It has been over 40 years since my young daughter and I moved into the house I still reside in, now with my wife of 32 years. A little while after settling into this dead-end country road, just a few miles out of Woodland, I heard that my daughter and I shared the road with a man who was over 100 years old.
His name was Pearl Mulkey and he lived down the road with a grandson, who was also his caregiver.
My daughter was born in July 1976, so I have always enjoyed referring to her as my bicentennial baby. Pearl was born in 1877, the year after the country’s centennial — pre-statehood for Oregon and Washington. My daughter had to meet this man, 99 years her senior.
We met him in 1982, when he was 105 years old. Our visit was a thrill for me as it was easy to see, looking into his eyes, that his mind was sharp, however, he was extremely hard of hearing which made communicating difficult for me and impossible for my daughter and her sweet 6-year-old voice. I don’t think I’ll ever forget Pearl’s smile of approval on meeting my daughter.
On a side table was a small book for sale that Pearl had written and published, detailing his long life. I skimmed the book, gleaning a few facts. His only time away from the Pacific Northwest was a stint as a U.S. soldier in the Spanish-American war. He served in the Philippines. I also remember reading that he settled in Cougar in 1933. There is a road there with the Mulkey name on it. In his book, there was a picture of him in his later years, smoking a pipe
I recall shouting loudly, “So you were an adult already, at the turn of the century?”
His reply was, “Hell! I was 23 at the turn of the century!” (This means he would have been 41 in 1918, during the flu pandemic.)
My next visit with Pearl, I went on my own. There was another man visiting Pearl’s grandson that evening. The three of us 30-somethings conversed easily, but with his hearing issues Pearl was pretty much left out, sitting in his usual chair, just watching us. At some point, the grandson asked if either myself or his friend wanted a soda. I declined. When the grandson returned from the kitchen with two sodas, Pearl pointed at me and said, “Hey, what about him?”
His grandson had to repeat himself a couple of times, until he finally cupped his hands on either side of his mouth and bellowed, “He doesn’t want one, Grandpa!”
Pearl indignantly scoffed at this and reached under the afghan that covered him from the waist down, coming up with a bottle of whiskey. He took a pull off of the bottle and then put his arm out, offering it to me.
I want to make this very clear: The offer was for me alone, not for the two adults drinking Pepsi on the couch. You also need to know that after Pearl took his pull, sediment from the bottom of the bottle was floating toward the top. Perhaps he now chewed tobacco instead of smoking.
The many times I’ve told this story, this naturally elicits the ick and ew factor. It’s surprising to me, the number of people who have said they would have declined the old man’s offer.
I never saw a choice in the matter, and willingly took a pull off that bottle. A little snoose flavoring wouldn’t keep me from seizing on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If I had declined, this story wouldn’t be worth telling.
The last time I visited Pearl, his grandson let me in through the back door that led to the kitchen. He told me to make myself at home and join Grandpa in the living room.
As I was about to pass through the door connecting the rooms, I paused. I was just behind and to the right of where Pearl sat. I could see he was intent on something in his lap. It was a bit disingenuous to pause since, with his hearing problem, he didn’t know I was there. When I did step in he quickly stashed what he was working on under that afghan, and gave me one of those sweet looks that said, “I wasn’t doing anything.”
But I did catch a quick glimpse of what he was hiding. It was a Rubik’s cube. Remember those?
Shortly after this visit, Pearl was placed in a nursing home where he lived three more years. He passed away at the incredible age of 108.
Now that I’m 71, I realize how remarkable it was to share whiskey with a 105-year-old. I haven’t met another 105-year-old, though my father lived to be 99-plus.
I’ve read that if you want to live a long life, you need to be flexible, adaptable and willing to try new things. That’s the Pearl I met. Thanks for the inspiration, memories and story, Pearl.
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