Senior Service Reflection: Harry Cooke '15 

Each spring, Xavier seniors spend their Mondays at a self-selected service placement as part of the Senior Christian Service Program. Now more than 30 years old, the program allows seniors to follow their own interests while encouraging them to be "men for others." The Xavier E-News checks in with a senior every few weeks to learn about his service placement, why he chose it, and how the experience has affected him.

This week, Harry Cooke '15 reflects on his experience at the Mary Manning Walsh Home on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

An inspiring portent greets volunteers serving at Mary Manning Walsh Home, an Upper East Side nursing home for both short and long-term residence. Before venturing into the elevator for the day ahead, a sign alongside the buttons never ceases to stop me. It upholds a portrait of Pope Benedict XVI, below it a quotation of his: “The provision of care for the elderly should be considered not so much an act of generosity as the repayment of a debt of gratitude.” 

My decision to serve at Mary Manning Walsh ultimately came from a desire to try something new. In working with others, my prior service in Xavier’s name had ranged from preschoolers at my former elementary school to impoverished adults on CFX trips to Tennessee and Ecuador. Yet I never had the pleasure of tending to the next stage of solidarity: the elderly, an inexperience I thought needed amending in my final year in the Ignatian Service program. It helped that four other Xavier classmates were volunteering there, but entering the Mary Manning Walsh still bore a sense of freshness…and fear.

My first few days of service were characterless on my part. I transported patients to therapy and to their rooms afterwards, but did not make much of an effort to connect with them. Some would offer friendship with warmhearted questions, but I would simply answer "yes" or "no," disregarding these residents’ need for a presence rather than simple favors.

The connections began to form when an untold number of residents and volunteers revealed ties to Xavier High School. Not a Monday goes by without an eye widening at a Xavier logo on my sweatshirt and a brief explanation of one’s relation to the institution, whether it be through their sons, grandsons, great-grandsons, or so on. For example, one of the residents I tended to happened to be a relative of Michael Wlach ’71 P'01, recent Hall of Fame inductee who also served on Xavier’s faculty for a number of years. Every now and then, however, I will run into alumni from rivals Regis or Xaverian, but the bond, a bond only derived from a Catholic education, is just as heartfelt.

These encounters opened the door, as my relationships wih residents of all ages deepened into levels I cold not have possibly foreseen. Their stories have been especially poignant. It’s fascinating to hear tales ranging from a first-hand account of the Battle of Khe Sanh in Vietnam to a time when a Whopper cost merely forty-three cents. More importantly, the stories have covered an incredible amount of monumental events. I have heard moving descriptions of tragedy and miracles within residents’ lifespans, and their ability to trust me enough to share these tales has left an indelible mark on my heart.

Going forward, I look forward to spending more time with the members of the Mary Manning Walsh family. I write "family" because the institution provides an incredible mark of care for all inhabitants regardless of one’s background. In a society where issues such as euthanasia govern the taking of lives, a home that works to preserve that life in such benevolent ways is needed, now and always. The stories have given an outlook that will suffice as I near the very few days between my tenure as a student and my emergence as an alumnus. Service is not simply a Monday off from school; it is a day dedicated to finding more than just academics, a magis in its own accord.

This encouragement can occur in the most casual of moments. This past Monday, I was tending to a resident in physical therapy. One nurse commanded me to “ask how old she is.” I did so, and was met with the response that she had recently celebrated her 104th birthday. Astounded by her age, I said: “God bless you.” She simply glanced at me and smiled, whispering: “He already has.”