How to Talk to an Old Person so they don't think you're conning them to get put into their will

I'm hugely enjoying my "Flashback" class - a writing workshop I take at Abington Adult Evening Skl. Kristina Moriconi, our teacher, sure comes up with some imaginative writing assignments.

This week we have to write a "How To" article, similar to the one I blogged a couple years ago about How to Steal Napkins. 

In particular I'm gonna talk about how I convinced my late friend Carroll Beame, who died at 96, I was not after his money, but very much after other things of his, primarily his presence.

He and his twin sister Caroline lived in Hatboro, PA. One day he took me to visit her. Boy was she ever suspicious. Thought I was gonna elope with her then-87-yo brother any minute.

What a catch!

"Bernice Greenwold has the honor of presenting her daughter, Ruth Zali Greenwold Deming in marriage to Carroll Beam."

Just to annoy sister Caroline, I told her I was Jewish. For sure, she believed in all the stereotypes about Jews and their lust for money.

Actually, Carroll did have a lady-friend, Bea, but told me he wasn't gonna marry her. No one could replace his Florence.

I do have a major crush on any male or female who has a spectacular garden and Carroll Beam of Hatboro, PA, who lived right across the street from a smelly pub and what is now Impact Thrift, had a magnificent garden.

Finally, I saw him out in his backyard and went up to his fence to say Hello.

He invited me into the garden right away and took me on a tour. He had a huge double-decker birdbath flowing with water,

right next to a wisteria tree with purple wistaria.

"Didn't know wisteria came in tree form," I said.

"They do if they live long enough," he said.

His house was lovely, a home that time hadn't touched, since he had lived there with his late wife Florence.

I can recall his kitchen with old-fashioned appliances that still worked, tho he had to get a new frig - green - and a washing machine that was down the basement.

When you visited, you sat in the kitchen at the table overlooking his garden.

His iris were magnificent. I wrote a poem about him called "Iris Man." He'd garden outdoors in his shorts and tank top. His irises spilled out of the fence so they abutted against the Hatboro post office where the mail trucks drive in, and also onto a small office building next door with a No Parking sign in the lot.

I found the above foto on the Internet - which was on my blog - when I goggled Hatboro post office.

Once, when I needed to use the baffroom I went up the very long stairway and saw his bedroom. His house was spotless.

Blocked off from the house was his former beauty salon. Carroll Beam had owned a beauty shop which I believe is where he met Florence. She was one of his customers. They courted for quite a while but his parents opposed the marriage, but finally he married her anyway.

One day in the small town of Hatboro, I met Carroll at the post office.

I was always trying to get that man to come to my house and see my garden. He was always too busy.

He was a homebody, or he was visiting his sister Caroline or his one remaining brother, Justice, who lived on a farm in Maple Glen, PA.

"Carroll," I said. "How bout we go to the coffeeshop and I'll treat you to some lunch."

We walked over the the Daily Grind, a place that went outa biz for good reason - the owners were creeps! - and Carroll had a bowl of soup while I had a tuna sandwich and coffee.

He told me he was staying at his older brother Justice's farm in Maple Glen. His brother had gone to a nursing home to die. He was 97.

I visited Carroll at the farm on Dylan Road.

As soon as Justice died, Carroll was gonna sell the property to developers. In fact, they put two houses on the property. This may be one of em

I pulled into the gravel driveway and knocked on the door. There was a far-off pond where the cows used to drink. And a chicken coop not far away. By the door I found some white feathers which I intended to ask if I could have.

I'm a feather collector.

The white feathers in the jar that the French-exchange student gave us are most likely from Carroll.

I gave Carroll a bunch of white tea roses that grow outside my front door. 

We sat at the kitchen table and the place was very much like Carroll's. I asked if he'd take me for a tour of the farm.

I wanted to see what the chicken coop looked like.

We ducked inside the low door and the chickens were all around including roosting on the rafters.

The place smelled FOUL!!!

Then Carroll showed me a baby kitten on the outside of the coop. He thot the mom had possibly died and he was feeding it, hoping she'd come home.

I held the tiny black kitten in the palm of my hand.

Carroll insisted I come back in the house. Old people live a lonely life. Most of their fam and friends are dead, so I sat and yapped a while.

I sipped on the cold water I'd requested. 

He told me he was gonna donate his money to the Boy Scouts and something to do with the Army.

"Good idea," I said.

He always liked to kiss goodbye, right on the lips.

Heck, I loved the man.

I saw him one last time before he really got sick. He told me his cat "Opie" had run away. Highly unusual. 

A few months went by and I heard from Hildegund, a woman about town, that Carroll had had a couple of strokes or heart attacks - can't remember what - and his married cousins had driven down from Michigan to take c/o him.

I stopped in to see him and he barely remembered me. His twin sister Caroline who lived right up the street had died a month earlier. He knew it and felt bad but knew they'd meet in heaven.

As I walked out of his house for the last time, I remembered all the wonderful visits we'd had.

Hopefully, he hadn't forgotten to put me in his will.