Column: Brookside, at Its Best, Was a Family

There’s no use in crying over spilt milk, but I hate to let Brookside Nursing Home close without honoring the family affair it became under the ownership of Tom Rice, administrator (and the father of one of my students at Hartford High), his brother Stephen and sister Susan.

For decades, Tom Rice “worked himself to the bone at Brookside” to quote a 50-year-old friend of mine who grew up in this community. There are literally hundreds, if not thousands, of local folks who brought their loved ones to Brookside over the decades to heal or to end their days in caring, supportive hands.

For over four decades, Pat Hoisington worked at Brookside, resigning as its recreation director two years ago after out-of-state investors bought the facility and its companion nursing home in Colchester for $8 million.

The heart of that family affair was the cheerful, upbeat atmosphere created by Hoisington.

Five years ago, she arranged for my bassett hound Nemo and later, his heir, a yellow lab named Dodger, to visit Brookside once a week for half an hour to an hour. We kept that weekly appointment for five years until recently.

We would walk through the hallways, poke our noses into patients’ rooms and ask if they would like a lick, snuggle or a sniff from a long-nosed canine friend.

Hoisington told us to come during coffee hour, which occurred around 9:30 each weekday morning after residents were dressed and made ready for an after-breakfast cup of java. Often a staffer would read the Valley News out loud in the cafeteria after coffee and doughnuts, and play a game of hangman from a sentence she would choose from the paper. Afternoons might include bingo or a musical presentation.

We visited on Thursdays. It became “our day” because other dogs visited on other days of the week. They included a pair of poodles who came as a couple.

Thursday was “Purple Day” at Brookside, when residents who were in the mood tried to find a bit of purple clothing to wear, almost like a school spirit event. It was another creative way to break the monotony of institutional living.

One of the longtime residents would kid me when I forgot my purple, but my blush from embarrassment would often rise a shade of red (almost purple), rescuing me from my dishonor.

Once during my five years, Hoisington had arranged for a newborn lamb to be brought in for the residents to cuddle. Before my time, she located a llama who would promenade down the hall with its owner and entertain the residents.

Once I saw an 85-year-old resident waiting in line to enter the cafeteria for ice cream with his visiting wife at his side. He looked a little depressed, even though music was playing. Hoisington tapped him on the shoulder, called him by name and said “Let’s dance,” proceeding to do a few steps in Lawrence Welk ballroom style.

It only took a few seconds, but it was designed to rouse the patient from a low point.

That’s what I mean about Brookside’s caring environment.

For years, on Halloween Hoisington would invite members of the fire department to supervise the hallways as dozens of school children came in costumes to trick or treat. Residents sat in the doorways or in wheelchairs handing out candy from bags provided by the recreation director.

Why should a nursing home bother with such frivolity for the elderly and frail? Among other things, research has demonstrated that new experiences enhance activity in brains. It’s good medicine for the brain, good medical practice.

But there’s another reason too: Brookside under the direction of the Rices was a family, literally and figuratively .

It had heart.

Just visualize a final activity Hoisington arranged the week before she ended her career there: The Hartford Police Department shut down the road beside Brookside for a parade of antique cars she had organized. Residents in chairs and wheelchairs sat outside as the old-time cars drove slowly past, with drivers and passengers waving to them.

Thank you to the Rices, Pat Hoisington and all those good-hearted administrators, nurses and doctors who made what could have been an impersonal medical warehouse for humans into a family.

The Brookside family.

Paul Keane lives in Hartford.