Eighty eight and going strong

It seems that every other person in Phoenix is from Chicago. The waitress at Macaroni Grill, the cashier at Ikea, the sales person at Nordstrom, even the dentist I randomly selected.

I've always known that growing up and going to college in Arizona, but back then I didn't have my own Chicago connection.

Freshman year at ASU, I quickly discovered that the girls who put on bikinis in February were mostly from Chicago or New York. They sunbathed while we natives wore sweaters and jeans. They were bound and determined to go home with a tan for spring break. And they did while the rest of us wore winter white.

When we originally moved from New Jersey to Phoenix in the 1960's, we stayed in a downtown Phoenix hotel owned by Greeks from Chicago, then moved to a bungalow owned by another Greek family from Chicago. We soon discovered Chicago Greeks populated Holy Trinity Church.

George and Olympia and their sons Louie and Steve moved to the desert for the same reason we left the east coast. Louie had out of control asthma like my mother. Back then doctors sent their patients packing citing the therapeutic benefits of a hot, dry climate.

I was in third grade the year Louie died. One morning he went to the hospital for an asthma attack and never came home. He was given the wrong medication or too much of the right medication – a mistake that sent his mother into a tirade of grief. She mourned her son by lashing out against the doctor who should have helped him and anyone else within her range, including my grandmother. “You’ll know how I feel when this happens to your daughter,” she said, referring to my mother’s asthma.

I don’t know how old Louie was but I suspect he was younger than he looked. I never saw him in anything but a short sleeve white button down shirt, dark tie and black pants. His had a receding hairline and was noticeably pale for living in Phoenix. He lived at home – the beloved son of a devoted mother. Olympia was angry and distraught after his death. She only wore black dresses. never giving up her grief.

Louie's father was sad and silent. His brother smoked too much and blended into the background, knowing that the favorite was gone and the best he could do for the rest of his life was take second place to his brother’s memory.

It's been about 47 years since Louie died. My mother celebrated her 88th birthday yesterday on January 31 - living with asthma but outliving Olympia's curse.