Our Very Beginnings

My dear, I've a feeling you are so near and yet so far you appear like a radiant star first so near then again so far. —"So Near and Yet So Far" by Cole Porter

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way ... —Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Charles Dickens and a Tale of Two Cities involved England and France in the 1770s and our brave ancestors who dared to leave their old homes for a new life. It was not my intent to minimize the work of Charles Dickens. I just thought it would fit into the scheme of things to borrow the concept, as an analogy so to speak. The wisdom of this prose was a need to escape the bleakness of the Old World to other lands where streets were paved in gold. In a manner, it was the spring of hope.

Our tale was not a tale of two cities, but of one city and two youngsters who would come to know the best of times yet to come (and two moms, who were perhaps enduring the worst of times, during the Depression). It, as an analogy, depicts a tale of two mothers separated literally by a few miles of city streets while delivering their babies that night in April 1934. Two babies, unique to this story, were so close and yet so far. You could say that we were baby steps apart, yet years apart. That, to me, is incredible. It would be many years before Donna and I would reflect on this first interesting connection in our lives, and we would not even meet each other for many years. So it was not a tale of two cities but one city and two youngsters (and two moms, who were perhaps enduring the worst of times, as labor tends to go). For the moms, the pangs of labor are sometimes the worst of times. Please forgive this analogy; I am only a man who never experienced this kind of labor. I have labored in many ways but not in this physiological process. Vicariously, as a physician, I helped bring babies into the world. Would you believe that some moms honored me by naming their children after me?

To begin this tale, I have to start with my life story as I recall it. Each chapter will bring us closer to the start of my real life, when I met a wonderful lady who defined my life and captured my soul.

I was given the name Joel and the middle name of Merwin when I was born. What a moniker. And yes, my lifelong secret is out. I never gave out my middle name to anyone, as it had no meaning to me and seemed peculiar. Was my mother thinking of Merlin the magician or Merton, the boy who lived downstairs from us? She named me Joel because of her interest in the movie star Joel McCrea, but I don't know where the name Merwin came from. Of course, it was expected that I would carry the names of maternal and paternal heritage. That would be Vickar (maternal) and Le Vein (paternal). I changed the last name in grade school and became Joel M. Levin. My wife's name, Donna, means lady, and we all called her Bella Donna (a beautiful lady), as she was to everyone who knew her.

I grew up during the Depression years lacking for nothing in a household of parents, grandparents, and a few unmarried aunts. This was typical of many families in the 1930s. I had no knowledge of economic difficulty, as each member of the household contributed to the welfare of us all. I was oblivious to the motion and fast pace of people in and out of the house from dawn to well beyond dusk, working and sometimes enjoying some time away from our confined world. The baby Joel was assuredly content in his crib and was always the center of attention. This was my own little world.

That was until I developed asthma at a very early age. It is hereditary in my family, but living in a crowded apartment with a bunch of smokers certainly didn't help. I had many an asthmatic attack in those early days, and the medications in use today were not available then. Chicken soup, as a remedy, helped, and when the attack abated, the comic books my dad brought home helped me forget those episodes when I struggled with my breathing. It was super dad bringing me Superman.

The patriarch, my grandfather, was a journalist and a scholar, who took an early retirement because of a heart attack and what was called hardening of the arteries. Who at that time knew about cholesterol, gluten, fat, and all the modern stuff regarding healthy lifestyles and prevention of illness? We only knew that we ate what we ate, never bothered by warnings on labels or blood tests for everything. We only knew and were thankful that if it tasted good, it must be good.

I learned to play chess with my grandfather and did so until I was able to beat him. He then seemed to lose interest. I also remember that he was very religious but never pushed it on us. We were free to make our own choices.

One amusing anecdote about Grandpa goes like this. We had an old-fashioned telephone in our house, which required a slug equal to a nickel to make a call. A collector would come by regularly, determining how much was owed by the number of slugs. About the time I was growing up, the telephone company switched from a real operator to an automated one. I remember him listening to one of those early messages, swearing under his breath, and saying, "Madam, shut up and give me a chance to speak."

My grandmother was the love of my life, and as I grew up, we did many things together. She was the matriarch and handled the role as well as any queen might do. She had things under control (all under her thumb), argued well, and usually won all battles with the king of his castle (grandfather) with diplomacy but at times with an iron hand. Margaret Thatcher might have been related to her or it seems a kindred spirit to my grandmother. But as long as I was the prince in the palace, I was quite happy with her (her loving hand and her...