The Column: Alice set an example for the rest of us

Al the Pal.

This would be my sister-in-law Alice, long ago in nursing school at Columbia University.

Alice earned the title because — well, because she was Alice. You needed a favor, anything at all, there was Alice ready to pitch in.

Some people, the Alices of the world, believe it’s their appointed duty.

Constancy, devotion, compassion. For them, that’s friendship — being there.

“I love you,” said John, Alice’s husband of nearly 66 years, not long ago. “You’re my best friend.”

I’ve been thinking about friendship these days when COVID-19 still keeps my wife, Wink, and me close to home.

Too cautious, maybe, but, after three tough years, the crazy thing is not in full retreat, not really. And we have the underlying condition that defies even modern medicine — age.

We see friends occasionally for off-hour lunches at restaurants where the crowd is likely to be thin. Otherwise, it’s mostly phone calls and emails and, yes, cards and letters that come in envelopes. Imagine.

“Oh, wow,” Wink said the other day. “Look at this beautiful note from Nancy.”

Nancy, in New Hampshire, makes little cards with her own paintings. The note said how much Nancy and her husband, Bill, are glad the four of us have stayed close since all the way back in the ’60s.

“Sweet,” said Wink.

It’s been heartening to find these old relationships so durable — to have in our lives such loyal and mindful folks. They mark each period of our marriage — college days to the here and now. Nearby and from afar, they draw close.

“Stay warm,” said a chum in Texas when our weather briefly turned brutally cold.

“Just checking on you,” said another from Missouri.

Florida, California, Oregon, New Jersey, North Carolina, Illinois, Pennsylvania, Georgia — all report in regularly.

My old Brooklyn buddy, also a Fred, finds himself in South Carolina.

He’s become a demon environmental voice in the local community — warning of high water and overdevelopment. He sends me copies of letters to politicians and commentaries for a local newsletter. I wonder what the folks down in Dixie think of this guy, late of Prospect Park Southwest? Listen up, y’all. Fred’s OK.

He also is my main source of rhythm-and-blues memories. I tell him I listened recently to “Oh What a Night,” by the Dells. Fred sends an R and B quiz he just came across. Once we sang together — badly — in a hapless doo-wop group.

Recalling how seldom we hit the same note, neither of us has proposed a FaceTime duet for old times’ sake.

The meaning of friendship?

No shortage of internet wisdom on the subject.

“Time doesn’t take away from friendship, nor does separation,” said Tennessee Williams.

“To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world,” according to Dr. Seuss.

“A friend is a gift you give yourself,” declared Robert Louis Stevenson.

I’ll stick with this:

We were in Rochester a couple weeks ago.

It was Alice.

At 90, she’d been struggling, and family gathered — John, of course, three children, Mark, Sarah and Jeff; Sarah’s husband, Blake; Wink, and me. Lovely caregivers, too.

Wink is the younger of four sisters. Alice, the elder, was her guide and comforter through girlhood and ever after.

Alice spread the love around — as one of the first nurse practitioners in the state, as a woman from the suburbs who tutored city kids for years, as the good neighbor who never let you down.

“Look at this, Alley Cat,” said Wink, showing Alice a photo album she’d put together before the trip. “Remember?”

“Yes,” said Alice, able to smile.

Alice’s sons and daughter soothed her and sat next to her bed. Wink lay down beside Alice.

“Alley Cat, it’s me.”

It was hard to tell what Alice heard and what was lost.

Someone told her what she’d meant to friends and family.

“You’ve done so much.”

Now Alice answered without hesitation.

“I should have done more.”

These may not have been Alice’s last words, but they’re the ones I’ll remember.

Alice did more than most, but thought it wasn’t enough.

With the best of us, that’s how it works. Do good, and, like Al the Pal, never stop.