Another day at the blood laundromat

 

     Sunday I posted "Living Legacy," my cover story in Rotary magazine about encouraging people in India — and everybody else — to donate a kidney. This is the sidebar to the story, about my cousin Harry, whose situation further sensitized me to the challenges of kidney disease. You can see the version that ran in the magazine here.

     Dawn along a charmless stretch of Mystic Avenue in Medford, a suburb of Boston. Past a used car lot, a nail salon, a laundromat, a Jiffy Lube, and warehouses stocking electrical, roofing and plumbing supplies. 

     Finally, a low, freestanding building, Fresenius Medical Care's Medford Dialysis Center. We arrive just before 7 a.m. after an hour's drive from Boxborough in the predawn darkness.

     "There are closer medical clinics, but they're worse," my cousin Harry Roberts explains as we pull into the parking lot. "They're a cross between a medical clinic and a bus station."

     Harry is here for dialysis, the three-hours-a-day, five-times a week blood filtration and cleansing that keeps him alive by doing the job of his faltering kidneys. And I'm here because ... well, it's complicated. We're mishpocha, as our people say. Family. He's in a tough situation or, rather, he and his wife are in a tough situation. So I'm helping. By driving, for instance. Dialysis wipes you out. The last thing you want to do when it's done is fight your way through Boston's nightmare traffic for an hour, with its madness-inducing roundabouts.

     "Home isn't a place — it's a feeling," enthuses a five-foot sign by the front door, showing a beaming gray haired man hugging two kids. "Talk to your care team about the benefits of home dialysis." 

     There are a dozen similar signs scattered around the facility, reminding patients of the comforts of home. Dialysis is expensive — up to $1,000 a week, when conducted at a place like this one – not only nicer than nearby centers, but home to Harry's topnotch nephrologist, aka, kidney doctor. Conducting the process at home halves the cost. The centers earn a little less, but they spend a lot less, so end up making even more money with even less effort. You get to stay home, and jam yourself with needles before running a complex medical device. For three hours a day. Five days a week.

     Conducting dialysis at home puts pressure on spouses, who are not usually trained medical professionals. Harry's wife actually is a trained medical professional — a hospital pharmacist. But years of caring for Harry had started to grind her down. That's why Harry started to go back to Fresenius — to give her a respite, the relief that all caregivers must have. And why I'm here, the cavalry, helping out.

     Harry settles into a beige Naugahyde recliner designed for durability rather than comfort, while Ryan, a nurse in blue scrubs, contemplates his left arm.

     "Okay, so we're going in here, and here. We need two dull needles."

     At first I think he's joking. Dull needles? Because, counter-intuitively, dull needles hurt less, sliding into the scar tissue "buttonholes" created by years of dialysis, while sharp needles have a way of carving a new, painful, path. 

     Though they still hurt. Ryan helps with what Harry sometimes calls "the stabby-stab part."

     "Eh, ehh, ehhh," Harry says, voice rising in pain as the dull needle is pushed in.

     "No pain, no gain," says Ryan, brightly, clipping the clear tubing together. The lines go red with Harry's blood. "Good job!" 

     "Pain is just weakness leaving the body," says Harry, playing along.

     To his left, a NxStage Hemiodialysis Machine. A beige cube about a foot wide, it's a glorified filter that takes his blood and removes the toxins — molecules of uric acid are much smaller than red or white corpuscles, so they pass through a membrane while the blood cells don't. 

     The machine thrums.

     Two million people worldwide are on dialysis for kidney failure. They are the lucky ones, because an estimated 20 million people need it, can't get it, and so die of the raft of medical problems that come with untreated kidney disease. If your kidneys can't remove waste, it builds up in your body, poisoning you. If your kidneys can't pass liquid efficiently, fluid also builds up — your lungs fill. You literally drown, slowly. It's a bad end.

     But dialysis kills you too, only more slowly. The human body is not designed to have all its blood drawn out and then pumped back in on a regular basis. It puts strain on the heart. Low blood pressure can lead to agonizing muscle cramps. Blood clots form. After five years, half of the patients on dialysis are dead. Harry has been on dialysis for three years, and suffered a series of medical crises. The clock is ticking.

     His kidneys were ruined 20 years ago, after he was diagnosed with fourth stage colon cancer. The doctors told him to go home, get his affairs in order, and die. His condition had a 4 percent survival rate.

     Instead he fought it — Harry is nothing if not a fighter. He has a lot to live for – two fantastic daughters to watch grow up, a wife he adores, a career he'd like to get back to. So survive he did. But chemotherapy is notoriously hard on kidneys — the chemicals that destroy tumors take their revenge leaving the body. The cancer was gone, but replaced by kidney failure. I thought of "Raiders of the Lost Ark." You escape being crushed by the giant stone ball, only to come face to face with the Amazon tribe and their poison darts. Thanks fate!

    What he really needs is not a lift to Mystic Avenue, but a new kidney. Honestly, I wasn't wild about stepping up to give one of mine. Selflessness is not a defining characteristic in our family.

     But someone had to, and if that someone was me, well, okay. I filled out the form as a potential donor. A year passed. Nothing — the network of donation is notoriously inefficient. I reapplied. Massachusetts General Hospital spat me back. Nope, not you. They don't say why. It wasn't just me. MassGeneral turned down at least six potential donors for Harry — myself, his wife, his sister, his daughters. Several friends. 

     If anybody reading this wants to give Harry a kidney, let me tell you, I've interviewed a number of kidney donors, and they uniformly insist it's the best thing they ever did. Hands down. I asked one if she had any regrets, and she said her only regret was that she couldn't give the other one too. If you ever wanted to be a hero and save a life, this is your chance.

     Until then, dialysis.

     The machine thrums — thwip thwip thwip thwip. An administrator swings by to see when Harry will return to home dialysis.

     "I want you all to be comfortable going home..." she says, meaning, if you blow away the smoke, "I want you home."

     The hours pass. Harry dozes. Sometimes his left leg twitches — muscle spasms are common. We enter into the fourth hour. "The home stretch!" Harry enthuses. Finally it's time to unhook and go home.

     "He did great, fantastic, not a single alarm," says Ryan, fussing with the machine. I ask Ryan what he's learned from years of administering dialysis to thousands of patients such as Harry. He thinks.

     "Just like most things that suck, it's your attitude towards it," he says.

     Can't argue that. Though if we want to argue, we can do so when we come back tomorrow at 7 a.m.

Why haven't you started listening to Chappell Roan yet?

Don’t let the wild costumes fool you. You can listen to music by Chappell Roan — seen here performing last week at Lollapalooza — while weeding in your yard in your quiet suburban neighborhood. (Anthony Vazquez, for the Sun-Times)

     New music enters your life in all sorts of ways. On the radio. Wafting through an open window.
     Regular contact with young people helps. When my boys were at home, I tried to take note of what they were listening to — too many self-absorbed dads force their own tastes on their offspring; it never occurs to them to pay attention to what their kids are playing instead.
     The problem in is finding new music for a person who is, umm, not exactly new themselves is inability to relate — most songs seem aimed at 15-year-olds, about parties and dancing and life-shattering heartbreak.
     You have to look for points of commonality. Which is how we met introspective tunesmith Josienne Clarke last January, after Apple Music served up her song "Chicago" and its enigmatic line, "It's not Chicago's fault that no one came to see me play."
     I tracked her down to her home on the coast of Scotland. She was very candid.
     Last week, a flat cardboard package arrived in the mail, a method of music transmission I don't experience much lately — sent by the artist, from her home on Isle of Bute, for 20 pounds, 45 pence —$26 US.
     Inside was a record album. Vinyl, which is back, big time. I do have a turntable and figured I'd drag an amp out of the basement and hook them up. Still, that would take effort. Then I paused, thought and plugged the name of the album, "Parenthesis. I" into Apple Music. Voila.
     It took several listens, but I liked her lack of cliche. The opening song, "Friendly Teeth," claims, "I want a truth so strong, it comes right up and bites you on the shoulder with its friendly teeth." Not a tired image, at least. Though I would have had that truth bite you in the ass — more emphatic — I suppose a singer can choose what part of her anatomy gets bitten.
     While I tend to focus on the lyrics, several songs on the album had such a smooth vibe, part Bjork, part Sade, that I really didn't care what she was saying.
     I was touched Clarke would go to the trouble of going to the post office and spend 20 pounds, 45p. But that isn't why I'm writing this.
     I had a thought I don't think I've seen spelled out before — as you grow older, you really ought to make an effort to seek out new music, to try not to be a person whose entire playlist is 45 years old.
     For instance. Friday morning I heard the name Chappell Roan for the first time: WBBM reporting on Lollapalooza. Though what I heard was "chaperone." Then at dinner, my wife and I were talking about the day's news, the singers name came up again, and I announced, "Let's give her a listen right now."

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Living legacy: Rotarian encourages world to donate kidneys

     It has been my privilege to write for Rotary Magazine for two years now, and I'm proud to see my story on the cover of the August issue. I've long been interested in kidney disease, because of my cousin Harry as well as having written about an altruistic kidney donation at the University of Chicago Hospitals.  So this story was a good match — it was great to get to know Anil Srivatsa, and I only wish Rotary had taken me up on my idea of sending me to India to hang out with him. You can read the shorter version of this story in the magazine here. Or you can slog through the original that I turned in below. On Tuesday I will share the sidebar, about going to dialysis with my cousin.

      India is big: 1.4 billion people over 1.2 million square miles. And dense — four times the population of the United States in a country covering less than a third of the area. 

     Meanwhile Anil Srivatsa is just one man, driving a robin's egg blue Land Rover across the enormous Indian subcontinent on a quixotic mission: to teach his fellow citizens, many of whom have only rudimentary education and embrace traditional folk beliefs, about the importance of organ donation.    

     "There is a deep cultural bias against it," he said. "There is much work to be done in this space, to counter misinformation and fear." 

     Of course he has help. The Mumbai-born life coach and entrepreneur is a Rotarian. Three months out of the year, he drives from town to town, speaking to a Rotary if there is one — there are more than 3,000 Rotary clubs in India — and assembling what villagers he can gather when there's not. He has done this in Africa, Europe and North America, and circles the globe to address business groups — in December he went to Bali to talk to Pepsi executives. 

     Srivatsa has spoken to more than 125,000 people on 550 occasions in 44 countries, 100 of those at Rotaries.

     To coordinate international support for his efforts, Srivatsa founded the Gift of Life Adventure Foundation, and on March 11, 2022 — World Kidney Day — he started the Rotary Action Group for Blood & Organ Donation, its goal to combat ignorance with information.

     "Love gets thwarted by fear, and I believe fear comes from an unanswered questions," said Srivatsa. "What I'm trying to do is answer those questions. I don't go out and tell people to become organ donors. That's a decision they can make once they learn that the fear is misplaced."

     Nor is he the only Rotarian spreading the word. Countless others have joined the effort, around the world. The Rotary of Norfolk, Virginia, to take one example, welcomed Wallace Green, named Virginia's Outstanding Senior Volunteer, who received a kidney transplant in 2015 and was moved to educate people about their importance. He told members that there are 120,000 people on the waiting list for organ transplants, and that you can be a donor at any age, and even if you have a range of serious medical conditions, such as HIV. 

     Despite this, every day 17 people on the kidney waiting list in the United States die for lack of a donated organ.

     Internationally, the need is even greater: as many as two million people around the world have kidney disease so severe they are eligible for a new kidney. They survive only through a debilitating process called dialysis where their blood is cycled through a machine and washed of the toxins that healthy kidneys usually remove. (See story below). 

     Rotaries not only invite speakers to relate their personal experience, but also bring in experts such as Lana Stevens, community educator at the Louisiana Organ Procurement Agency, who praised the work Rotary does to spread knowledge and banish fear.

     "I've spoken to many, many Rotaries over the years," said Stevens. "The Rotary really offers us a great, well-rounded way to educate a group of people, and led us to a lot of partnerships and contacts — particularly corporate contacts, who want to get their organizations involved." 

     Kidney disease touches so many lives, and Stevens has noticed how close many Rotary members are to the problem. 

     "At every Rotary I go to, there is some type of personal connection," she said. "Someone received a kidney or their spouse has. Someone in their family, or in the club. It's always nice to have those personal connections. Then everybody in that room can understand that this is happening in our backyard. Not just to somebody unconnected to us far away." 

     For Srivatsa, transplantation is certainly not an abstract or far off issue, but an intensely personal mission. Ten years ago his brother Arjun, a prominent neurosurgeon, was diagnosed with chronic renal failure, and needed a new kidney. Srivatsa donated his left kidney in September, 2014.

     "When people say I sacrificed a lot to give kidney to my brother, I don't believe that was sacrifice," Srivatsa said, pointing out that kidney donors lead "healthy, normal lives." 

     To show just how active post-transplant life can be, both brothers took a grueling mountain bicycle tour in 2015, six months after their operation. They also competed in the World Transplant Games in Britain in 2019. 

    Some organs — hearts, obviously— can only be donated after death; say after a fatal car accident. But human beings have two kidneys while needing only one to live a healthy life. So there are both deceased and living kidney donors — in equal number, actually, which poses something of a riddle that shows the complexities of the issue. Far, far more people commit to donating their kidneys after death than agree to serve as a living donor. Yet the ratio of post-mortem kidney donors to living donors is about 50-50. The reason being that living donors give their kidneys under planned, ideal circumstances. They're in the bed next to the recipient. While 95 percent of those who sign up to donate their kidneys, after death, are never able to do so, because circumstances aren't right – their kidneys cannot be harvested in time, or they become so sick that their kidneys are no longer viable. 

     While donating blood is not typically considered alongside organ donation, blood donation played a crucial role in ramping up Rotary's efforts to promote organ donation awareness.

     "Rotary has something called action groups — 21 of them, commissioned by Rotary International, attached to certain causes like environmental action or menstrual health," said Srivatsa. "When I petitioned the Rotary board for an organ donation action group, they declined … But I had a Plan B. There was an action group for blood donation. I went to the blood guys and said, 'Listen, blood and organ donation are the same thing. It's tissue, and you're donating that. We can merge this thing, into a blood and organ donation group.' They went and deliberated for some time, and came back and said, 'Yeah.'" 

     Organ transplant is not only a social and medical issue but a legal one. Great Britain changed its laws in 2020 from an opt-in system — citizens need to take the trouble to sign up to donate an organ after death — to an "opt-out" system, meaning that Britons must drop out if they don't want to participate. Rotaries around Britain held events to help explain the new law. 

     Earlier this year, the Biden administration announced that it is going to break up the United States' national donation system, the United Network for Organ Sharing, claiming that its monopoly on organs has made it inefficient.

     The law in India poses its own obstacles. The vast nation is divided into 28 states, and until recently citizens could only donate within their home state. As a trustee in the Gift of Life Adventure Foundation, Srivatsa helped change that law.

     "He is dedicated to it," said Prashant Ajmera, a fellow Rotarian. "He's the motive to bring Rotary together under one roof for organ donation. Organ donation is a worldwide cause, but it was never taken seriously. We would not be having this conversation if Anil wasn't there."

      Before 2023, in order to give or receive a kidney in India, you first had to establish residency in a particular state. Ajmera, an attorney in Ahmedabad in Western India, learned this when he tried to give his kidney to his wife Hemali two years ago and ran into a brick wall. He turned to Srivatsa for help.

     "She was going through dialysis, and the doctor recommended I register in the state of Gujarat," said Ajmerja. "I went to the hospital to register, and they said you have to bring in a domicile certificate from the state. I made the application and in four days I heard back from the police department — you are a Canadian citizen" — he has dual citizenship — "so are not entitled to register as a domicile in the state of Gujarat. So the hospital will not take you or your wife as a patient." 

     It's as if a resident of New Jersey couldn't donate a kidney that would be transplanted across the river at a hospital in New York City. 

     "As a lawyer, it didn't make sense to me," said Ajmera, who did his research and discovered that the domicile requirement was a significant drag on the transplant rate of organs nationwide. 

     "It was not only a problem for me, but it was affecting people across India," said Ajmera, who decided to take the matter to India's high court. To do that, however, he first he had to find an organization to press the suit. 

     "In taking the Supreme Court case, one of legal requirements was the need to have an NGO who would become a petitioner. We used Anil's Gift of Life Adventure Foundation to file a class action. It all happened because of the Rotary." 

     The law was changed in November 2022. Now "the law very clearly provides any citizen of India can go to any other state and register," Ajmera said. "Doctors came to me and told me this was the big hurdle, and it has been removed, making one less complication in the process." 

     In February 2023, his wife got her kidney transplant. Here too Rotary was essential. 

     "When I was facing this difficulty, one of the doctors was a member in this club. He said, 'Let's go to this hospital....'" said Ajmera, who has been a member for 20 years. "It's all Rotary connections — Rotary has helped me in all my life, connection after connection, doctor after doctor, all because of wonderful Rotary." 

     The social connections that Rotary offers take on life-or-death significance when the issue is organ donation. Take the story of a Meta program manager in Seattle, Sanketh Arvapally, whose brother needed a kidney.

     "My family needed me," remembered Arvapally. "My brother was suffering from kidney disease. I stepped forward because it was very painful to see my brother go through this."

     But Arvapally's wife had reservations.

     "While it was very natural to me, it was very difficult for my wife to absorb this," he said. "She worried about what could happen to me. Totally understandable. She was in a dilemma. She couldn't say no — it was my brother, my family. But she couldn't say yes, because she was selfishly looking out for herself, which is natural." 

     "In the back of his mind, he was nervous, he was anxious," said Krishna Arvapally, an advertising technology specialist suffering from renal failure. "His wife was even more nervous, anxious, scared." 

    Krishna knew Anil Srivatsa, and asked him to talk with his brother about being a donor. 

     "My brother knew him from his entrepreneurial network, and introduced me to him," said Sanketh. "He said, 'Why don't you go talk to Anil?' I called him and our conversation lasted two hours. He just ran me through all the challenges he'd faced; how it's no big deal. He made my anxiousness ease. He comforted me. Anil was truly an inspiration for my decision. In seeing him, being healthy post transplant, that definitely cemented my decision." 

     To help others in that situation, in late 2023 Srivatsa's foundation published a 200-page book of transplant data, "A Rotarian's Guide to Organ Donation: Celebrate Life by Giving Life," assembled by Hemali Ajmera.

     "It's designed to tell people what basic organ donation is, offering a lot of statistics and information about what different projects do, the need-to-know facts,"Srivatsa said. "Because wrong information can lead to wrong decisions. I would like to see every country have a book like this for Rotarians, specific to their situation." 

     Rotary is only beginning its organ donation push. No one expects progress here to be easy — Rotary spent almost half a century working to eradicate polio. But the organization is in it for the long haul.

     "Like polio, organ donation is a worldwide cause, and Rotary can play a wider role in this one, not only India but elsewhere," said Ajmera.

    "Rotary was enlisted to get polio out of the way," said Sirvatsa. "It took them 40 years, and they did so doggedly. There is a pandemic silently happening with organ failure that nobody is willing to recognize until it happens to them. It is growing and coming into your own neighborhood, including your family. Prevention is a big part of our push. Rotarians are on the ground. They work with their communities, have relationships with their communities. Me passing through, making one passionate speech then walking away is not optimum. You need someone on the ground always there pushing the agenda. Rotary understands that polio is almost out of the way. What's next?"

Olympic flashback 2004: "The entire NBC Olympic attitude was bizarre..."

The Children of Nathan Starr, by Ambrose Andrews (Metropolitan Museum of Art)

     Maybe I'm getting soft with age. But the Olympic Games just don't bother me as much as they used to do. In the past, I've denounced gymnastics as a form of child abuse, and inveighed against the broadcasts. Now every night my wife chirps, "Let's watch the Olympics!" and I agree. An hour passes pleasantly enough, watching swimmers, runners, puffed up back stories. And my reaction is ... nothing. Maybe vaguely wonder why Snoop Dogg is showing up every 15 minutes; I thought comic TV mascot/sidekicks went out years ago. 

    Or the other night we caught a badminton match between China and Taiwan, though their athletes had to humiliatingly label themselves "Chinese Taipei," a salve to their gigantic neighbor's bellicose acquisitiveness. I suppose they have to, but it just makes the day of their complete subjugation come closer. You can't cave into totalitarianism, because it never ends. I guess "Palestinian Israel" is next.

    Twenty years ago was different. I couldn't tune in without putting NBC over my knee.


Aw shucks, I'm not the Greatest ...

     Caught the Olympics on TV the other night — the family was watching and I figured, you know, togetherness. Had a hard time enduring the banality of the commentary, however. That guy, Tom Hammond, should be shot. He was doing commentary for the 100 meter dash, and just couldn't get over the fact that one of the runners, Maurice Green, reading out of the Muhammad Ali playbook, had preened about how great he is.
     "OK, we get it Tom," I snarled at the set, startling the children, "not humble enough for you."
     The entire NBC Olympic attitude was bizarre, grist for a dozen grad student theses. They want you to go after your dream, go for gold, to believe in yourself.
     But never say you're going to win. Never brag. Asked to assess your chances, blush and stammer and grind your toe into the ground. After winning, thank God, your coach and sponsors. Carly Patterson actually thanked Visa, and told Katie Couric, "You never think you're going to be on a McDonald's bag. It's, like, awesome."
     I, like, bet it is, Carly. Frankly — and I only say this because it isn't a charge I often level — I think the NBC coverage skirted close to racism. Thanking Mom and Visa — the White Way — is just dandy. But let a victorious black athlete strut a little, indulge in a little in-your-face posturing, and NBC condescendingly describes it as "antics." What's the point of bringing the world together to compete if NBC demands that all the athletes react in exactly the same way?

              —Originally published in the Sun-Times, Aug. 25, 2004

A museum at the Cook County medical examiner's office isn't a bad idea

 

Damien Hirst, from "Treasures of the Wreck of the Incredible."

     Many visitors to the Cook County Medical Examiner's office are dead. I almost said "most visitors," but honestly, haven't done the math — there could be more forensic technicians, cops doing paperwork, janitors mopping up and medical student observers than there are actual corpses.
     But I imagine it's a footrace, metaphorically, between those fortunate enough to walk out at the end of the day and the 2,600 or so a year who can only leave on a gurney.
     So as someone who went to the place several times over the years and emerged alive, I should say that while I have no particular affection for the building at 2121 W. Harrison St. — another example of 1970s concrete brutalism that can't be dynamited quickly enough — now that it seems slated to move to the hoppin' Fulton Market district, as reported in the Sun-Times Wednesday, the institution should be given its due.
     There's time, yes. But I have an idea for the new facility, and I'd like to toss it out early, while it could do some good.
     The idea came from the original Cook County medical examiner, Dr. Robert J. Stein. Prior to Dr. Stein, we had coroners, a political position, and a notorious one.
     "Coroners were political wildmen," Mike Royko wrote in 1976 after the office was voted out of existence, noting their devotion to showboating and stripping bodies of valuables. "They loved to get all the publicity they could. So their main job was to rush to the scene of big murders and pose for pictures, pointing a finger or cigar at the body."
     That self-promotion rubbed off on Dr. Stein, to be honest. He relished the attention of the press — that's how in 1991 the Sun-Times was invited into his office, with its statue of dancing skeletons and mass murderer John Wayne Gacy's oil paintings of clowns.
     I asked him about what struck many as his unseemly enthusiasm for his job.
     "I'm a doctor," he replied. "Like all doctors, I'm trying to find out what's wrong with people. They just happen to be dead."
     A benefit, he said, because he didn't have to worry about hurting his patients. They weren't going to get deader.
     That made sense to me.
     Not only was Dr. Stein enthusiastic, but he wanted to share his passion with the public. In January, 1984, in he announced his intention to create a museum in the basement of the medical examiner's office.
     The Sun-Times, I'm sorry to say, dubbed it an "insane scheme" and "the most revolting idea by a public official for all of 1984. Maybe 1985 and 1986, too."

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Flashback 2005: Irvin Goldberg, 80; helped found Bellwood Boys and Girls Club

     My father-in-law, Irvin Goldberg, was born on Aug. 1, 1924, 100 years ago today. Tonight we're hosting the kind of low-key family gathering he loved — an ice cream social. I thought I should share the obituary of him below, for the edification of those new to the clan who never had the pleasure of meeting him. Nice guys have the reputation of being creampuffs, but Irv was a rare blend of kind and tough. He drove a tank during World War II. Afterward, he ran a business bending metal tubes into chairs and table bases. "I later discovered," I used to say, "that machines were involved."

    What I remember most about writing this obit is that, while I knew Irv had founded the Bellwood Boys Club — I had spoken at one of their fundraisers, and he had some kind of medal framed on the wall — I didn't realize exactly what that meant in real human terms until I phoned the club, and ended up talking to someone who shed tears, explaining how Irv Goldberg had saved his life. He touched a lot of lives, including mine, and almost 20 years after his death, I remember him as a rock, a pole star still to those of us fortunate enough to have known him.

     Most people would have stopped volunteering at the Bellwood Boys and Girls Club when they moved away from Bellwood. But Irvin Goldberg was not most people. For 30 years after he and his family left Bellwood for Skokie, he returned to what is now the Boys and Girls Club of West Cook County to help the kids and the club.
     "Everything about his life was about helping someone else," said Ed Sheehan, the current executive director, who as a child of 8 joined the club and met Mr. Goldberg. "In all the years I've known him, I don't think he performed a selfish act. I don't think he performed a selfish act in his whole life."
     Mr. Goldberg, a man of uncommon generosity, died Sunday in Skokie at age 80 after a long battle with cancer.
     "He was a good citizen and had a good heart for people," said Pat Gartland, who worked with Mr. Goldberg and is now executive director of the Boys and Girls Club in Springfield, Mo. "He had dedication to the kids, an openness to kids of all races, religions and backgrounds."
     In addition to his work with the Boys and Girls Club, Mr. Goldberg was a longtime volunteer for the Ark, delivering food and medicine to seniors who often were younger than himself. He was also an active member of Kesser Maariv Synagogue.
     Mr. Goldberg was born in Philadelphia, the son of Jaye and Edward Goldberg, a mailman. His family came to Chicago when he was an infant. He graduated from Crane High School and served in the U.S. Army during World War II, driving a tank.
     After the war, with partners Mike Rogalski and Charlie Worel, he began a company, Rogal Tube Bending in Chicago, and, along with his wife helped found the Boys Club to give kids in the western suburb something to do.
     "He and Dorothy were really responsible for the fact that the Boys and Girls Club is here today," said Sheehan. "They really were the moving force behind the club coming to Bellwood in 1956. He just touched so many people."
     Survivors include his wife of 60 years, Dorothy; sons Alan and Donald; daughters Janice Sackett and Edie Steinberg (wife of Sun-Times columnist Neil Steinberg); as well as seven grandchildren and a sister, Arlene Rakoncay.
     Services are at 11 a.m. today at Weinstein Funeral Home in Wilmette. Burial follows at Oak Ridge Jewish Cemetery in Hillside.

     — Originally published in the Sun-Times, Jan. 4, 2005

The best offense is a good defense

     Generally, I tune out the Olympics. For the past 206 weeks I haven't thought about competitive swimming. Why start now?
     But I do like pageantry. So my wife and I watched the opening ceremonies Friday, a rolling street party with boatloads of athletes floating down the Seine, waving happily.

Metropolitan Museum of Art

   The ceremonies were lauded. "A daring feat," The Washington Post gushed. "Paris transformed into a spectacular stage."
     We found the opening dull.
     "It must be dramatic if you're there," my wife kept saying, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt. To me, it seemed like standard Cirque du Soleil street theatrics with a few celebrity cameos thrown in, though I'm willing to assume the fault is with me. Like "The Bear," the opening ceremony is something everybody loves, but I just don't get. (Have you ever been to an Italian beef joint? Did you see a dozen people in the back, "yes chef"-ing each other? I just didn't buy the premise.)
     Internalization of dislike — my negative reaction is my problem, not yours — is an important, though rare, survival skill. A more popular route is to become offended, get ruffled, register displeasure and try to rearrange life to suit your whims. A path I just don't understand. You go over someone's house and don't like the wallpaper, you don't then take your fingernails and try to claw it down.
     Who does that?
     A lot of folks. People are constantly getting offended and registering that offense. The opening ceremonies, which I shrugged off, drew howls of condemnation from the religious right.
     “Last night’s mockery of the Last Supper was shocking and insulting to Christian people around the world,” Speaker Mike Johnson, R-Louisiana, announced on X. I could give another dozen examples.
     As you may have heard, they were wrong — even though the scene involved people at a table, the opening ceremony's artistic director has said it was supposed to be a Greek bacchanalia — Greece being the place where the Olympics originated. (The local Olympic committee, nonetheless, felt compelled to apologize.)
     France is a truly secular society, as opposed to the lip service we settle for here. The French don't need to mock Christianity. They've done one better — they've exiled it from its position astride the body politic. It's against the law to wear a cross to public school in France — or a yarmulke, or a burqa, I hasten to add; don't want to get anybody into a quivering funk thinking they are being singled out.

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