Update on Norman - May 7, 2009

Thumbs up from Norman

Treading Water

Swimming

Fishing for the Big One

You may recall the story of Norman, who received open heart surgery for a valve replacement thanks to Dad's generosity. (See "Memories of Dad -part III") Here's the latest photos of Norman 8 months post surgery together with a report from Patti at Capstone Ministries.

"On the 23rd of December I put a mark on the wall inside our pantry to measure Norman's height. On the 25th of April I measured and marked again. Norman has grown 1 1/2 inches in 4 months!! Another boy who has been part of our family here since early 2002 is Bennard. "Beno" (a former street boy) is schooling in Mombasa and comes home during the school breaks. He has been home since early April. He and Norman have really bonded.

Beno loves to work in the yard, so he and I had a lot of "remodel" projects in the past few weeks. After class time Norman would help. He was able to carry large rocks, push the wheel barrow full of cow dung, he transplanted flowers and used the hoe. I'm amazed at his strength. He is such a happy boy now.

I hope Norman will participate in working his father's shamba the same way he helped here. I just pray that his father will work WITH him and not just send him out to do the work. Norman loved going out and helping my husband Dan with harvesting the moringa trees....his joy is in the fellowship which makes the work fun.

Norman's father Alex still needs counseling to come out of a dependancy attitude (so common to Kenya). When Alex was here last he told me that I had promised him many things. I had to clarify that when we talk about hopes and dreams, about what is possible,...these are not "promises". Capstone's purpose and vision is to restore the child back to the family and to help the family to function together ...NOT to promise them things.

Alex somehow had the impression that we would put in a well for him. I told him that if he needs a well then it's up to him to proceed, to do what he can and if he finds a roadblock then Capstone will consider how to assist...but that is not a promise. This is one of our greatest challenges and the reason that Dan and I often remain in the background.... when people see the mzungu (white people) they think there is a lot of money so automatically the hand of begging goes out. We are here to empower - first spiritually - and to assist physically if necessary but NOT to create a greater sense of dependancy.

Another cute story.....Norman decided he wanted to try his luck at catching a talapia (fish) from our pond. Beno set him up with a hook, a line and a piece of styrafoam for a bobber. In one day he caught 4 large talapia. Talk about a boy in heaven!! The next morning he went out early and caught another one....but then he realized he didn't ask permission to fish again so he threw it back and came and asked me if he could fish. I really laughed that he was so faithful and tried to undo his mistake. I think he finally caught the same fish again. Now it's time to restock the pond.

So, thats some of the inside info on Norman. Norman will return to the Doctor in early July for another ECHO on his heart. Then we'll see him again for the Capstone Camp in August. I envision Dan and I taking the "grandparent" role and having Norman visit during the school breaks. We won't go to visit him in his home because our presence will create problems among the villagers who see the white people coming. Home visits will be made by the Capstone staff. I've really grown to love this boy. I grow to love all our boys as I get to know them at the Transition Center but with Norman it has become a very special bond. I try to guard my heart and not become too attached but with Norman that was impossible...I'm attached."

Patty

(quoted from Patty Schmelzer's email with permission)

Memories of Dad V - Requiem

DAD IN HIS FAVORITE CAR -1967 JAGUAR XKE
WEDDING PHOTO 1946

FULL MILITARY HONORS -FEB 17, 2009

ONE GIANT LEAP FOR A MAJOR

Dad passed away on February 5, 2009 and was buried with full military honors at Fort Logan National Cemetary, Denver, Colorado on February 17, 2009
****************************

Obituary for My Dad

Last night at 10:40 PM Manley Lafayette Bean, USAF Retired,
a reluctant warrior and former Arkansas farm-boy,
kicked the traces.

With Pegasus high overhead, the former Air Force major
relinquished his tight hold on the flying trapeze,
leaped to the horse's back,
grabbed a handful of celestial mane
and soared past the astonished moon to parts unknown.

At 1:26AM, his one and only son lights two candles.
"Bye Dad," says Mark with a tear.
“Safe journey and a happy landing."

At 3:30 AM the Angel of Transformation makes her rounds.
"Bye caterpillar," the Angel says softly
A new butterfly flutters
"Bye tadpole," the Angel says softly.
A tiny frog croaks.

At 4:00 AM the cries of newborn babies fill the skies.
The Angel smiles softly.
Feb 5,2009

.

.

Full Military Honors

A perfect “V” of geese flies close formation
Whipped by the fierce west wind.
White caps break upon the lake
Under a windswept sky.

The Angel of Surrender and Release
Stands to attention.
Eight mourners, eyes front,
Witness the careful folding of the flag.

My gaze transfixed upon a square of light.
A single withered leaf glowing in the sun.
I glance away. The airman gives the flag to Mom.
I look back. The withered leaf is gone.

I do not see the shovel
Nor hear the earth upon the casket lid.
The bugle sounds farewell.
Rifles ring out piercing my windswept heart.

I surrender, wings furled, dropping like a shot.
The flight of geese does not break rank.
They carry on.
Can I?
March 7, 2009 Daktari

Things I miss - Memories of Dad III

Norman Boarding Plane to Nairobi
Patty and Norman

Norman with his Dad Alex after Surgery

Things I Miss

I miss Dad’s words of wisdom and gentle advice. Like Mr. Rogers , he knew how to use a few words wisely. “Simpler is better,” as Mr. Rogers used to say.

I miss his kindness and courage , too. He cared about his family, his country, the work he did and the employees who worked for him. He cared a lot about politics and was happy to have lived to see Obama sworn in as President.

Dad even cared about people he never met and didn’t even know. Last August, after he had moved from his condo to the Frasier Meadows Nursing Home, I visited Dad in Boulder to see how things were going. He was busy getting the sink lowered, hooking his computer up to WiFi and organizing a hunger strike among his fellow inmates to get pot roast instead of steak tartare served at Sunday dinner.

We were sitting around in his room when he said, “You know, I would really like to do something in Africa.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Something that would help someone who needs a hand,” Dad replied. “I know your project in Kenya does a lot of good and I would like to help.”

“You could make a donation to one of our programs,” I offered. “Maybe electricity for the health center or books for the reading program.”

“That would be OK, I guess,” said Dad dubiously. “But I would really like to do something more personal. Maybe you can think of an individual who really needs my help.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised.

A little while after this conversation, I received an email from a friend and fellow Rotarian, Dan Schmelzer in Kisumu, Kenya. Dan and his wife Patty run a program to re-patriate street boys in Kisumu to their families of origin. A homeless street boy will stay at Dan and Patty’s for up to six months while his family is located and contact between parent and child is re-established. The family is enabled to take care of their returning son – financially, emotionally and spiritually. And finally the prodigal son returns home.

Norman was one of these boys. Dan had written because Norman needed a heart operation to replace two badly damaged heart valves. At age 12 Norman had been banished from his home by his father for ‘laziness’. Alex, Norman's father, complained that he would send the boy to school and Norman would never get there. He would tell him to sweep the compound at home and 10 minutes later Norman would be sitting under a tree with the job only half done. “I can’t have a son who is lazy and good for nothing,” said Norman’s Dad.

To Patty, Norman seemed genuinely sorry that he couldn’t do his Dad’s bidding.
“He says you’re lazy,” she told the boy.
“I’m not lazy. I’m just tired,” replied Norman. “I’m so tired that I can’t walk as far as the school. When I work in the compound I become out of breath and have to sit down.”

Patty and Dan took the boy to a doctor who did an X-ray of Norman’s chest. His heart was ‘as big as a soccer ball’ they were told. They took Norman and his father to Nairobi to see the most famous heart surgeon at Nairobi Hospital. They were told that Norman was in congestive heart failure and wouldn’t live a year without surgery to replace two of his four heart valves. The operation would cost $4,000 and that didn’t include the cost of the valves.

So Dan was emailing Rotarians that he knew in the U.S., to ask for money to give Norman a heart operation. So far, Rotarians in Denver had convinced St. Francis Hospital to donate two state-of-the-art bio-prosthetic heart valves for free. But they had only raised $500 of the money needed for the surgery. He was writing because, despite medications, Norman’s condition was worse. Norman needed an operation right away.

I called Dad on the phone and told him the situation.
“I can do that,” he said. “Where do I send the money.”

My sister arranged to wire transfer $3500 to Barclay’s Bank in Kenya. Norman, Alex and Patty flew to Nairobi. The operation was a success. Now Norman has a new heart and is enrolled in school. He can play soccer and enjoys reading. He only reads at a second grade level and he is very small for his age, but he is learning and growing rapidly.

Norman and Dad never met one another. I’m hoping to visit Norman when I travel to Kenya in June. I’m sure Dad will be happy when that moment comes. Thanks to my Dad’s ‘open hearted’ charity, a new life has opened up for Norman and his Dad. Norman has a new heart and Alex has a son who will never be lazy again.

In the Mishna Torah, the great doctor/rabbi, Maimonides describes eight levels of giving charity to others. At the highest level a man gives his own coat to another who he does not know and he who receives it does not know the one who has given him the coat.

When I think of my Dad, I will always remember that even while facing his own approaching illness and death, he was able to reach out and give the gift of life to someone he didn’t even know. Somewhere in Africa a small boy is running and a father is watching. Thanks to my Dad.
DAKTARI

Memories of Dad I - March 8, 2009

Manley Lafayette Bean - (Feb 20, 1921- Feb 4, 2009)
U.S. Army- Fort Logan, Colorado
April 17, 1943


Our Chateau in St. Mihiel, France -1954-56

Manley L. Bean, 87, of Lafayette, Colorado died peacefully on February 4, 2009 after a long illness. Born February 20, 1921 in Clarksville, Arkansas, he joined the U.S. Army in 1937 and served in WWII and the Korean Conflict. He married his wife Geraldine Bowles of Fort Morgan in 1946. He retired from the Air Force in 1958 and moved to Colorado where he attended C.U. He graduated with an M.B.A. and worked for many years as Comptroller at the National Center for Atmospheric Research in Boulder. Manley then joined the private sector to become a Vice President of Neoplan, USA. He helped to plan and build the Neoplan bus manufacturing plant at Lamar.

(This is the first of a series of memories of DAD.)

My first memories of Dad go back to our time in St. Mihiel, France – 1954-1956
Dad was a Captain in the U.S. Air Force and commanded an ammunition depot on the Meuse River in Northern France. Mom, Susan and I arrived about three months into his first command. For the next three years, it was just the four of us living on the second floor of a villa in this small French town.

Our villa had previously been the headquarters of the German commandant during the occupation. The house had bunkers in the basement, blackout paint on the windows and carrier pigeons in the dovecote to remind us that D-Day had happened just a decade before.

We had no TV. I remember listening to the English language Armed Services Radio at night in the living room of our small chateau. Before bed, Dad and I would play a game of dominoes while listening to Lawrence Welk or Captain America. Dad and dominoes taught me how to add numbers in my head. I’ve been blessed with good math skills ever since.

I remember my first trip to the local ‘salon de coiffeur’. I am 7 years old and Dad is taking me for my first ‘store-bought’ haircut. Prior to this outing, Mom always cut my hair at home.

Monsieur le barbier places a board over the leather armrests of the big barber chair. I clamber aboard. A large serviette is tucked around my neck and secured with a straight pin. The shop is not electrified. I sit bolt upright and scared stiff. Dad watches from the row of chairs. I can see my head in the mirror. The barber squeezes his clippers – snick, snack. They open and shut a few inches from my ear. I close my eyes so as not to see any blood.

Fortunately, the barber is a pro, comme il le fait Edouard Scissorhands. No nicks and no red-stuff. The manual clippers pinch, however, if I flinch even the tiniest bit. After an eternity the barber whips off the drape with a loud “Voila, c’est finis!”. I open my eyes. I’m still alive! “Merci beaucoups!” I exclaim in relief. Dad takes me to the confiserie for a bonbon as a reward for bravery under fire.

The second trip to the barber was not nearly as bad. For the rest of my childhood and adolescence, haircuts will be a guy thing – something Dad and I always do together. I always go first, then Dad. I read ‘Boys Life’ and ‘Field and Stream’ while I wait patiently for him to finish. My hairstyle hasn’t changed since I was 7 years old. I still comb it the way Dad taught me. I will always remember him every time I run a comb through my hair.

(By the way, you can still purchase a flask of Vitalis at your local Walgreens. I did last week just to refesh my memory of the barbershops of my youth. The odor hasn’t changed a bit. It’s a time-travel-in-a-bottle experience for just six bucks and change.)

At eight, Dad and I collect stamps together. He likes American and Greek stamps. I like Mozambique and Tanganyika. We both like the smell of carbon tetrachloride. We pour the ‘carbon-tet’ into a small black tray and this allows us to see the ‘secret’ watermarks that show through the special paper from which stamps are made. It’s a protection against unscrupulous stamp forgers (if there ever was such a thing). The black letters and symbols are like a magic secret code revealed only to us numismatists in our private laboratory.

Later, I lick the glassine stamp hinge and place it carefully on the upper 1/3 of the back of my new stamp with special stamp tweezers. Then I lick the long end of the hinge and apply it carefully to the stamp album, attaching the stamp in its proper place among the stamps of its own country. “Any job worth doing, is worth doing well,” says Dad. “Good job.”

These colored stamps bring the world to me and my Dad. At night, I dream of traveling to faraway places. I’ve never stopped. I’ve been to Greece and will be going to Tanzania this summer. I’ve not yet made it to Mozambique, but it’s on my list.

DAKTARI