Posted on 05/29/2007 4:29:48 PM PDT by Congressman Billybob
For 300 weeks, give or take a few, I’ve played poker every Tuesday with the Coots. That’s a group here in Highlands, organized by Dick Strain and usually gathered around his round dining room table for these “probability seminars.”
Last week, at the age of 82, Dick Strain cashed in his chips. No longer will this gentle man face us across a poker table, and relieve us of our ready cash. You can learn a great deal about a man by playing poker with him. Here’s what I learned about Dick. (Note that "gentle man" is two words, so the meaning isn't lost.)
He was a very smart man. Anyone who occasionally puts the columns of Dr. Thomas Sowell on his refrigerator, takes his politics and social studies seriously. Mind you, we weren’t in the habit of discussing the differences between Aristotle’s Politics and Machiavelli’s The Prince in between hands of seven-card, high-low poker. Still, we got into serious matters both local and national from time to time, and Dick was always a thoughtful participant.
Dick was a manager who came to Highlands in 1975. A few years later, he opened his own business, that’s alive and well today. He wasn’t a native, but he definitely was an old-timer. He loved the Lord, his church, his community and his family, and gladly served them all.
On the subject of age, here’s why the poker group was referred to as the Coots. Dick was the oldest of the group. He and Harold served in WW II. Dick was in the Army Air Corps. Harold was in the Navy, and served in the Pacific.
Even the youngest of us have our aches and pains, except for Ted. He was once a professional dealer in Las Vegas. Now he’s settled down, married, and works as a goldsmith in his own jewelry store. He’s too young to be a real Coot, but he manages the game and maintains the bank. So, we keep him while he ages.
Near the end, Dick’s legs started to fail, so he got one of those scooters which he didn’t like and preferred not to use. He also got an oxygen tank, and didn’t like that, either. Instead, he preferred to come to the table on his own steam, pick up his cards, put on his poker face, and defy us to know what he was holding.
Dick was good at lurking in the bushes. He’d let other people raise, and he’d just stay in the game. Finally, on the last round he’d raise, and smile his patented smile, and wait for us to fold in fear, or stay and lose.
Sometimes he whipped us bad, but there was no ill will. Not a bit. Everywhere he went, folks naturally liked him. At the Health Tracks Program at Highlands-Cashiers Hospital, they do cardio-rehabilitation and general health care. They miss Dick. All the ladies asked after him, from the silver-haired veterans to the young whippets who are the guides and trainers.
Dick’s Memorial Service was this week, at the First Presbyterian Church where he’d sung in the choir for decades. He leaves behind three daughters, two grandchildren, two great-grandchildren, a whole community that loved him, and seven Coots who have this to say,
“Walk with strength, travel light and far, and may you fill your inside straights forever.” - 30 -
About the Author: John Armor practiced in the US Supreme Court for 33 years. John_Armor@aya.yale.edu He lives in the 11th District of North Carolina.
- 30 -
I’ve never seen THAT before!
A wonderful gesture none the less. Thank you for sharing the memory of your friend with us.
I first met John...when I was doing clinicals in a hospital in SoCal. He was, as he put it...a students guinea pig. Heck he knew more about the procedure I was attempting than I knew....
I will never forget how he helped me then. Firm but with a gentle "hand"...he told me the "how to's, and the do not's"
John had horrible lungs..from a genetic condition. Prone to repeated infections, oxygen dependent..etc..
Turned out John...lived not far from my house....a few blocks actually. And one day during a hospital admission he asked me if I'd be willing to sub for the group of people that came over to "help" him....I said "Yes, I'd be happy to"
Little did I know I'd get a call at 0200 in the morning a few days later....John asking me to come over and do chest percussion on him...while he took his breathing treatment....as one of his regular fellow church members couldn't.
I said, "I'd be there in 10-15 minutes.....Rode my bike over in the cool of the morning...and proceeded to "beat the snot" out of John..for two hours....
He never complained, and at every cough up of goop..he would say, "Yes, that feels better!" Funny thing is...I always felt like I was the one that got treated...when I left his house. He just had that way about him.... I ended up going to John's 12-15 times in the middle of the night...It was dual therapy..for me, and him.
Because of years of living hypoxic..( low oxygen...) over time his kidneys took a hit. Eventually...he needed dialysis...he decided that "wasn't for him"...and I was called to his house one afternoon to say good-bye....One of the hardest things I've ever done. The man was a saint. And I'm a better man for knowing him.......
Makes me shed a tear telling the story........A good man, a very good man.
Thanks OX2
That was the story of one good man helping another good man. I’m blessed by reading it.
GB
I’m sorry to hear that you lost your friend. Best wishes and prayers.
Sometimes when I come in late on a thread and see postings have been removed, I wonder what could possibly have been said to occasion the removal.
Thanks for the hint. Sad, for sure.
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