Albert, Carrie and Carl

On this publication date, it’s Albert’s birthday.  He would be 66 today. Coincidentally I’m participating in the Relay for Life in Pinole, California to benefit the American Cancer Association. 

Don't wait to make your son a great man - make him a great boy. 

  

This is a positive story.  But like so many good stories this one has its own gloomy side.  I would completely leave out the tragedy in this story but for the fact that it’s necessary to the telling of the whole; and so we’ll dispense with it at the start. 

Albert probably didn’t have to die as soon as he did had it not been for a medical staff at Kaiser Hospital in Richmond stumbling over themselves in tragic Keystone Kops fashion.  He was suffering from severe abdominal pains when he first visited the doctor.   Gas, said the doctor; you have gas.  And so he went home and came back and went home and came back and went home yet again.  Like many Filipinos of his generation, doctors were venerated; honorable people who would never stoop to take the lazy path of least resistance.  And even if his faith in doctors was shaken his ability to debate the diagnosis with the medicos would take him only as far as his limited English.  I guess that at a certain point he and his wife Carrie became such pests that out of annoyance the doctor at Richmond referred him to a specialist at Oakland.  It could be said that the Oakland exam revealed a Richmond comedy of medical errors but there’s nothing comical about colon cancer.  He had surgery and the cancer went into remission for about a year; and then came back with a vengeance.  He stayed in the hospital for about a week and then was sent home for hospice care.  To add cruelty to injury his wife was told that she would be handling a medical procedure that should have been a nursing function.  It took tears, hysterical pleading and my own intervention by screaming at a Kaiser apparatchik to get the hospital to own up to their hospice care responsibility.  When it was all over, his wife couldn’t even sue Kaiser for their blunders.  That’s part of the package; you get coverage but if at some point a doctor can’t be bothered to do his job it’s, “Sorry for your hard luck.”  And even if she could sue, a steamer trunk full of money wouldn’t bring back the beloved father of her only son, Carl.  Ironically of course she would have paid Kaiser an infinite number of money laden trunks for the staff to simply try; just an effort to give him a fighting chance to fight for his life. 

I met Albert at work.  I was working my retail job at Fox Hardware when he was hired to be part of the warehouse crew.  He was the small dark wiry guy in the warehouse with the ready smile.  Thing about Albert is that there was nothing behind that smile but genuine goodness.  He wasn’t one of those fellows who smiles out of some sense that the moment deserves it.  His English skills were more limited than many Filipinos but he was unabashed about it and if even if the conversation never went far it didn’t really matter because he was just a pleasant guy to be around.

It was in 1979 when I was love struck over the new Filipina hire and I went to Albert to get some information about her through the inter-office Filipino network.  After a little detective work and diplomacy on his part I was introduced to Cora, the woman who would become my wife.  Years later Cora took the measure of this good man and so she went to work matchmaking and introduced Albert to her sister in the Philippines and it was just after my second child was born that the pleasant, good natured man who had helped me to meet my wife became my brother in law.  

My wife tells a story of Albert as a sort of stubborn rock of positive goodwill.  When the company expanded and opened a satellite warehouse they hired on another Filipino named Eddie to supervise the place.  Eddie had done a stint in the Army; an organization which apparently inspired in him the notion that boot camp provides a good management model.  Eddie’s drill instructor style orchestrated a parade of employees who showed up for a short stay and then quickly headed out for more friendly environs.  The owners probably reasoned that Eddie’s trustworthiness as regards their inventory trumped his martial management methods and they stubbornly kept him on.  Finally Albert was thrown into the breach and sent to the warehouse to work with Eddie and the revolving door of warehousemen came to a stop.  Albert made it work.  Some time later, one of the Fox Brothers who owned the business remarked to my wife about how much he admired Albert for hanging in and winning over Eddie; emphasizing what a good man Albert was. 

Albert was without a doubt a man of integrity and no vices that I knew of.  He was a good Christian man and I say that in the most positive sense.  He wasn’t a tub thumper; didn’t wear his religion on his sleeve and wasn’t one of those judgmental types who act like they belong to the, I’m saved and you’re not club.  He was Christian as I would think Christ meant it to be; do unto others, treat people with kindness, find some goodness in everyone and have a sense of charity.  Talking about his dad, Carl reflects on is own Christianity and describes it much as I've described my take on Albert's. 

There was that time that he went with a group of us to the dive bar across from the hardware store.  We were there to celebrate someone’s birthday and everyone had quite a few too many, Albert included.  As it turned out, only three of us in the group lived in the East Bay, across the Bay Bridge; Albert; my roommate Steve; and me.  So it fell on Steve and I to get Albert if not home, then somewhere.  Albert had managed to get pretty well looped and pointing him to a BART train wasn’t an option.  Albert lived in Hercules with his mom and siblings, some miles further down Highway 80 than Berkeley where Steve and I lived; further than we wanted to go that evening.  Steve and I made the executive decision for Albert and brought him to our place and set him up with a nice comfy place on the couch.  The next morning, he wasn’t worried about his head or his hangover.  Albert, a grown man, was worried about what his mom would think about tying one on and not getting home. A female friend once told me that you can tell what kind of a husband a man will be by the way he treats his mom. 

His gregarious, friendly nature shown through some years later.  We were at a party; one of those Filipino gatherings that are welcoming and bountiful but that I always felt a little out of place at.  Albert pulled me over to a group of men, away from the karaoke nonsense. There was a table set out with meat from a roasted pig and a bottle of whiskey. The men chatted in and out of their native tongue, mixing in some English and Albert did his best to fill in the gaps.  As it turned out it was a warm, memorable time as the group of us conversed, picked at the meat and passed around the whiskey. 

Last June, I rode in the Livestrong Ride in Davis CA. to benefit cancer research.  A few months before the event I mentioned it to Carl, figuring he would opt for a shorter ride than the 100 that I was planning on doing.  Carl was all in for the century (100 mile) ride.  Knowing that Carl owns a single speed bike and, as an engineering student, has limited training time I offered that he might want to try a shorter distance.  He was adamant about a century.  I made my case with a minimum of conviction, knowing that I wouldn’t budge him and respecting his wish to honor his dad.  In the end Carl bought a road bike for the ride and finished the 100 miles as a memorial to his father and then resold the bike.  It was a similar conversation when he told me that he wants to own a boat one day.  “No you don’t,” I tell him, “a boat is like having a greedy mistress.  A lot of work and headaches.”  Carl responds that his dad always wanted a boat and he wants to fulfill his dad’s wish.  Well, you don’t argue with that.  Okay, all that I ask is that he takes me fishing on that boat. 

It’s a warm, summer evening in Hercules.  We’re sitting outside of Kinder’s Sandwich Shop.  Cora, Carl and I are talking about Albert, sharing some stories.  Carl listens intently to some of the stories about his dad.  Cora and I talk at length about the days working for Fox Hardware, where we worked with Albert.  We tell Carl that, while the store has changed hands it’s much like it was 33 years ago when we worked there.  He taps the address into his Iphone and tells us that he’s going to be in San Francisco tomorrow and plans to visit the store; a pilgrimage of sorts to the place where the seeds of our family where planted.  Cora and I and Albert, later Carrie and then our children and grandchildren; it's a family that has extended since those days in the late 70's and it all started at an old fashioned hardware emporium in downtown San Francisco.

Carl asks us to describe the late 70s and the 80s.  It’s as if he wants to know more about his father’s times.  We tell him about our workplace and something about what America was like during those times.

He tells us about some of his dad’s possessions that hold some special meaning.  There’s the “old school” watch that Carl wears on special occasions.  He also wears it when he’s going to take a final exam; for good luck; “like having a guardian angel,” he says.  He explains that he’s never done badly on a final when he’s worn that watch.  

  

There’s an old tool box somewhere in his garage.  It’s a Playschool toy tool box filled with some real tools that Albert gave him when he was little to get him started; they were old and a little rusty but they were the early genesis.  Albert started teaching his son how to be handy at an early age.  Carl tells us about little toys that his dad would put together to teach him how to drive a screw or turn a wrench.  Then it was crawling under the old Mustang that Albert owned to let Carl help change the oil.  Then he graduated to fixing this and mending that, all the while learning to take meticulous care of the tools, keeping them neat and orderly.  Carl credits hid neatness to lessons learned from his father. 

And now if something in the house needs fixing, he’ll be there to turn a wrench.  Hell, he’ll be there to turn a wrench in anyone’s house if there’s a need (that’s what his dad would do).  I’ve come home from work on a few occasions and found that something that needed fixing when I left in the morning was fixed.  “Carl did it,” Cora explains.  My son in law got a new ping pong table for Christmas and Carl disappeared from the family gathering to assemble it.

 

This is a positive story.  It’s a story about three good people; a mother, a son and a father; a father sadly 12 years gone.  When Albert was alive he and Carrie started the foundation of a good young man.  With Albert’s passing Carrie took life’s deep breath and then took on single parenthood.  She kept a household and raised a son using a mixture of love, discipline, reason and common sense.  She started a daycare so that she could be a stay at home mom to her son.  The daycare is still going and thriving.  Carrie has been wise and frugal; eschewing investment pitches and sketchy moneymaking schemes that were waved before her.  She used her funds wisely so that she could pay for his tuition to a private high school.  Carl is 21 years old now; an engineering student pulling down good grades at San Jose State University.  He’s the man of the house now; has been for some time; since he was 9.

Carl is all the things that many young men are not these days; responsible, polite, respectful, dependable and studious – the apple didn’t fall far from the parental tree.  He comes home to be with his mom nearly every weekend, drives her where she needs to go and takes her to her friend’s parties.  On Sundays he attends church with his mom and then they go to the cemetery and visit Albert.  During the course of the weekend, Carrie cooks a week’s worth of meals for her son to take back to San Jose.  And I reflect on what that female friend once told me; that you can tell what kind of a husband a man will be by the way he treats his mom.

This weekend some folks will walk around the dusty infield and warning track at Fernandez Baseball Field in Pinole.  They'll do it to help fund a cure for cancer.  We'll all walk knowing that, yes, we all have to go sometime, but good men and women shouldn't go before their time, leaving behind young sons and daughters.