Catherine Walker, 98, calling a bingo game at The Pointe at Kilpatrick skilled nursing facility in Crestwood, Illinois. With her 99th birthday coming up, Walker has led a remarkable life. She spends most of her time volunteering at the home's Alzheimer's unit.
Photo by David Pierini, Chicago Tribune
By Rex W. Huppke, Tribune Reporter
Catherine Walker is 98 years old, soon to be 99, and if she wants to sing a song about beer, she'll sing it. If someone's bugging her, she'll say so. And if you ask about her carrot cake recipe, she'll tell you it's unrivaled.
"I make damn good cake." Her unblinking eyes suggest you not argue.
This white-haired woman's pep and vitality make her a force of nature at The Pointe at Kilpatrick, a senior living center in Crestwood. And her devotion to a certain group at the center has also made her a source of unfailing goodwill.
Walker has been a resident at The Pointe for five years. Eschewing an array of daily activities and social events, she spends her time volunteering -- often more than 40 hours a week -- in the New Day Memory Support Area, a wing of the facility devoted to residents who have Alzheimer's disease.
It's there that she has found a late-in-life joy, lending her razor-sharp memory and shoot-from-the-hip humor to a room full of people who at times struggle to recall their last names.
"I love these people here," Walker says, standing at a table, helping a group of her friends make beaded jewelry. "I just love them. There's Christine -- she's my singing partner. And Pat down there. We just have a good old time."
And with a quick "Ohhhhh ..." from Walker, the group breaks into song: "... I want a beer, just like the beer that pickled dear old Dad ..."
Joyce Rinkevicius coordinates activities and watches over the center's residents who have Alzheimer's. Mention Walker and Rinkevicius says, without hyperbole, "That lady's my right arm."
"You have people who live, who go through their lives and do amazing things and never get noticed. That's Catherine. She's someone who has made a difference in all these people's lives. Without her around so much they might otherwise be sitting and staring into space. She keeps them going."
They meet up daily in a small dining room with a vaulted ceiling and ample natural light, and they play bingo, string beads, swap jokes and, above all, talk. Once Walker gets going about her nearly 10 decades of living, she's hard to stop.
Raised on the South Side with three brothers who taught her how to fight. Plagued by polio at 18, told she'd never walk, proved the doctors wrong. Learned to drive stick on a 1925 Ford. Made gas masks during World War II. Worked nearly 20 years on the line at a radio factory, led a walkout over poor wages and won. Married, no kids, husband died a quarter century ago. She kept going.
The only downside of such a long and headstrong life is that she outlived all her loved ones.
"I've lost all of my people. I've got no one left," Walker says, without a hint of self-pity. "This is my family now."
About a year ago, Rinkevicius asked Walker if she'd consider helping out in the Alzheimer's wing, an area many other residents are hesitant to visit.
Walker said she would give it a try. Her no-nonsense personality swiftly became memorable in a room where memories come and go, and a symbiotic relationship evolved -- Walker liked the residents because they weren't afraid to joke around, and the residents liked Walker because she didn't coddle them or give a hoot when they forgot things.
"There's empathy in her, this is where her heart is," Rinkevicius said. "This is where she likes to go because she can just be herself. She doesn't baby them. She's just their friend."
Pat Baldinelli is one of the 18 people who live on the wing. She considers Walker the glue that holds them together.
"She's just so nice to have around," Baldinelli said. "She has had a great life, and she's still living. There's always something to look forward to when she's around."
Walker often brings her beads with her, standing up straight as a board by the table and stringing colorful necklaces and bracelets while she talks. She sells her jewelry at a nearby hospital and at an annual bake sale at the assisted-living facility. The money helps pay for other outings and activities for her friends -- Pat and Rosie, Christine and Ernie, Jackie and Doris.
"When I come here, I have a ball, and they're all such good sports," Walker said. "I like to be around people who are happy. I like life, and I think that's probably why I'm still living."
On Monday, Walker will forgo one of her beloved casino trips -- a man 15 years her junior flirted with her by the penny slots last time -- to stay home and celebrate her 99th birthday with the people she loves.
"You've got to have love in your life," she said. "And I'm lucky I've got so much." [rc]
Rex W. Huppke
rhuppke@tribune.com
Copyright © 2009, Chicago Tribune
August 22, 2009
USA: Nearly 99, Catherine Walker does 'amazing things' with Alzheimer's patients
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CHICAGO, Illinois / Chicago Tribune / Chicagoland / August 22, 2009
Catherine Walker, 98, calling a bingo game at The Pointe at Kilpatrick skilled nursing facility in Crestwood, Illinois. With her 99th birthday coming up, Walker has led a remarkable life. She spends most of her time volunteering at the home's Alzheimer's unit.
Photo by David Pierini, Chicago Tribune
By Rex W. Huppke, Tribune Reporter
Catherine Walker is 98 years old, soon to be 99, and if she wants to sing a song about beer, she'll sing it. If someone's bugging her, she'll say so. And if you ask about her carrot cake recipe, she'll tell you it's unrivaled.
"I make damn good cake." Her unblinking eyes suggest you not argue.
This white-haired woman's pep and vitality make her a force of nature at The Pointe at Kilpatrick, a senior living center in Crestwood. And her devotion to a certain group at the center has also made her a source of unfailing goodwill.
Walker has been a resident at The Pointe for five years. Eschewing an array of daily activities and social events, she spends her time volunteering -- often more than 40 hours a week -- in the New Day Memory Support Area, a wing of the facility devoted to residents who have Alzheimer's disease.
It's there that she has found a late-in-life joy, lending her razor-sharp memory and shoot-from-the-hip humor to a room full of people who at times struggle to recall their last names.
"I love these people here," Walker says, standing at a table, helping a group of her friends make beaded jewelry. "I just love them. There's Christine -- she's my singing partner. And Pat down there. We just have a good old time."
And with a quick "Ohhhhh ..." from Walker, the group breaks into song: "... I want a beer, just like the beer that pickled dear old Dad ..."
Joyce Rinkevicius coordinates activities and watches over the center's residents who have Alzheimer's. Mention Walker and Rinkevicius says, without hyperbole, "That lady's my right arm."
"You have people who live, who go through their lives and do amazing things and never get noticed. That's Catherine. She's someone who has made a difference in all these people's lives. Without her around so much they might otherwise be sitting and staring into space. She keeps them going."
They meet up daily in a small dining room with a vaulted ceiling and ample natural light, and they play bingo, string beads, swap jokes and, above all, talk. Once Walker gets going about her nearly 10 decades of living, she's hard to stop.
Raised on the South Side with three brothers who taught her how to fight. Plagued by polio at 18, told she'd never walk, proved the doctors wrong. Learned to drive stick on a 1925 Ford. Made gas masks during World War II. Worked nearly 20 years on the line at a radio factory, led a walkout over poor wages and won. Married, no kids, husband died a quarter century ago. She kept going.
The only downside of such a long and headstrong life is that she outlived all her loved ones.
"I've lost all of my people. I've got no one left," Walker says, without a hint of self-pity. "This is my family now."
About a year ago, Rinkevicius asked Walker if she'd consider helping out in the Alzheimer's wing, an area many other residents are hesitant to visit.
Walker said she would give it a try. Her no-nonsense personality swiftly became memorable in a room where memories come and go, and a symbiotic relationship evolved -- Walker liked the residents because they weren't afraid to joke around, and the residents liked Walker because she didn't coddle them or give a hoot when they forgot things.
"There's empathy in her, this is where her heart is," Rinkevicius said. "This is where she likes to go because she can just be herself. She doesn't baby them. She's just their friend."
Pat Baldinelli is one of the 18 people who live on the wing. She considers Walker the glue that holds them together.
"She's just so nice to have around," Baldinelli said. "She has had a great life, and she's still living. There's always something to look forward to when she's around."
Walker often brings her beads with her, standing up straight as a board by the table and stringing colorful necklaces and bracelets while she talks. She sells her jewelry at a nearby hospital and at an annual bake sale at the assisted-living facility. The money helps pay for other outings and activities for her friends -- Pat and Rosie, Christine and Ernie, Jackie and Doris.
"When I come here, I have a ball, and they're all such good sports," Walker said. "I like to be around people who are happy. I like life, and I think that's probably why I'm still living."
On Monday, Walker will forgo one of her beloved casino trips -- a man 15 years her junior flirted with her by the penny slots last time -- to stay home and celebrate her 99th birthday with the people she loves.
"You've got to have love in your life," she said. "And I'm lucky I've got so much." [rc]
Rex W. Huppke
rhuppke@tribune.com
Copyright © 2009, Chicago Tribune
Catherine Walker, 98, calling a bingo game at The Pointe at Kilpatrick skilled nursing facility in Crestwood, Illinois. With her 99th birthday coming up, Walker has led a remarkable life. She spends most of her time volunteering at the home's Alzheimer's unit.
Photo by David Pierini, Chicago Tribune
By Rex W. Huppke, Tribune Reporter
Catherine Walker is 98 years old, soon to be 99, and if she wants to sing a song about beer, she'll sing it. If someone's bugging her, she'll say so. And if you ask about her carrot cake recipe, she'll tell you it's unrivaled.
"I make damn good cake." Her unblinking eyes suggest you not argue.
This white-haired woman's pep and vitality make her a force of nature at The Pointe at Kilpatrick, a senior living center in Crestwood. And her devotion to a certain group at the center has also made her a source of unfailing goodwill.
Walker has been a resident at The Pointe for five years. Eschewing an array of daily activities and social events, she spends her time volunteering -- often more than 40 hours a week -- in the New Day Memory Support Area, a wing of the facility devoted to residents who have Alzheimer's disease.
It's there that she has found a late-in-life joy, lending her razor-sharp memory and shoot-from-the-hip humor to a room full of people who at times struggle to recall their last names.
"I love these people here," Walker says, standing at a table, helping a group of her friends make beaded jewelry. "I just love them. There's Christine -- she's my singing partner. And Pat down there. We just have a good old time."
And with a quick "Ohhhhh ..." from Walker, the group breaks into song: "... I want a beer, just like the beer that pickled dear old Dad ..."
Joyce Rinkevicius coordinates activities and watches over the center's residents who have Alzheimer's. Mention Walker and Rinkevicius says, without hyperbole, "That lady's my right arm."
"You have people who live, who go through their lives and do amazing things and never get noticed. That's Catherine. She's someone who has made a difference in all these people's lives. Without her around so much they might otherwise be sitting and staring into space. She keeps them going."
They meet up daily in a small dining room with a vaulted ceiling and ample natural light, and they play bingo, string beads, swap jokes and, above all, talk. Once Walker gets going about her nearly 10 decades of living, she's hard to stop.
Raised on the South Side with three brothers who taught her how to fight. Plagued by polio at 18, told she'd never walk, proved the doctors wrong. Learned to drive stick on a 1925 Ford. Made gas masks during World War II. Worked nearly 20 years on the line at a radio factory, led a walkout over poor wages and won. Married, no kids, husband died a quarter century ago. She kept going.
The only downside of such a long and headstrong life is that she outlived all her loved ones.
"I've lost all of my people. I've got no one left," Walker says, without a hint of self-pity. "This is my family now."
About a year ago, Rinkevicius asked Walker if she'd consider helping out in the Alzheimer's wing, an area many other residents are hesitant to visit.
Walker said she would give it a try. Her no-nonsense personality swiftly became memorable in a room where memories come and go, and a symbiotic relationship evolved -- Walker liked the residents because they weren't afraid to joke around, and the residents liked Walker because she didn't coddle them or give a hoot when they forgot things.
"There's empathy in her, this is where her heart is," Rinkevicius said. "This is where she likes to go because she can just be herself. She doesn't baby them. She's just their friend."
Pat Baldinelli is one of the 18 people who live on the wing. She considers Walker the glue that holds them together.
"She's just so nice to have around," Baldinelli said. "She has had a great life, and she's still living. There's always something to look forward to when she's around."
Walker often brings her beads with her, standing up straight as a board by the table and stringing colorful necklaces and bracelets while she talks. She sells her jewelry at a nearby hospital and at an annual bake sale at the assisted-living facility. The money helps pay for other outings and activities for her friends -- Pat and Rosie, Christine and Ernie, Jackie and Doris.
"When I come here, I have a ball, and they're all such good sports," Walker said. "I like to be around people who are happy. I like life, and I think that's probably why I'm still living."
On Monday, Walker will forgo one of her beloved casino trips -- a man 15 years her junior flirted with her by the penny slots last time -- to stay home and celebrate her 99th birthday with the people she loves.
"You've got to have love in your life," she said. "And I'm lucky I've got so much." [rc]
Rex W. Huppke
rhuppke@tribune.com
Copyright © 2009, Chicago Tribune
