Just letting you know. It's over now. Dead and gone.
Funeral services have yet to be announced.
I'm referring to the once and honorable fight to save our hospital from the wrecking ball.
I can also tell you the exact moment that the nails were finally driven into the hospital's coffin. I was there. It was right after the Mayor's State of the City address last night, when the applause erupted. Virtually everyone was there too, from the Lakewood School Board, to City Council, to many interested salt-of-the-earth Lakewoodites...we who were there all witnessed it.
Being a musical entertainer, back in the day, I've always been very sensitive to the meaning behind applause. There's polite applause, such as you might hear when a young violin student squeaks her way through her first recital. Then, there's "glad it's over" applause, that you might hear when some boring long-winded speaker finally finishes...
...and then you have the applause that we heard last night.
It was full-blown, utterly enthusiastic, virtually unanimous rock-star-like applause for the mayor, and while it was not accompanied by screaming, shouts, or the like, it was nonetheless long lasting, enthusiastic, and very sincere. In no uncertain terms, it was letting those of us who have marched and supported saving our hospital know that our dream was finally over.
I personally did everything in my power to try to be an active part in saving Lakewood Hospital. I wrote columns about saving our hospital, I marched in the streets for nearly a mile on my unsteady crooked legs with hundreds of hospital supporters, while playing my banjo with the Dixieland band that accompanied the group...In short, I was utterly opposed to losing what was arguably one of our community's finest assets. I know full well that the loss of this hospital could well mean the loss of some lives too, and for that reason alone, I was absolutely driven to try to save it. My mother had died there. My dad's and my own lives were both saved there. My grandmother fought her long and losing battle with a dreaded illness there, and countless other times, my family and friends have gone there to get patched up for one thing or another. Emotionally, that hospital has been a big part of my life, and I would suspect, many of yours, as well.
Every day of our lives, things and people die, and things and people are born. That's just the way it goes. We rejoice in births and lament deaths. Both are complex events, and yet, utterly simple in their nature. Lately, however, there are many who prefer to celebrate the life of the deceased, rather than mourn. Perhaps that's just another way to deal with loss, I don't know. What I do know is that the loss of something or someone hurts very badly. It tears at the very fiber of our beings. It goes so counter to our American live-forever culture that values acquisition so much, and loss, so little. Yet there it is....loss....death....as perpetual as the falling of leaves, and as much a part of our lives, as gain and birth are.
While there will, no doubt, be many here who will continue, (perhaps like some Confederate revisionists) to want to hold onto the past, (and yes, the past can be a wonderful place to visit) the simple fact of the matter is that we cannot live in the past. You cannot live with people or things no longer with us. That's just not the way things work. It is for the living that we must live.
I am related to a platoon or more of Mom's ancestors who fought under the flag of the Confederacy. In my heart of hearts, I honor their memory, and I think about the Stars and Bars that was sometimes etched into their gravestones. At the same time, I have seen the gravestones of my father's ancestors who fought with the Grand Army of the Republic, and I've seen and placed the little American flags on their graves. Heroes all.
At the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, many of those still-living ancestors of yours and mine again met on that field, only this time, for pot-luck dinners, cane-assisted walks together up the side of Little Round Top, and for sharing the bond that only brothers who have borne the battle can do. See, soldiers care little about the bigger issues of such a war. Slavery? States' Rights? Naw, all they cared about back then was the person standing next to them.
The Stars and Bars and the Rebel Yell were seen and heard again on that day, as were the colors and calls of the Union Forces. On that day however, the Stars and Bars flew together with Stars and Stripes. Grown men cried like babies, and the healing began over fried chicken.
Our century-old hospital is finished. Those of us who fought for her are tired, perhaps bitter, and perhaps at times disillusioned. Many of us may still cling to the hope of a last minute reprieve, either through the ballot box or the courts. Political opportunists and conspiracy theorists will no doubt continue to use our Dear Old Lady for whatever ends they can think of, but in the end, it's just time for us to let her go.
Let's face it, miles of rotting wiring, leaky corroded lead pipes, asbestos-laden plaster and insulation, lead paint, and other out-dated building materials that seemed to make sense a hundred years ago have no place in a modern medical center. Indeed, even though much of the above was likely either abated, or painted over, or whatever, during the numerous remodeling efforts that have transpired over the years, you can only try to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear so many times. Eventually, there's just nothing left to stitch to.
For those who remember, there was great controversy and emotion as well, when we began to tear down those old school buildings that were also once so much a part and parcel of the pulse of our city. Lincoln, Madison, the old Harding, the high school.....all of those met the wrecking ball, and our children are (or soon will be) in much more modern up-to-date facilities with much safer electricity, water, heat, and lighting.
For that matter, (as even those who advocated for saving our hospital would freely admit) the medical facilities that we have close by to us are either beautifully new, or have been nicely updated, and that is a blessing, at least.
Last night, Mayor Michael P. Summers laid out the rationale for his decision to be proactive regarding the Lakewood Hospital Crisis. That his decision was widely approved of by community leaders was patently obvious. Whether it was the "right" decision or not will be a subjective call for history to answer, but one thing was quite certain in my mind as I reflected on the minutes-long applause. The fight for Lakewood Hospital... was over.
Perhaps one day soon, we can all gather together for a pot-luck dinner down by the Solstice Steps. If the soldiers at Gettysburg were able to put aside their differences, so too can we all. All of us on all sides of this issue, engaged in the good fight. Perhaps one day soon, we can all begin to engage in the good peace.
All, just my opinion here, and I may be wrong...but...
Back to the banjo...
