VOLUME TWENTY FIVE, NUMBER SEVEN
JULY 2011
In or out of the pond’s muddy deeps, it's all in a day's work for Dr. Snyder When the aerator line in the Beaumont pond broke last month, nobody much wanted to squish into the mud or dive into 10 feet of pond water to find the piece of pipe that fell in. Nobody much, that is, until word of the mishap reached the ears of our resident naturalist and veterinarian, Dr. Dean Snyder, tender caretaker of all growing things and also broken furniture. Before you could say “Eeuw!” continued on page 2
INSIDE:
Photos by Louise Hughes, who arranged a partial re-enactment as an aid to the imagination of our readers, who will find the above photo explained, along with others, on page 2.
Dining in the garden, Page 3 Laotian staff share heritage, Page 5 New resident profiles, Pages 6, 7
Remembering summer on a family farm By Carol O. Allen
At the end of World War II you could buy a farm in the country for the same price as a row house in town. My father had just changed jobs and we moved from a new house in suburban Delaware County to the farm two hours west of Philadelphia, six miles north of Maryland, 45 minutes east of the Gettysburg battlefield and 10 miles south of the last glacier. My mother and father loved the farm for its beauty and also for its isolation from neighbors, because their oldest child was often just this side of deep trouble. You see it in her sly smile outside the one-room schoolhouse in the school photo. My sister’s Marilyn Monroe
smile, my brother’s getting his second set of teeth, set the time in the late ’40s. My memories of the farm are a box of color photos, a jumble in a baked cardboard box from the airy attic. The farm was a small, perfect gem; the cost $1 an acre. The school was a mile from the house, “up the road a piece” in the local mix of country English with a slight Southern drawl tinged with Pennsylvania Dutch and heavy use of the word “ain’t.” To remember summer you have to start with Memorial Day, because the corn planted then would continued on page 8
Hero of the pond continued from page 1
or “Gah!” or “There be leeches” (which there be, never mind dragons); even before Beaumont News Chief Photographer Louise (“Speedy Weezie”) Hughes could grab her camera, Dr. Snyder was on the scene stripping to his bathing suit and Grounds worker Pat Nardizzi was tying a rope around our hero’s waist. Pat said he didn’t think Dr. Snyder really needed help. “He hangs around the pond all the time,” Pat explained. [He also sometimes writes about it; see page 7.] “He knows that pond, but I wanted to be sure he didn’t get stuck.” Dr. Snyder found the part before the water reached his waist, and never even had to remove his glasses. —Mary Graff
Dr. Dean Snyder, left, launches his mission to recover a piece of pipe. Below right, Grounds worker Pat Nardizzi holds the rope, just in case. Below left, back on dry land = mission accomplished.
Photos by Louise Hughes
The deadline for the October 2011 issue of the Beaumont News will be August 25. The Beaumont News publishes 10 editions a year, from October to July, before taking a summer hiatus. Please sign your story and either turn it in at the front desk or better, if you can, e-mail it to Mary Graff at graffs@msn.com. Please keep a copy for yourself! For back issues, please go to our website, www.BeaumontRetirement.com
The News invites letters from readers, including non-residents. Letters will be published or not, in full or in part, at the discretion of the editors. Letter-writers are asked to please:
BEAUMONT NEWS The Beaumont News is published by the residents and staff of the Beaumont Retirement Community, 601 N. Ithan Avenue, Bryn Mawr, PA 19010
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E-mail letters to Mary Graff at graffs@msn.com (home) AND mgraff@beaumontretirement.com (office); hand in at front desk, or mail to Beaumont at 601 N. Ithan Ave., Bryn Mawr 19010. Letters need not be typed (though typing is appreciated), but please write as legibly as possible and include your phone number (for the editors’ use only).
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Mary Graff Christine Johnson-Hall Louise Guthrie Jean Kirk Louise Hughes Kim Norrett Jennie Frankel Barbara O’Brien
News from Dining Services: Liseter Garden rediscovered By Rose-Marie Pringle, Director of Dining Services
When I look outside my office window, I see Liseter Garden. I feel so very lucky to have such a lovely view, I often used to wonder why this quaint garden did not get more use. Wondering got my brain started, so after consultation with President Joe . . . Chef Mark and I have been working on opening Liseter Garden for grilling. We now have the grill, and Dr. Clayton Kyle gave us some lovely plants to add to the ambiance. The menu will feature hamburgers, hot dogs and some summer pasta salads. So if you would like a change of pace, join us in Liseter Garden. Enjoy a glass of iced tea, wine, maybe a beer and a delicious Beaumont Burger. Details will be posted, if they haven’t been already. In other news: ■ Tableside dining will take Chef Mark holds the attention of Bob and Anne Trout (he to Chef’s right; she across the table) and place in Liseter Garden Maurice and Nancy Webster during the first Tableside Dining event to be held in Liseter Garden. Chef throughout the summer (or cooks these meals, usually featuring something aflame, before our diners’ eyes. Photos by Robin Daye in the Music Room in case of rain or extreme heat). bright napkins, the wine glasses glistened, Chef That monthly event (third Wednesday) took place did his magic, the flames appeared, Dining Room in Liseter Garden for the first time last month. The Manager Steve Hill poured the wine and the tables were dressed in white linen and sunshineevening was enjoyed by all. ■ The singles table has returned, and will be found in the Green Room every Wednesday beginning at 6 p.m. ■ Happy Hour and Wine Tasting will take place in the Liseter Garden weather permitting. ■ In July we will have our Wine Seafood Picnic in the Beaumont Room. Don’t forget to sign up. CHEERS! IN MEMORIAM Mrs. Alice Lauby ......................June 1, 2011 Mrs. Vera Jane Mayer...............June 9, 2011 Mrs. Nataline Horwitz.............June 13, 2011 Members of the Beaumont Community extend deepest sympathy to their families and friends.
Enjoying Chef Mark’s magic and the garden setting are Bruce and Peggy Mainwaring (left) and Alvan and Carolyn Markle.
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Addressing end of life issues III Myth #4 Once I enroll in hospice, I can’t change my mind. Reality Patients can leave hospice and seek advanced intervention at any time. Myth #5 Hospice is only for patients who are actively dying. Reality Hospice care is at its best when there is time for both patients and families to interact with the staff. Myth #6 I have to wait for my doctor to initiate the conversation about hospice care. Reality These issues can be initiated at any time by patient or doctor. Myth #7 The patient who lives longer than six months will be discharged. Reality Many patients in hospice live longer than six months and are simply recertified for the care. Myth #8 The physician must be certain that the patient’s life expectancy is six months. Reality Dr Corcoran warned that physicians are historically bad at estimating life expectancy, and therefore that is no reason to forgo hospice care.
By Geraldine Paier Hospice care and grief were the subjects addressed in the third and fourth parts of the five-part series “Living Fully, Dying Well,” presented by the Health Care Committee at Beaumont in recent months. The series ended with a history of death and related controversies, up to the present, which will be summarized in the next (October) issue. For previous articles, see the April, May and June issues. Beaumont residents can receive hospice care at home or in Personal Care or in the Health Center, wherever they choose, Linda Lemisch, vice president for health care services, told residents and their guests. She said Beaumont has contracts with three hospice organizations in the Delaware Valley, and if a resident prefers another organization, arrangements can be made through Social Services. Dr. Amy Corcoran, director of one of the three, the Wissahickon Hospice, discussed eight myths associated with hospice care: Myth #1 Hospice is only for patients with cancer. Reality Hospice is for anyone with a terminal diagnosis. Myth #2 Hospice kills patients. Reality Pain management to the degree the patient needs and wishes may cause death, but only as a possible secondary effect. Myth #3 Hospice is a place. Reality Hospice care can be provided in any venue including long-term care or the patient’s own home.
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On the subject of grief, the Rev. Ann Smith referred her fellow residents to the 1969 classic, “On Death and Dying,” by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, a pioneer in defining continued on page 5
Father’s Day Brunch
Beaumont celebrated Father’s Day with spectacular food as well as many residents’ offspring. Here Celebrity Chef Susanna Foo helps resident Janet Miles to a sampling from the Asian buffet. Photo by Robin Daye
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Laotian staff members share their heritage By Margie Manlove
There have been many fine exhibits in the cabinet across from the fireplace in the Beaumont Room, but none more fascinating than the silver objects from Laos now being displayed. We can thank four Beaumont staff members who are natives of Laos and have generously loaned their family treasures to Beaumont for this exhibit: Nonh Keokanya and Ger (Joanne) Vang from Housekeeping, Kelly Phasavath from Laundry and Jude Phasavath from Maintenance. Silversmithing is an ancient Laotian craft. Entirely worked by hand, the silver was hammered thin and molded into shape. Various punches were used for the complicated decorative work. The large bowl on a stand (top shelf, right) was made in three pieces which screw together. It has been passed down through several generations of Nonh’s family. Tiny silver bracelet and anklet in Beaumont Room display case were worn by Today such bowls are made in one piece with Housekeeper Nonh Keokanya’s baby when they left Laos. inferior workmanship. The bowl for steaming rice (top shelf, left) is a replica. You can see the beautifully reproduced bowl and two basket/buckets. The religious objects on the lower shelf are used in for the water, and the mat made of bamboo strips to honoring Buddha. I was particularly struck by the contain the rice. small round boxes with lids: The shaping of the lids, On the middle shelf the tiny bracelet and anklet on especially, and the elaborate decoration which has to the right side were worn by Nonh’s baby when they left have required so many individual taps with particular Laos. There are several other pieces of jewelry and a punches. beautiful pocketbook. On the left front are miniatures of A casual look at this exhibit is not enough. At first a four-foot-long fishing net/trap made of bamboo strips glance it looked strange to me. It was unfamiliar to my Western eyes. As I examined it more carefully I began to appreciate the workmanship and art of these objects, so unlike our American and European silver. Thank you, Nonh, Ger, Kelly and Jude.
End of life issues . . . .
continued from page 4
grief as a five-step process: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. “We are very fortunate here at Beaumont,” the Rev. Smith said, “to live in a friendly community surrounded by many kind and sympathetic friends who know what it is to grieve.” Another resident, Rena Burstein, addressed death and grieving from the viewpoint of the Jewish faith. “At their core,” she said, “the rituals of Jewish mourning convey a powerful premise: You are not alone.” Kristen Ganley, Beaumont Social Services director, noted that the Outpatient Department is a referral This plate from Thailand is also in the exhibit of hand-crafted silver objects on loan from members of Beaumont staff. source for those seeking counseling, therapy or just “a Photos by Louise Hughes shoulder to cry on.” 5
Philadelphia columnist, author joins new residents By Michelle Osborn
If you don’t know Peter Binzen, you don’t know Philadelphia. That’s because he was a writer and editor with the Philadelphia Bulletin, which nearly everybody read, from 1951 until the newspaper closed in 1982. After that he wrote for Philadelphia’s surviving broadsheet newspaper, the Inquirer, until 2004. His name in the newspaper business stands for fairness, accuracy and completeness. In 1941 he started at Yale. But in February 1943 he left Yale to join an infantry outfit that underwent mountain training in Colorado. The group was sent overseas in May 1945 as the 10th Mountain Division, headed by Gen. George P. Hays. The 10th drove the German army from the Apennine Mountains in northern Italy and across the Po Valley to surrender near Lake Garda. After World War II, Binzen worked as a freelance reporter in Paris for four newspapers. In 1950, while skiing in Austria, he met his wife, Virginia, who came from Australia. Her watercolors were exhibited at Peter Binzen Beaumont a few years ago. They were married in June 1951. He and Virginia had four children—a son and three daughters—who gave them nine grandchildren. She died in 1997.
The same year he married his wife, he called Bill Dickinson, an editor for the Bulletin, which was then the largest standard-sized evening newspaper in North America, with a circulation of more than 700,000. Dickinson hired Peter, whom he had known at the United Press in New York. Binzen ended up covering education, writing three or four pieces every week. He was also city editor for four years, a job he calls “brutal,” because “you’re dealing with a lot of egos.” In 1970 he wrote Whitetown USA, a book on education in Philadelphia, published by Random House. At the Inquirer he had a yearly contract to write a column. He and editor Gene Roberts had been Nieman Fellows together in 1962. Peter and Joseph R. Daughen wrote The Wreck of the Penn Central and The Cop Who Would be King (about the former Philadelphia mayor Frank Rizzo). He later edited a book of essays by former Bulletin writers entitled Nearly Everybody Read it. Peter retired from newspapers in 2004. He currently is writing a biography of another former Philadelphia mayor, Richardson Dilworth. He moved to Beaumont from Chesterbrook last month. *
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Michelle Osborn, a retired veteran newspaper writer and editor who moved to Beaumont late last year, was at different times a founding staff member of USA Today and an editorial writer with the Bulletin.
From newcomers to neighbors By Jean Kirk Jane Garrison grew up in Washington, D.C. She graduated from Mt. Vernon Seminary and attended Goucher College. Her father was a wellknown Naval Architect and designed many World War II ships for the U.S. Coast Guard. A son, James, is also an architect and has written several books on historic houses, most recently on the Philadelphia area. When first married, Jane and Paul Garrison lived in northern New Jersey. Her husband’s business brought them to the Philadelphia area, and they later settled in Wayne. Paul died suddenly at an early age. Jane went to work in the Radnor School Library, and then in the
Rosemont College Library. She trained to be a Philadelphia Museum of Art guide on weekends, a job which continued for 22 years. Jane loves birds. She has traveled all over the world on many trips, often with Elderhostel. Jane moved to Beaumont from a condo in Rosemont in April. Her large family includes five children and 10 grandchildren. Once a year, the family gathers at her daughter’s home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. However, this year their get-together will be superseded by another joyous event: Jane’s eldest granddaughter, Cindy, is to be married this month. continued on page 7
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Jane Garrison
Seeking a tasty dish, naturalist finds food for thought By Dr. Dean Snyder
Me: Fancy meeting you here. Where have you been? Frog: I left the Beaumont pond almost a year ago. Me: You sneak! I had you all staked out and was boasting to all who would listen that frogs’ legs would soon be featured at the Snyder table. You see, I knew there were three of you big guys on the west bank and at least four on the east side all vocalizing your manhood to the ladies in waiting and I could sense your feelings of security from all dangers making you an easy catch for me and the ladies, but the next thing I knew you were all gone. Me: (explaining): Early last spring as I was walking the banks of the pond, I noticed that the east side shal-
frogs in the pond? After all, Mother Nature is fully aware of the vulnerability of newly hatched tadpoles and has blessed the frog with the ability to produce thousands of eggs at a sitting. Fortunately, in most waters Mother Nature’s scheme of things works and enough tadpoles make it to maturity, where they exercise their skills at hiding from predators and as insect eaters serving to assist bats, night hawks, chimney sweeps and others in the control of mosquitoes. Frog: Well, I’ve read that frogs are endangered for various and complex reasons worldwide. Chemicals in the silt from upstream are presumed to be a factor. And a few years ago, at a time when the pond was still alive with a few bass and turtles and lots of sunnies, some tidycat cut down the cattails, leaving us without any cover whatsoever. He or they apparently were thinking of a pond as just a scenic body of water and not as a balanced habitat for aquatic residents. You know very well that once imprisoned in a body of water, it is just a matter of time before the lesser creatures are hunted down and eaten. Soon the biggest and fastest pond dwellers and the persistent wading birds had consumed everything but me. I managed to ride the floodwaters out of harm’s way to here where I am and I’ll bet you can’t catch me! Me: What say you, frog? What can be done to restore my pond? Frog: I understand the Philadelphia Zoo has established a new amphibian conservation program and that Beaumont is addressing its own silt problem. The original stand of cattails has grown back, but there still isn’t enough cover. You might start by planting more cattails. You can also affix an anchor to a couple of discarded pine trees and toss them into the pond to serve as shelter. Me: Thanx, Frogg.
Mother Nature’s scheme of things works and enough tadpoles make it to maturity, where they exercise their skills at hiding from predators and as insect eaters. . . . .
lows were black with juicy, tender, wiggly tadpoles and in spite of the fact that Mr. Bass was lurking nearby and snatching tadpoles as fast as they wandered off into deep waters, I figured that eventually he would turn away to take a nap at which time there would be some escapees and my plate of fricasseed frogs’ legs would be guaranteed for another year, but I was wrong. What could possibly have gone wrong? What possibly could account for the disappearance of most of the
back East, living for a time on Cape Cod, near a sister. She then bought a house in Bryn Mawr, but soon moved to Ithaca, New York, where one of her two daughters lives. She also lived for a time north of Boston, to be near one of her two sons. Before coming to Beaumont she lived in retirement communities in Wellesley, Massachusetts, Ithaca, and Gladwyne. Through the years she has enjoyed traveling with her six grandchildren all over the world. Libby Warner
Newcomers . . . . continued from page 7
Libby Warner grew up in the Philadelphia area. Her father, Leslie R. Severinghaus, was headmaster of the Haverford School from 1942 to 1965. She graduated from the Baldwin School and received a Fine Arts degree from the Cornell College of Architecture. She has been an interior designer, painter and photographer. She has served on the boards of the Academy of Natural Sciences and the Children’s Hospital. She volunteered in the amputees’ ward of the Philadelphia Naval Hospital. Libby’s husband, Dr. Silas L. Warner, was a psychiatrist. When he retired they moved to Carmel, California, where they enjoyed a life of golfing and travel for six years. When he died, in 1993, Libby moved 7
Savoring delights of summer on the farm. . . . continued from page 1
be “knee high by the Fourth of July.” Fields were nourished with pungent and messy manure from the stalls and barnyard. Farming was a precarious business, with the constant threat of too much or too little rain and an undercurrent of brutality. The costs were fixed: equipment, fertilizer, seed and animal feed, any paid labor. Any possible profit could be destroyed in a morning of heavy rain on drying hay or an hour of severe wind leveling ripening barley. Sketch by Carol O. Allen A board nailed across Ewes watch ram as ram eyes female visitors, as remembered by the author, who says not all rams have horns. the corner of a pigpen protected piglets from We picked tiny strawberries for jam among the the sow’s rolling around. turtles we shared them with. We ran past the vicious From the bees to the beasts, sex was all around. We little rooster to get the mail at the end of the lane. We lived in nature. The ram eagerly ran up to the fence ran through the meadow to the creek, where we built a and flirted with us, my sisters and me, in our Easter makeshift dam of stones and moss and swam with minnows and tadpoles. We smelled the sweet smell of fresh timothy and alfalfa; listened to the corn’s growing The ram eagerly ran up to the pains. We helped to make hay from our fields; fence and flirted with us, my sisters marveled at the constellations of lightning bugs in the meadow and all of the moon’s lustrous beauty in the and me, in our Easter finery; star-studded night. We had heaven above and below, nibbled the soles of our shoes, all around. We had everything except money. We earned that made eyes at us, while we looked any way we could. The farmers’ wives had chickens, at the ewes who respectfully sold their eggs and them and made chicken-corn soup in the summer as a church fund-raiser. They made hung back and watched the clothing and household linens out of feedbags—dresses fool with silent disgust. to dishtowels. We picked berries, beans, and cherries. We learned how to set ladders in orchards to thin finery; nibbled the soles of our shoes, made eyes at apples and peaches. One late summer afternoon after school, my best us, while we looked at the ewes who respectfully hung friend’s dad picked us up to pick tomatoes. I still back and watched the fool with silent disgust. We remember the powerful smell of tomato plants, their laughed. fruit about to burst, falling into our hands, hot and But summer on the farm was glorious, with its sights, sounds and smells, day and night. Our city eager to be eaten. I remember the slant of the hill, cousins and their parents loved coming to the farm: shaded in the warm afternoon from the sinking, still dark starry nights unpolluted by lights or smog as we powerful September sun. I have never ever had a better tomato in the 60 lay looking up at the dazzling constellations around a years since. dying campfire. 8