Teddy loved to play Checkers. We had a monthly Checker tournament at the Manor. Benny won it almost every month. He earned a law degree from Duke University. He had resided at the nursing home for several years, having owned a clothing store downtown A short fellow in his 80s,he was a gruff guy, very hard of hearing, despite his hearing aide, and tended to patronize and look down on the lesser-functioning residents.
In other words, to put it kindly, he was somewhat of a jerk.
Teddy was no match for Benny. Every month the tournament would come down to these two guys. And for nearly a year Benny destroyed everything in sight.
I volunteered to set up and supervise the matches on Saturdays. I moved the Checker pieces for Teddy. He would get even shakier during a match, he was so nervous. He would point to the piece he wanted to move and to the spot on the board he wished to move to. I just did what he asked and I witnessed first-hand the monthly thrashings.Ted would wheel back to his room, just like Bingo, mumbling "I'll win next time.."
I cooked up a plan to help my friend. Blame me, it was entirely my plan. Teddy at first refused to go along with it, then, after getting crushed by Benny ,six kingers to one at the end, he enthusiastically agreed.
Ben would sit and study the board as we played, rarely looking up. Plus he couldn't hear a thing. So when I saw Teddy making an obviously bad move, before I moved the piece for him I would give a little cough or growl or grunt, a clue to "look again." Sometimes he took my advice sometimes he didn't. When he got fed up with losing , steaming back to his room in disgust, he started listening to my noises a little more.
I was a pretty good player from a lot of practice when I was a kid. Benny was good, and had beaten me before but he wasn't invincible. Teddy could take him but he always made one fatal move each match to seal his fate. If I could help him one move a game it could decide the match.
It was comical because sometimes it would take Teddy several tries to figure out where he should move. So he would be pointing all over the board, and I would be grunting and growling "no," and he would quickly point elsewhere.
"What the hell are you doing?" Benny looked up, staring at Ted." Are you crazy? Come on! Make a move and stick to it!" " He never had a clue what was going on, thinking that Teddy was just being Teddy.
I know it was cheating. But after hearing Benny gloat all month after a victory, stopping by Teddy's room, rolled up newspaper in hand like usual, asking Ted if he was going to give up next month ("Don't even bother showing up,' he chirped), basically rubbing it in, we had to do something.
I think God would forgive me.
So one summer Saturday after lunch things fell into place. Teddy played well, maybe learning from my coaching, as Benny seemed to be having a bad day, making unusual mistakes. Teddy took the first game of the best-of-three match. He never won a game beforeso he started hyperventilating in the chair after the win.
"Calm down, Ted," I whispered. "Do you want me to call a nurse?"
There was hope. Winning one game from the "Muhammad Ali of Checkers " was unbelievable. Ben scowled and muttered to himself, "I can't figure it out.."
As I set up the board for the second game I kept encouraging my trembling friend. "It's only one game. You have to beat him again for the championship. Just play the same way."
Teddy knew the usual opening moves and closing moves. It was the middle game that gave him problems. But not today. He played flawlessly, and seemed to have learned what he had done wrong in previous matches. When he got ahead a checker it was just a matter of trading down pieces to the end.
Cornering Benny in a trap ( "Like a rat," Teddy later mused). victory was his and he let out a yell of joy. "Finally!" he yelled over and over again. Benny walked away in defeat, a slight smile on his face. 'He played good," he proclaimed. Did he know what was going on after all?
Tainted victory as it was, it made Teddy happy, and we announced the upset over the intercom system. At least for a month Teddy was king.
Several years later, after I left the Manor, I tried to visit Teddy on weekends. I heard he missed me feeding him lunch, so, for old times sake, I purposely got there before lunch and offered to help. With each spoonful he smiled, his blue eyes sparkling, no words needed. We caught up on everything, from the Phillies to who left the Manor, to his new roommate. Teddy knew all the gossip.
He became more depressed, unlike Ted, and I called him when I couldn't stop by, encouraging him to eat. He caught pneumonia that winter. I visited him when he returned from the hospital.
The last time I saw him he was curled up in a fetal position in bed, side rails up. He was softly moaning when I entered the darkened room.
He answered me in whispers, seeming to know I was there, peering at me through tired, glazed eyes, so sick. All he wanted to do was sleep now.
He died that week. He never did make it to Florida but I'm sure he made it to Heaven.
The snow prevented me from attending his funeral. He was buried very decently, all expenses paid, by his friend in Florida, who remained faithful to the end.
In the spring I paid a visit to his final resting place, finding a small white grave stone. The green grass was just coming in. An American flag was on the side of the marker, like the flag he always kept at the side of his wheelchair. I noticed a Bingo card om the flat tombstone. I added a current Phillies schedule.
Teddy had a tough life, but it was a life far more important than many. He was hard to forget. Isn't that what we could ever ask for, not to be forgotten? He had so many friends, and touched so many lives, there was no chance that anyone lucky enough to cross his path in life could ever forget him.
You had to root for a guy like Teddy. He made me believe, every day, that I was doing good work. Whatever happiness I left with him at the end of the day he returned to me many times over.
It was residents like Ted who kept me going, especially during tough times are work, on Mondays, or freezing mornings when I didn't want to drag myself out of a warm bed. I knew Teddy was waiting. I couldn't let him down.
He appreciated even the simple things in life. He taught me what was truly important- in and out of the nursing home. Every day I left work I felt especially lucky to be out in the sunshine.
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