His wife left him in 1950 and he never got over it. He cooked at the hotel where I bellhopped, and every time he got paid he’d go out and buy T-bones and cook two and give me one. He drank all the time, and every time he got drunk he’d say the same things over and over. “Let’s see if you can name all the teams in the Big Ten. Let’s see if I can do it. I can do it.” He never did. He’d always leave one out. He’d say, “Did I say Ohio, the Ohio State Buckeyes? Did I?”
He had bad congestion and coughed all the time. The drinking made it worse. He drank beer in the head and after his shift he’d be drunk and want me to go with him in the elevator. The motion of the elevator made him sick and phlegm would dribble out his mouth. Then he’d want me to go to his room. He didn’t like being alone there. Every time I’d go up with him in the elevator I’d end up putting him to bed, clothes and all. No matter which way you laid him, faceup or facedown, he’d put his hands on his crotch and start hunching. If I started to leave he’d begin to cry. I’d have to sit with him until he fell asleep.