Two Tales of Romance
Two sweet stories of romance between seniors at local nursing home
Feb. 12, 1987—Rose Marengo has a sweetheart, but she no longer gets to see him. Illness forced him to move to a place where he could be cared for. Rose wasn’t expecting that heartbreak; but then, at the age of 79, she wasn’t expecting to fall in love again, either.
Elias A. Goldberg says he’s not the romantic type, but most people would disagree. He’s checked himself into a nursing home not because he needs that kind of care, but in order to be with his wife, a victim of Alzheimer’s disease.
On a holiday devoted to the lovers among us, a time for special attention to l’amour, perhaps a few real-life love tales would be instructive. There are no sunsets or beaches in them, no lace and bouquets, but they seem like the real thing, nevertheless.
*
“I chased her ’til she caught me,” said Elias Goldberg at the place he and his wife of 52 years, Ethel, now call home. They’re residents at Parkshore Manor Health Care Center, a multi-story home for the elderly on Rockaway Parkway.
Elias was describing how he and Ethel became sweethearts, although he preferred to describe their long companionship as “matter of fact” rather than “romantic.”
“We were introduced by my brother. He said, “Boy have I got a girl for you,” recalled Elias. Then, with smiling matter-of-factness, he summed up the half-century of marriage that followed. “She was a good wife, and I think I was a pretty good. husband.”
When Ethel was struck with Alzheimer’s disease, Elias tried to care for her at home. But the effort was a strain on. him, and he was persuaded to place Ethel in the care of Parkshore Manor.
What he was not persuaded to do was to leave her there alone. Concerned loved ones told him he ought to, for the sake of his own health. But Elias refused.
“This was no time in her life for me to leave her by herself,” he explained. Although Ethel has lost much of her usual awareness, she knows when her husband is with her, and when he’s not. “I came to see that this is what I have to do,” Elias said.
“She’s contented,” he added. “She’s much, much happier that I’m here. I don’t know if that’s what anyone else calls romantic, but it’s romantic to me.”
It was then that Ethel showed up to sit with her husband in the dining room for supper. He introduced her and put an around around her.
“We’ve never been sweethearts,” Elias said, making his wife laugh. “She just convinced me that we ought to get married.
“And I still believe her.”
*
“I thought he didn’t love me,” said Rose Marengo, an 81-year-old widow who recently had to say goodbye to her beau. Rose uses a walker to get around at Parkshore Manor, her home, but there’s no denying the sprightliness of her mind.
A friend had said Rose might cry when she told about her recently departed lover. Instead, she made the story funny. You got the feeling comedy comes naturally to her and that she uses it to keep from getting too sad.
It was two years ago that Charlie Smith introduced himself to Rose, during his first week at Parkshore Manor. “He said he’d talked to everyone here and that nobody had any sense, he wouldn’t give a penny for the whole bunch of them,” Rose recounted. But Charlie evidently found Rose to be nice company, for the two were fast companions thereafter.
They would set aside portions of their meals, then meet in the evening for a private snack, said Rose. They would sit in a quiet corner off the main lobby, Rose would fetch coffee from a vending machine, and they would have their shared meal. “It was like a picnic,” Rose said.
Charlie would visit her regularly in her room—“But no door closed!” Rose said emphatically. “He was a real gentleman.”
It was evidently not until Charlie moved away that the romance reached full blossom. He had to go to a different nursing home—also in Brooklyn—to receive the particular kind of medical care he needs.
“Such love letters!” said Rose. “It’s not like the same Charlie that told me all those things. The love letters that he sends me are so beautiful.”
But a letter isn’t the same as a flesh and blood companion, someone to see each day and look forward to seeing each tomorrow. Rose joked bitterly about the way the companionship had ended. “If someone else tells me they love me,” she said, “I’ll take out a gun and shoot them.”
She showed one of her love letters proudly, and as she read it, became quieter.
It was a handwritten letter that looked a bit worn at the creases. There was no lace border, no little red hearts.
It was a real-life valentine, the kind real sweethearts—no matter what their age—send one another the other 364 days of the year.
Looking Back
A charming article, if I may say so. This was one of the feature stories suggested to me by the ladies at the newspaper office. I was happy to take the suggestion. I liked writing feature stories. A sappy tale like this was sincerely up my alley. And it was a thrill of some kind to be asking these intimate questions of honest-to-god New Yorkers. I was working my way into that city one step at a time. And I was being kind to some old people. I could be hard-nosed and unyielding when it came to hard news. But this softer news was really more to my liking. Closer to what I thought writing was really meant for.