And so for an update.

Robert has been moved up a floor to the second. Apparently he had been in quarantine for two weeks despite his two negative Covid tests at The Hebrew Home: he came from “the outside” and that is the protocol. “Did you know we have to use a Hoyer lift?” said the nurse on duty during a call. So that is what it is. A Hoyer lift, that device for people who can’t move themselves.

No, I answered, and I am not surprised.

Robert needs TOTAL care. No, he cannot stand, or walk. No, he cannot get out of bed. Or sit unattended. No. But I bet even you, dear reader, don’t get it, I bet it is too much for you to fathom.

Another surprise; they now wheel him on a bed-like wheel chair to “the dining room” which is used as a day room, where the patients can be monitored, where he might have his meals. This way they can keep an eye on everyone.

We have FaceTime visits which consist of my trying to make conversation; occasionally I get a comment. It might be appropriate. There was the one he made when I asked about the staff caring for him. “They’re idiots!” Good work, I am thinking, not only did he make a three word sentence, he must think that he is driving; that is the typical comment he’d make while on the road. But, whoa, let’s hold up, now I am thinking … it’s time for some gratitude. So I say:  Are they taking good care of you? I ask again. Yes, he says.

When my mother was at the end of her journey she was hallucinating, fantasizing, acting out. I don’t know where Robert is in terms of his cognition. He is globally impaired but he does remember some things. I don’t know if he would remember the details of this following Kalish fable, but let me tell you, he was a legend. He was the challenger of authority his entire life, probably always thought he was right, probably was, didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, won more Union hearings than I can count: He often made me an anxious wreck.

Here’s another, once upon a time tale for you …

Sometime during his first job on the Upper West Side of Manhattan as a science teacher in a Junior High School named after a French female saint, followed by a 118, there was a new, just-so supervisor who many people didn’t respect. Remember Robert’s referring to idiots? He would likely categorize her as one. I sort of feel sorry for that woman, now, she didn’t have a chance. But I digress.

In the construct of the New York City, then Board of Education, one could take enough courses and rise up the ranks to supervisor, a supervisor of teachers, a principal or assistant to. If you had the course knowledge and could pass, more power to you. That didn’t mean you were of special intelligence or close to God. It just meant you could. Many people could and many people shouldn’t have.

Students have to follow rules and so do teachers. But don’t tell that to Robert. He did whatever he had to do to keep his job creative, to make the content fascinating, to give masterful dramatic presentations accompanied by classical music pieces, to make lessons in the lab a Broadway show.

He gave it his all. He did his best. He did the lesson. He handed in his lesson plans.

Ms. Supervisor rejected them. Marked them up and threw them back.

They didn’t follow the specific form, ergo, they weren’t acceptable.

It didn’t matter that the lesson was superb, the format of the plans was not, and no, you can’t do anything in your head or on the fly.

Well, don’t tell that to Robert, nuh uh. He devised a plan to fix this issue and he did: he redid the lesson plans and handed them in. And they were perfect! true to form! They followed the prescribed outline!

He submitted sets of fake lesson plans.

Madam supervisor lauded him! Wrote something like EXCELLENT plans! All was good with the world!

Here are a couple of the “aims” of the lessons:

Students will drink cyanide!
Students will experiment with 50 volt wires!

(If the students had followed these perfect, fake plans, no good would have come of it; the plans would be lauded and the students would not have survived!)

Anyone who worked for and survived a career within The New York City Board of education, will understand how much like,
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest life was, on an almost daily basis. Believe me, I have plenty of my own stories to tell about my good fight. It’s all about protocol, about how things look, about order and regimentation. Robert had a hard time living within those boundaries and if he had to, he’d get even. He gave them just what they wanted. perfect plans in a perfect format. But the supervisor had no idea what she was reading until…

He was called into the principal’s office. He was brought up on charges! At this point likely because he embarrassed the supervisor.

He won.

He became a legend at the district office.  “YOU are Robert Kalish!?” I don’t recall if the secretaries applauded, sang the Battle Hymn of The Republic, asked for his autograph or if I am just embellishing, but there was a big to-do.

This kind of stuff continued, as a pattern, throughout his career. He would stand up to authority, thumb his nose and stick to his guns. He’d push the limits, he’d pay the consequences. But the students remember him as a fantastic teacher, many said he was the best.

As for 107, no it wasn’t the school, or a building number, a flight, a route, a number of shares of stock, nor is it mileage on a new car or the number of hotdogs eaten by the last winner of the Coney Island hot dog eating contest.

It is

now

Robert’s weight.

 

 

 

 

📌The series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

The previous post is here

The next post is here

 

 

Remember when I told you that about a year ago he wanted to work on his obituary for the New York Times?