A Wonderful Man

His name was Claude Hughston Enochs. When I met him he was 80 years old. My husband, young son, and I traveled from San Francisco to the mountains of Woodside. Hugh’s hacienda-style house sat on the side of a steep hill that overlooked Palo Alto and a wide swath of the peninsula and east bay.

The house was built of cedar, stone, and brick, primarily. A massive stone fireplace stood at one end of the open beam living room. Picture windows spanned one side of the room, and provided a view of Palo Alto and the southern part of the San Francisco Bay.

The floors were either wood or maroon tile. Two wings led off a central entrance. A grand piano graced one end of the foyer.

A second and third fireplace warmed the dining room and master bedroom. Built-in cupboards lined the hallway. Hugh had tiled the showers in wild mosaic patterns.

After they married, Mom and Hugh slept in the charming master bedroom at the end of one wing of the house. Like the rest of the house, it was paneled in wood. A high window met the peaked ceiling above the bed, providing a view of pines and redwoods. A fireplace sat in one corner of the room.

The driveway was narrow and unpaved. It looped around a stand of redwoods. Other redwoods dotted the property, including a massive one with a charred, hollow center from an ancient fire. In the spring and summer, delicate blue forget-me-nots grew rampantly.

Hugh’s faded old Ford sat in the driveway. Mom soon convinced him to buy them a creamy yellow Cadillac Seville. Hugh drove along in his wide-brimmed hat, and looked sporty and dignified as the car floated and gently bounced.

When I was with them, they let me drive, as my parents had earlier. It flattered me that they entrusted me with that responsibility and felt confident that no harm would come to us.

Before Hugh met Mom, and after his wife died, Hugh was uncharacteristically bereft, depressed, and at a loss. Although many women felt a strong interest in him, it was not until Mom came along that he met someone who could both provide him active, interesting companionship, but who could take care of him as he got older.

Mom and Hugh planned to be married soon. They met at the Palo Alto Senior Center on a day when Mom volunteered to take blood pressures. Hugh leaned over the counter and said something to gain Mom’s attention. He was clearly smitten, and it was not long before Mom fell for him, too.

Mom came over one day, and asked me, “Am I making a mistake to consider marrying a man who is eighty years old?” She was 68 at the time.

I said something like, “Well, do you love him?”

Their marriage plans took me aback at first. I still reeled from my father’s death a year earlier. I marveled at how a woman who lost her husband after almost fifty years of marriage could so easily move on.

The day Neal and I visited Hugh in Woodside, we felt that he seemed awfully self-absorbed as he rambled on.

Neither Neal nor I was accustomed to talking with the very elderly. We hadn’t yet learned to understand how to relax and listen to their ideas and thoughts. It can take time for them to get to the meat of their stories.

Hugh won us over quickly, though, when we experienced his other sides, and how much he loved my mother, and how happy he made her.

I was a bridesmaid at Mom and Hugh’s wedding, along with my two sisters. The wedding was held in Hugh’s huge Methodist church.

I don’t know what possessed me to make my eyes up the way I had learned in modeling school ten years before. When I look at pictures, I cringe at the overdone teal eye shadow that extends all the way to my eyebrows!

Six-year-old Ben was the ring bearer. As he waited in his little gray suit, he switched from one foot to the other and played with the long pins holding the rings on a little red pillow. Suddenly, he jumped when he poked himself through the pillow!

My sisters and I could hardly keep a straight face, and the audience tittered. We’d been watching Ben as he poked those pins around, wondering when that inevitable event would happen.

Hugh stood at six feet. His handsome face held an intelligent, interested, and open expression. His slender frame was generally clothed casually, in shorts, jeans or slacks, and a shirt or t-shirt. He and my petite mother dressed well, and made a handsome couple. She was twelve years younger, moved with spunk, and colored her hair reddish brown.

For a while, upon Hugh’s urging, Mom went blond. It looked okay, and not garish on her. He also encouraged her to wear her dresses short. She looked fine, even though most elderly women look dreadful in short dresses and shorts.

Hugh was a fun-loving guy with an independent spirit. He often danced around the clothes racks while Mom shopped. Once he fell, which scared the staff to death.

Hugh had grand plans to establish a worldwide organization to benefit children. He worked on this project all the years I knew him. He wrote a lot of letters, and talked to people all over the world,

He also wrote poems. These were lyrical and appreciative of all aspects of life he found beautiful, as well as those he found concerning. After he died, I typed up many of them and put them in a decorated book for my mother. Here’s one that represents Hugh very well.

Carve Me a Ball

Carve me a ball the size of a planet

And roll it right up in the sky,

Set it spinning in beauty forever

For the bold, the old and the shy.

Dye so blue that planet with oceans,

Tides stirring with life in its seas,

Brush its winds for spiral of seasons,

Add sunlight and rain for tall trees.

Invite plants and all creatures teeming

To share myriad food chains of life,

Symbiotic the dreams of creation,

Even playful in fun, colors blithe.

Release music and well depths of prayer

When earth is gentle and kneeling,

Comes birth of adventure in futures

With blessings that know inner feeling.

Light of grace for sun’s planet brood,

Guides the way for each species role

Let man perform mortal wonders

When civilized, stretching his soul.

Fragile earth’s biosphere breathing

Touches wisdom and caring with tears

As love hugs the weak, gladly sharing,

Embraces brave dreams through the years.

Do sculpture man tall for this planet,

Responsible creature this human,

Triple brain emerges with conscience,

Creative, thoughts’ brilliant acumen.

Earthling curious examines all Nature,

Reaching far with computer brain,

But the mirror inside him grows questions,

Will God wash man’s face once again?

Ball afloat in black space is our planet;

We wasters who dominate earth,

Can we master control, conquer fear,

Know ourselves, believe in our worth?

Is the skin we call civilization

Too bruised to escape final war?

Is more knowledge brutality’s cure,

How a species endangered may soar?

Are true answers in oceans, deep space,

Gentle minds of dolphin and whale,

Thoughts cultured beyond distant stars

Of learning beyond our travail?

Genetics still fingerprints lifelong

Bathed in sunlight beautiful, free,

Wondrous world of spirits teeming,

Every cell, plants, insects, fish and me...

Hugh was a real nature lover. He loved dolphins and whales, and owned many sculptures of them. Some of those he made himself from paper mache. A huge black and shiny abstract painting of a dolphin hung on a wall.

The creature he most admired was the squid. He cited their intelligence. I never quite caught onto that.

One day a boyfriend and I invited Mom and Hugh over for brunch. Among the dishes set out was a bowl of marinated calamari. Not thinking, I offered Hugh some, remembering as I did so his love for squid. He simply graciously declined.

Hugh was a gracious man, and generous and kind. He became a wonderful grandfather to my son Benjamin. He and Mom invited us along to concerts often. They came over, played Scrabble with us, livened up our evenings.

Benjamin and I frequently visited them in Woodside, where Hugh took Ben on nature hikes. I helped Mom make drapes for the long wall of plate glass windows in the living room, and assisted her in other ways. The huge house presented Mom with a huge challenge as she tried to keep up with housework. I frequently helped her wash and polish the expanse of maroon tile floor in the foyer and kitchen, washed windows and curtains, and cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms. It presented a humongous job that exhausted me.

Mom always had incredible stamina. Her job as a nurse all those years, and her active lifestyle kept her in shape. She walked quickly and with energy, in those days, too quickly. She fell and hit her head several times while climbing around that wild property. She was always up for adventure, and it took a hip injury and two replacements to slow her down as she recovered. Even in her eighties, she remained socially and physically active. She often gardened and was active in the Unitarian Church and with friends in Fremont.

After Hugh died, she and I cleared out Hugh’s house. Boy, what a job! Mom put in long hours to ready everything for auction.

She moved into an upscale senior residence in Fremont, where I lived. She was the liveliest resident. She played pool, exercised in the gym, and continued her fast-paced walking.

In addition to Mom’s other tasks, Hugh decided to open large round crates filled with his mother’s possessions. Mom and I unwrapped the many beautiful antiques from their newspaper packing, and placed them on the built-in cedar shelves and mantles.

When Mom turned seventy, I hosted a birthday party for her at their home. To me, her turning seventy felt like a rather grim milestone. At thirty-five, my perspective on aging made seventy practically at death’s door. I wanted to give her what I imagined might be her last party. Hardly.

Hugh had a fair amount of wealth. My impression was that he inherited a sizable estate from his mother, and also had made a good income from his landscape design business in later years, which he invested wisely. I was pleased for Mom that she felt financially secure and could afford some luxury, for once in her life.

Hugh’s first profession was journalism. He wrote for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch for much of his career. He also worked for the YMCA as a consultant. He had played sports and coached for much of his life.

Another aspect of life for Mom that made me grateful was Hugh’s sociability and lightheartedness. Having lived in the area for many years, he knew a lot of people, which gave Mom the opportunity to get to know them, too, and to for once feel part of the community. My family’s moving around had prevented her from developing those kinds of ties.

Hugh shared many features in common with my father. Both were highly intelligent and well-educated, and kept themselves informed of political and other events. Both acted graciously, generously, and kindly to others, and felt concerned for the welfare of people – friend, family, or stranger alike.

But whereas Dad was quiet and quite socially withdrawn, Hugh was gregarious. Whereas Dad never stayed put in any one place for long, Hugh lived in the Palo Alto area for much of his adult life.

Hugh became acquainted with the DeKonigs when he designed their property several years earlier. Hugh’s approach to landscaping was fluid and natural, so he utilized things like boulders, ponds, groves of ferns and small trees. For color and texture, he added native and drought-resistant plants, like clematis and blue-eyed grass.

I met the DeKonigs at Mom and Hugh’s wedding dinner held in a small banquet room of a charming restaurant along El Camino. Their three children did well in school, and were highly accomplished in music.

The DeKonigs lived in a small, comfortable, and cozy home on a cul-de-sac in Mountain View, which by then had grown into a sizable city. Their neighborhood still had a country feel, however.

Jos and Ineke emigrated from Holland in the 1960’s. Jos worked as an engineer, and Ineke as a nurse.

When we met the family, their three kids were young teens, all good students and musically talented.

The family often invited Mom and Hugh, and sometimes Benjamin and me, to Sunday dinner. Ineke served lavish and scrumptious meals on beautiful Dutch china. Conversation was lively and full of laughter.

I envied Ineke her convenient and picturesque kitchen, with its greenhouse windows and island overlooking the family room. Dried flowers hung upside down from the rafters.

The family room windows looked out onto the backyard. A large boulder was embedded in the low wall below them, one of Hugh’s design features!

Ineke and I assisted Mom whenever she and Hugh held parties. The big one of the year happened for the Fourth of July. The living room filled up with mostly elderly people. I think they invited everyone from the senior center!

Ineke and I set out the platters of food we brought, and did our best to keep up with the dishes. As a result, we hardly had a chance to enjoy the party. By the end of the evening, I felt almost too exhausted to drive home across the bay to Fremont.

As darkness fell, those in the crowd who could ventured along a rugged path in back of the house to take in the fireworks. I helped those who needed it. It was difficult to balance as one stepped from one stone to another.

Although the fireworks were distant, we could see displays from Hayward to San Jose – unless the bay filled with clouds, which sometimes happened.

Mom and Hugh went on many trips to visit our family. They took Ben and me along on two of them. The first was to Austin, Texas to attend my second cousin’s wedding when Ben was six. Mom and Hugh flew on ahead. I guess because it was cheaper, they booked us on a flight that caused us to change planes in Los Angeles and El Paso.

The plane had to plunge down rapidly into LAX. My ears made a screeching sound as my eardrums stretched with the pressure change. They became almost completely plugged for some time.

The same thing happened when we landed in El Paso.

When we approached Austin, I girded myself for more ear trouble, as my ears still crackled from LA. Chewing gum and opening my jaw did nothing.

Sure enough, the landing felt excruciatingly painful, and my right ear became completely blocked. I could not hear out of it at all.

Even though I really could not afford it, I rented a car and drove to a drop-in clinic. The doctor gave me a strong decongestant and sent me on my way. The medicine made me queasy, my head felt hot, and I still could hardly hear.

I was not about to put myself through all that again, so I bought Ben and me tickets for a direct flight to San Francisco for the return flight. I felt pretty ticked off about the whole thing.

My ear bothered me for months after that trip.

That trip! I enjoyed seeing my cousins Pat and Mary Anne and meeting their son and daughter, my second cousins. The wedding was held at a venue on an old farm. Seats were set up under a long arbor for the ceremony. In a huge old red barn the bride and groom and guests danced and drank spiritedly – lots of polkas and beer.

Ben and I stayed at a nice enough motel with a pool. It was lovely to swim in the evenings. One night I heard a godawful clicking sound. When I turned on the light, I spotted a huge bug I could not identify, nor had the courage to try to chase out of the room.

The next day Mom, Hugh, Ben, and I visited a pretty park along the river. When I sat on the grass I suddenly felt sharp stings all over my legs. I jumped up to find tiny red ants swarming all over me! They deserve their name: fire ants.

Mom and Hugh took Ben and me on a train trip to Kalispell, Montana a couple of years later. I found the seats hurt my back, and had a terrible time sleeping. The next day, when I felt unbearably tired (I never have functioned well without a good night’s sleep), I found it immensely difficult and aggravating to try to keep up with Ben. He loved to wander the aisles, and had a hard time staying put.

We arrived at the Kalispell station at night. We waited a long time for my cousin Peggy to pick us up. When she did, she was abrupt and unapologetic. I thought, “Oh, here goes the rest of the trip.” But, after a few hours the next day, we loosened her up, and we enjoyed each other’s company.

I think Peggy’s initial attitude came from the way her mother painted us for years. She and Mom were estranged for most of my life due to Aunt Alice’s refusal to part with any of my grandfather’s watercolors. It took Mom many years to convince to give her a few of those precious possessions.

Aunt Alice was a virtual stranger to me. I met her only once before on a trip back east when I was twelve. Mom and I visited her at the New Milford Library. She was pleasant enough, but she came across as curt and gruff, in sharp contrast to my mother.

By the time of our trip, Alice was bound to a wheelchair. She still held onto a certain less-than-gracious demeanor, but soon showed a friendlier side, as well. It can’t have been easy for Peggy to live with and care for her in that tiny house.

Ben and I stayed in a little apartment on one side of Peggy’s house. I noticed a peculiar odor in the place, though. On the second day I mentioned it to Peggy. She came over and could smell it, too. She said she never noticed it before. It turned out to be dry rot. She had to have the whole place treated – an expensive proposition.

Peggy’s son, his wife, and their two young daughters lived in a charming old house on a point that stuck out into Flathead Lake. Talk about an idyllic spot! Dan worked for the forest service. It was his job to keep track of elk in the nearby terrain. He and his wife Suzanne had strong interests in nature and the environment. Among other activities, they belonged to a birdwatcher’s club.

I was still reeling from my separation from my husband and finding myself more or less a single mom. I struggled with depression, anxiety, and exhaustion much of the time. The experience led me to drink more wine than was good for me.

One afternoon while visiting Dan and Suzanne’s family, I took myself out to their lawn and fell asleep. I could feel after I got up that this made a bad impression on them.

One evening, we traveled to Bigfork, a tiny town near Flathead Lake, to see Peggy in a play. She was involved in little theater, and Kalispell presented a great opportunity for her. Bigfork is a major site for summer stock theater.

Peggy also made the cutest little creatures from rocks she painted and embellished. She sold them in one of the many artistic shops along Main Street.

One evening, we attended a gallery opening. Kalispell has a large artistic community.

Main Street was quaint along the stretch with the galleries. Colorful hanging planters were mounted on old-fashioned light posts. Old brick buildings blended with shops with facades from an earlier era.

I took a picture of Mom, Hugh, and Ben standing along the sidewalk. Ben holds his face in his hands, as if to say, “Rescue me from this boredom!” Hugh wears one of his wide-brimmed signature hats as he lays his arm on Mom’s shoulders.

One afternoon we took Alice on a cruise of Flathead Lake. The lake is named after the Flathead Indians. The name encompasses several Bitterroot Salish, Kootenai and Pend d'Oreilles tribes.

They are called Flathead because some Salish tribes had the custom of deforming the heads of infants by resting a cradleboard across their foreheads at a slant or binding them with cloth. It is believed they did this to indicate social status.

The lake stretches for more than 200 square miles bordered by dense forest. The Glacier Mountains reflect in beautiful patterns of white and blue.

The captain of the tour boat invited Ben onto the bridge so he could “steer” the boat. Alice looked more cheerful and relaxed than at any other time. Mom and Hugh walked around the perimeter of the boat while wheeling her. All in all a refreshing and soothing experience.

Mom, Hugh, Ben, and I toured the Conrad Mansion. That is quite a place! Its rich reddish-brown woodwork and furniture are kept polished, and original artifacts remain, including family portraits and lace cloths that adorn tables, pianos, and shelves.

At the very top of the mansion is the attic playroom and sewing room, the only place left unfinished. Charming toys from another era, like rocking horses, small tables and chairs for tea parties, and antique dolls dressed in fancy clothes, sit on the floor and shelves. You can just imagine children dressed in their lacy finery playing up there.

The mansion was built by Charles E. Conrad, who founded Kalispell in 1891. He made his fortune as a Fort Benton freighter and trader on the banks of the Missouri River. Along with James J. Hill, Conrad worked to locate a division point of the Great Northern Railroad in the Flathead Valley.

Hugh graciously paid for our entire trip, for which we were grateful.

Mom and Hugh provided transportation in their yellow Cadillac Seville for many elderly and disabled people to doctor’s appointments, shopping, and church. One of their friends was Frank, a blind man who lived with his carer in a mobile home.

I never realized just how disabling blindness can be. Frank needed help with everything except for playing piano and singing. He made some pocket money that way.

Hugh obtained his degree in journalism from the University of Illinois. He felt proud of his alma mater, and kept in contact. He donated sums of money, too, and arranged for a legacy to them.

Hugh often reminisced about summers with his mother on a lake in Illinois. There he collected arrowheads and other Indian artifacts. His mother nurtured his interest in nature.

After his father died when he was six, an experience he and Mom shared, he held onto his memory fervently.

One of Hugh’s hobbies was making lovely objects out of wood. He made a huge cedar trunk that I still have. He created a photo albums with covers he inlaid wood to make, as well as a book that held different types of wood, also inlaid. He crafted boxes with inlaid patterns, also.

When Mom and Hugh still lived in the Woodside house, we often played pool in the finished basement room. Above the table hung a big brass lamp. Built-in shelves held Hugh’s decades of National Geographic magazines. A glass door led to the wild slope.

We sometimes celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas at the Woodside house. I helped Mom decorate with garlands and intricate antique ornaments we uncovered in Hugh’s mother’s crates.

A big fire roared in the fireplace. We served hors d’oeuvres to guests seated on comfortable sofas in front of the fire.

At Christmas, colorfully wrapped packages sat on the floor around the tree and on tables spread around the room. The dining table we covered in antique lace, and set the table with elegant dishware and gold, filigreed silverware.

In the year before his death, Hugh withdrew into his own world. I know this happens to those who sense the end coming. He seemed happy enough, and could return to his old self ocassionally.

Hugh died at age 89. He wanted badly to live to his 90th birthday, and almost made it. For weeks before he died, he lay on his hospital bed in Mom and Hugh’s bedroom. He kept his spirits up, and welcomed visitors. Ben and I had the chance to say goodbye, for which I am grateful.

At 68, I still haven’t worked out acceptance of my mortality. But, Hugh did, and recognized his future death calmly and matter-of-factly.

Mom knew just how to take care of him. Her nursing background prepared her for it.

Hugh went into a convalescent hospital for about a week before he died. He was in and out of consciousness. The night he died, I visited him. When I saw him I burst into tears. Mom shushed me, something I hadn’t expected and puzzled me. In retrospect, I think she was right.

I am grateful that Hugh died in his sleep without suffering. His heart condition and old age caught up with him. I am so grateful I knew him. I miss him still.