Aging in America- Our Heritage of Wisdom
a series of thirty-six pencil drawings by artist jim branscum

 

Valintin’s father was an Infantry Officer for Czar Nicholas. In 1819, while the Communist revolution was raging in Russia, Valintin, along with the many other sons of Czarist military officers, was sent to a military school in Siberia to escape the death squads of the Red Army. In 1921, as it became apparent the the Communist were going to win the war, the group of young men were moved to safety in China. It was there that Valintin received his education in engineering. He learned to speak fluent Chinese and wrote two books on the Chinese junk, which he also illustrated with technical drawings showing the construction of the boats inside and out. He married and lived the next twenty-eight years in China. 1949 brought China’s Communists to power and Valintin again was forced to leave his family and home. He landed on an island in the Philippines with six thousand fellow displaced Russian immigrants. They lived in tents for two and a half years while waiting permission to immigrate to the United States of America. 1951 brought about the final chapters of Valintin’s journey. He came to San Francisco and settled in San Mateo, California. There he met his present wife and had three children. His last job before retirement was designing the pumps for the Alaska Pipeline.

In my conversations with Valintin, I asked, What day were you born?" He replied, "I was born on a lucky day." I laughed. He had just finished telling me a history filled with the loss of two countries and families. "How," I asked, "can you say that after telling me you life’s story?" Valintin explained, "I have had three wonderful countries to call home; three beautiful families who were loving and dear to me; I have never had to fight in a war-- never had to kill another human nor have I even been shot at-- all those troubles in my life, I swam through them like a fish and they never touched me-- I was born on a lucky day.

As Valintin and I spoke, we were interrupted numerous times by a lady who throughout I was George, her deceased husband. She wondered why I would not take her home. "Let’s go home now, George," she asked, then left before I could answer. After the third or fourth inquiry, Valintin stated, "She is senile, you know." "Yes," I replied. "Senile people," Valintin explained so beautifully, "see the world through different eyes." The same lady took another resident’s walker and was pushing it backwards down the polished tile floors of the long hallway. It created a loud sound as if someone was scratching a chalkboard with their fingernails-- a continuous amplified screech that began at one end of the hall, grew to a crescendo as she passed our position, then continued to the other end of the hall creating a "Doppler" effect. After she passed, my assistant commented, "That was loud." Valintin replied, "It was a break in the continuum."

His compassion and understanding touched the very core of my heart. The beauty of this man was in the way he looked at life. He did not see the mental confusion of the lady as wrong, he simply recognized her view of the world around her. He did not complain about the interruptions in our quiet conversation, he embraced the moments if it were an unexpected but special gift. Valintin possesses the greatest commodity for surviving the tragedies that comes with all that live: attitude.

I left Valintin with his words echoing in my mind and a desire to adopt his attitude in my own life and in my work as I complete the Aging in America series.