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by Don James
was a little young to be sitting in
the family conference, but my
mother decided I should because
I was 16 and, as she said, "You're old
enough to understand a few of a wom
an's problems."
My uncle Cary Higgins, her older
brother, looked annoyed when he saw
me. He is a successful attorney and
prefers to do most of the family think
ing and deciding. So there was no need
for a 16-year-old to be present at the
conference that was to decide what to
do about Grandfather Higgins.
There were Uncle Cary and his wife,
Aunt Ethel; Uncle Thomas, the auto
mobile dealer, and his wife, Aunt Isa
bel; my mother and my father, Howard
Daniel Mclntyre.
I guess we had the smallest and the
fewest and the least of everything. As
a clerk in City Hall, my father never
made much money, and we lived in an
old house, drove an old car, and com
pared with Uncle Cary and Uncle
Thomas we simply didn't have it.
My mother, whose name is Cynthia,
had more determination than either of
her two brothers, though, and every
one knew it. Personally, I thought
the most important person there was
Grandfather Higgins, but I wasn't sure
some of the others did. He sat by me
on the couch in Uncle Cary's big living
room, his cane propped against one
knee; he was smoking his battered old
pipe and the simply terrible-smelling
tobacco he always bought
I guess he felt that he was a little
important, too, because Grandpa made
a try. A really big college try. He
puffed his pipe into a big cloud of
smoke and said, "I don't see what all
- the fuss is about Why can't I just stay
on at the little house?"
Uncle Cary put on his patient smile.
"Because it's no longer practical, Dad,"
Family Weekly. July 20, 195
he said. "After all, you ore 84 now."
"So? I'm an old man. I still manage."
Uncle Thomas said, "Since you fell
and broke your hip we can't take
chances, Dad. What if it happened
again? We'd all be in trouble then."
"I paid the bills," Grandpa said. "I
had those bonds."
"But they're gone now," Uncle
Thomas said. "We can't take chances."
Uncle Cary nodded and said, "That's
the point. It's best if you live with
others. That's why we decided upon
the Peaceful View Home. You'll like
it there."
"I will?" said Grandpa.
"Certainly. And I wish you'd get it
out of your head that it's a nursing
home. It isn't. There are only a few
bedridden patients there."
"I'm certain you'll like it," Aunt
Ethel said. "It's so comfortable. And
you can share a room with someone
near your own age. You'll like that."
"It'll cost a lot," Grandpa said.
"We can get about $10,000 for the old
house," Uncle Cary said. "I've already
looked into it. That will help handle
the costs, and of course we can help.
Tom and I, that is." He didn't look at
Mom and Dad, but we knew what he
meant: we were the poorer relatives.
Dad said, "We could help a little."
He was scowling. I looked at Mom and
she was sitting there with a small smile,
watching Uncle Cary.
Grandpa said, "I've lived in that
house 50 years. I don't want to move.
I'm not sick. Why should I go to that
old folks' hospital?".
"It's not a hospital," Uncle Cary said.
"I wish you'd get that straight. And it's
sensible. You used your extra bond
money for hospital bills, and it isn't
practical for us to keep up the house
for you."
Aunt Isabel added: "Besides, Dad,
you don't cook good meals for your
self. It's better for you to move. We'd
all feel easier about you."
"Putting me on the shelf," Grandpa
muttered.
Uncle Cary frowned. "That's not true.
We're taking the best possible care of
you. You should see that, Dad. You've
always had a good head for plain, com
mon sense."
Grandpa puffed at his pipe and
looked at Uncle Cary, his pale
blue eyes almost without expres
sion. "I guess you know what's best for
me, Cary," he said quietly. "You won't
have to keep stopping in to check up
on me then, either. I'll be less worry
to you all."
Uncle Cary frowned some more.
"Frankly, you mill be less worry. We'll
know that you're all right all the time."
Grandpa nodded. "I don't have much
choice, I guess."
Uncle Thomas said, "It's just that . . .
well, we think it's time we sort of took
over for you. Maybe we can think
those things out better than you can.
We're your kids and we want to do the
right things for you. We think this is
the right thing."
"Sell the furniture, too? Your mother
was pretty proud of it."
"Well, except for a few pieces, per
haps," Uncle Cary said, and looked at
my aunt. "Ethel would like that com
mode . . . the old one. It's a fair antique
piece. That is, of course, if no one
eke . . ." He looked around at the
others, his forehead wrinkled.
Aunt Isabel said, "I could probably
find a place for the bedroom set. We
never did get around to really fixing up
our fifth bedroom."
Grandpa looked almost frightened.
"I won't fall again," he offered. "I won't
break a hip. I can be careful."
M
: ,
Plaintiff
Jk Grandpa was the defendant His crime was growing old, and
he had no defenders; none, that is, until Mom spoke up . . .
"No, Dad," Uncle Cary said firmly. "It's
decided. We know what's best."
"Comes now the plaintiff," Mom said. It
was the first time she had spoken and she
looked directly at Uncle Cary.
"What do you mean by that, Cynthia?"
he said.
"Isn't that what you lawyers say when
you're enumerating your complaints and
reasons why someone is guilty. Aren't you
the plaintiff?"
"Cynthia, your ideas about law have
always been exceedingly vague. I don't
understand what you're talking about"
"Now, Cynthia," Grandpa said. "Let the
boys decide . . ."
"What do you really want to do, Dad?"
she said.
"I want to stay where I am, but I guess
it isn't practical. I might fall again or some
thing. And I guess I don't get myself good
meals. And I suppose I do worry you. It's
just that I don't want to go to that old
folks' hospital."
"Rest home," Uncle Cary corrected him
impatiently. "But that settles it, Cynthia.
Dad is in agreement."
I Incle Thomas smiled and rubbed his
hands together and got up as if he
had just settled a big deal. "And that's
that!" he said. "Cary, you see about selling
the house. That's your line. Let me know if
I can help you. Isabel and I have to run.
We're due at a party."
Uncle Cary nodded and got up, too. "Fine.
I'll pick you up in the morning, Tom. We'll
go out to the rest home and make arrange
ments. Dad, you'd better start throwing
away a lot of that junk you've got around
and get ready to move. I imagine Cynthia
can help you."
"All right, son," Grandpa said. His voice
sounded older than ever, and he was staring
at his pipe, which had gone out. "If that's
the way it is."
Mom glanced at Dad and they exchanged
one of their little nods. "Dad's not going to
a rest home," she said.
"Cynthia!" warned Uncle Cary. "Let's
not get into anything. It's decided!"
"Dad's coming to live with us," Mom
said. Then she looked away from them and
walked over to Grandpa and put out a hand
and patted his cheek. "That is, Dad, if you
will. We want you with us because you're
ours and we love you."
Grandpa's eyes filled with tears and he
tried to smile. "Now, Cynthia . . . there's
no need to . . ."
Uncle Cary said quickly: "That's not
practical. We couldn't that is, there may
be times when you can't " He stopped
speaking and you could see that they were
all scared that they might have to take
Grandpa once in a while, too.
Mom smiled and said, "Comes now the
plaintiff again?"
"Now look here, Cynthia!" Uncle Cary
was getting peeved and his face was flushed.
"Oh, Dad's guilty," Mom said. "Indeed
he is. But I don't think he should be put
away for his crime. I think he's still ac
ceptable to society at least, in the Mc
lntyre household."
"Crime? What are you trying to insin
uate?" Uncle Cary sputtered.
"The crime of growing old, I guess," Mom
said. "If you live long enough, you'll be
guilty some day, too. We all will."
She took Grandpa's hand and said, "Come
on, Dad. We'll drive you home."
My Dad grinned as he came over and
helped Grandpa to his feet and we all start
ed for the front door. Nobody said any
thing, and I felt terribly proud. I knew just
how Grandpa felt about going to the nurs
ing home because that's what it was.
At the door I suddenly realized that I
hadn't said anything at all. So I turned
around and said it and Uncle Cary has
been sort of cool to me ever since.
"Uncle Cary," I said. "Goes now the
defendant. Case dismissed!"
Family Weekly, July 20. 1951
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