed out loud and said, in fact, I had.
“And thanks for yelling that across the table so everyone could hear ,” I said. He laughed, too.
2. April 10: Volunteer Appreciation Lunch. After missing a couple of these because of work, I was thrilled I could make it to the annual midweek, midday luncheon this year. The decorations were lovely. The tables were filled with volunteers. And there were things that looked like gifts (!) spread along a giant table near the stage in Chilson Hall.
Turns out they were gifts, and each of us got to pick one as we walked to the front of the hall to accept our official volunteer certificate. I was thrilled with my volunteer water bottle, but not so thrilled that we all were expected to say a little something. Thankfully, just as I started to mumble, one of the Recreation staffers said, “All the Bingo players are thankful for everything you do,”—and suddenly I had my “speech.”
“I just wish I could do more,” I said.
And then I won a flower/plant during the raffle.
A good day for the not-so-selfless volunteer.
3. May 26: Memorial Day. I’ve developed a comforting routine for these big, crowded services: I walk in and say hi to my fellow cake-and-punch servers, then look for the flag on the back of Ray McDade’s wheelchair near the front row.
This year I couldn’t find it. I had one panicky Memorial Day moment of, “Oh, no, no, no, no.” Ray is never not near the front row, early, for any Chilson Hall event.
Finally I saw his flag—not near the front row, but facing the front row. Among the ceremony participants. I grabbed my program and looked for his name: Ray was delivering the Roll Call this year—the list of all the Soldiers Home residents who had died since the last Memorial Day service.
The service was packed. People were crowding into the area between the last row of chairs and our refreshment table. Boy Scouts were twitching and giggling. I tried so hard to stay focused on the ceremony and not on my irritation, but it wasn’t working—until someone at the podium announced Ray’s name and I heard his voice over the microphone.
I got goosebumps. Roll Call is always moving, but hearing Ray read it was heartbreaking.
Afterward, he came back for cake, and I hugged him and told him he’d done a great job. A man next to us said, “Who’s the blonde?” And Ray said, “This is my friend, Sandy,” and squeezed my hand.
4. Bingo, Bango, Bongo. I’ve been to three or so Bingos lately, and not much has changed—except the start time for afternoon Bingo (now 2:30!).
The biggest Bingo laugh was when Leo Mortell announced that it was “bullshit” that his postage-stamp Bingo didn’t count. I laughed and said, “No swearing at Bingo!” And Leo said, “Well, goddammit, why not?”
My favorite post-Bingo moment was with Ray McDade, on June 7, one day after the 70th anniversary of D-Day. My mom had asked whether Ray had participated in D-Day. I didn’t think he had, because Ray told me his WWII story, but I didn’t know where Ray had been. So I asked him: “Where were you on D-Day?”
Ray’s mind is amazing.
“June 6, 1944,” Ray said. “I was at the prom at Vassar. It was a blind date.”
I laughed out loud. “What?”
Ray told me his whole story: He was in the Navy, at Columbia College, and someone from Vassar had posted a sign: “Five men needed as prom dates.” Ray and his friends had gone, for the whole weekend. They paired off and went to prom, played softball, had a picnic—and they took a special picture.
After that weekend, Ray went back to Columbia. He wanted to contact his date again. But, Ray said, “It was the height of the war, and I lost her information.”
In desperation—and wisdom—Ray sent the photo to Vassar and asked someone, anyone, to please help him contact his date. No one did.
“All I knew was that she was a Math major,” Ray said, and shook his head.
“Vassar," Ray said. "That was my one claim to fame.”
Ray later served on a ship off the coast of Japan as kamikazes crashed in flames behind him. He’s a father, a husband, a businessman, a friend and the best storyteller I’ve ever known.
“I think you’ve had a few others,” I told him, and I hugged him goodbye. Till next time.
Terry, left, and Cathleen, right, present my volunteer friend Doreen with her Volunteer Day certificate.
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