Moses Is Almost 98
“Based on the analysis of 100 years worth of data from the Social Security Administration's (SSA) Baby Names database, the estimated population of people named MOSES is 24,187.”
Of those nearly 25,000 members of the Club of Moses, very few are anywhere nearly as old as my dad, who’ll be turning 98 on July 21. He’s still going strong, a testament to his long running motto, “you’ve got to be better than average.” Give a listen, and he’ll take you back to when he was a little boy in Shanghai, and the teacher gave him an assignment to write a sentence. “The cuckoo in the cuckoo clock says ‘cuckoo to you!’” earned my dad a big fat zero, as well as a lifelong story. He’ll tell you about tricking a Japanese soldier at a roadblock, after another Japanese soldier had been shot. “I wanted to go this way, so I pointed in the opposite direction and said, ‘I want to go that way!’ No, the soldier said, ‘you go this way!’” And seeing first one light, then another, then another, and then the night being completely lit up by all the lights as word spread that the war was over. Years later, while surveying nearly six thousand traffic signals throughout the city of angels, he came upon an animal hotel. Invited in, he got the phone number. Next day was April Fool’s, so naturally, Moses left a note for his friend and co-worker, John. “A. Katt called,” with the number of the animal hotel on it. When John called and asked to speak to A. Katt, the response was “Which one? We’ve got lots of cats here!”
Up until the pandemic, my dad’s group of engineer friends would get together for lunch once a month, taking turns picking a restaurant. My mom would vow to come to the next one, but never did. As weeks stretched to months, then years, my dad would ask, “what’s happening with the engineers?” He’d sometimes answer his own question, “oh, the pandemic.” Or I’d remind him, and let him know there’d be an engineer’s lunch in a few weeks or a couple of months. I’d reach out on occasion to see if anyone had any idea of when the engineer’s lunch would resume. There may have been one outing during a thaw in the lockdowns, but that was when my dad was convinced he needed “the black chair” (a wheelchair).
And so it went till the other day. My dad loves dumplings, especially the ones at the restaurant down the street to the right. There was another dumpling place on the left that wasn’t as good. “I like that one best, too. You recommended it!” The one on the right is now on the left, which requires explanation and assurances that it is indeed the same place, just moved. “When’s the last time you were there?” “Maybe a year ago.” “Oh.” Additional explanation and assurances to make sure it really was the same place. I change the story as needed to make sure he’ll be comfortable. I reserve the Old Folks bus for my dad’s birthday on the 21st, then I reach out to David, the owner of the Old Folks Home. He advises me to move the party up a week to avoid the latest crackdown, rumored to be coming any day. Invitations go out, accordingly, and though the dumpling house doesn’t take reservations, I gave them a heads up to expect about ten old people at 11:30 on Wednesday. Penny got hold of the restaurant a day or two after I did, to ensure a smooth experience for all.
We eventually wound up with fifteen, and though it was cozy, Kelvin the manager adapted to our fluid situtation without missing a beat. He wouldn’t even accept a tip. The engineers were there, and of course we talked about that Grand Canyon trip, when my dad led us from South Rim to North Rim in a day. Paul Durso, USMC vet and trumpet player, got lost but found his way after calling me for detailed instructions. His wife, Jo, is one of the old China Hands that used to gather a few times a year. Ed Toguchi (neighbor up the street in Monterey Park) and his wife Karen couldn’t stay for lunch but showed up with a birthday bag of goodies in celebration. John Fisher, the A. Katt guy, was there. Allyn, one of our gang of four who survived the Grand Canyon death march, was there. We recalled Jim Fuller, another Marine vet and City of LA employee, who survived the death march but blew out his knee. James Okazaki, who used to bring his dad to the engineers lunch, was there. James is my role model for the way he was devoted to his dad. He was 97 when he passed, and he’d show up with James and smile without saying a word. A couple of the guys live out in Santa Clarita, including one who lives out by Anne Freda Street, which is named after my dear sister Anne, who also left us too soon. There was Martha and Louis and Dave and Alan and Barbara. A few of the engineers couldn’t make it due to various scheduling conflicts, but we’ll get ‘em next time. My dad was thrilled to be surrounded by all these friends, plus my mother-in-law, Betty, who lives with them at the Old Folks Home. They see each other three times a day in the dining room, where they sit at the big round table.
By the way, those dumplings were phenomenal. But I doubt I’ll ever enjoy a dumpling as much as I did when Moses turned almost 98.