Getting Around Town With Jamie Shupak: My 93-Year-Old Grandfather, WWII Vet and Lover Man, Has Some Pointers

Jamie Shupak is the Emmy-nominated traffic reporter for NY1, the Big Apple cable network that’s the end-all and be-all on all things Gotham for New Yorkers. She’s also a beautiful, single woman navigating New York’s treacherous dating scene after the painful breakup of a 10-year relationship. In her weekly column she’ll share her war stories and offer her advice and admonitions.

I’m holding my Zayda’s (Yiddish for grandfather) cold hands as tight as I can in the backseat of the limo as we pull up to the cemetery, trying to keep them warm. I'm biting my tongue instead of asking if he’s okay; I know he’s not. It’s only been two days since my Bubby (Yiddish for grandmother), his wife of 65 years passed. I glance back at the single-file line of cars behind ours, and then back at him. I have to say something. I look him straight in the eye so he doesn’t have to turn his hearing aides on and quietly ask how he’s holding up. Without hesitation he says, unknowingly loud enough for the whole car to hear, “I can’t even be sad for her today. She got such a good turnout, your Bubby. That’s all she ever wanted.”

***

All week, during shiva, I watched the small, once very talkative, 93-year-old man sit silent in a chair in the corner of the room, accepting condolences from a never-ending stream of friends and family. The prostate cancer that was rapidly spreading through the already frail bones in his body didn’t show its symptoms the way his broken heart did. I always love seeing Zayda because it’s an endless encyclopedia of stories, sports recaps, and jokes. But that week, he had no words. Deaths, funerals, any hard times, always offer a chance for a fresh perspective on what's right in front of you. And with that in front me, my perspective on love began to change.

***

Me: “So you’re 93. 93! How can you even explain such a long, beautiful life?”

***

In December of 1943, Zayda was the ball gunner of the B-24 “Paper Doll,” a plane that crashed into a mountain in Algeria killing everyone on board—seven crewmembers and their mascot Chihuahua—except for him. In May 1976, The Philadelphia Daily News did a story on him as part of their Memorial Day coverage:

“He is a tiny, balding man and no one would ever think of him as a young warrior. But he was. He was the ball gunner cramped in the little bubble beneath the plane. The last thing he remembers was when it dipped into a fog bank, until he woke up laying on the mountainside. The plane was 100 feet above him, burning fiercely. He was picked up by Arab civilians the next day and spent four months in a British hospital with third-degree burns, a broken jaw and leg, and a concussion. He would later fly 10 missions over Europe and remembers watching other American planes explode in midair and the flashes from anti-aircraft fire all around. Never once did he think that he would die.”

***

68 years later, he exudes the same resilience. Even if he didn’t wear a satin jacket emblazoned with wartime patches, the strength he showed as my Bubby's health deteriorated made his bravery obvious.

A bad fall she suffered a little over 3 years ago changed her in mind and body for the rest of her life, forcing her into the skilled nursing wing of the assisted living facility where Zayda still lives. She could no longer remember all her grandchildren’s names, feed or change herself, or talk about how poorly the Phillies were hitting. And just like he did on that mountainside in Algeria, Zayda never once believed that was it for her.

Every day he would stroll across the building from the independent living side, grab his stack of newspapers, and sit by her bedside. Some days he would tell her how the Philadelphia sports teams were doing, or about the award one of their nine grandchildren won. Other days, no words were spoken at all. But he was there; he never missed a day in three years.

Call it naïveté, call it hope, call it whatever you want. To witness him in this routine was to witness unconditional love. My Zayda demonstrated what it meant to put the person you love first, a quality that, among all the others I hope to find in a man someday, is now at the top of my list.

Click to the next page for Jamie's Zayda's advice on marriage.

Me: “What're the three most important things I should look for in a guy?”

***

This is an excerpt from the eulogy I gave at my Bubby’s funeral last month:

What I’m figuring out is that at 29 or 93, it doesn’t much matter, men are all the same. My Zayda would stroll across the building every morning, saying hi to every woman on the way. If he were my age, we’d call him a player… at 93 for some reason it’s just called “living.” My Bubby so affectionately called those women “bimbos” and you know what, I don’t blame her.

***

Me: “What were the everyday things you did for Bubby that kept your love going for all those years?”

***

When I picture Zayda, he’s in jeans and a soft Members Only shirt, with suspenders and sneakers. I’m his granddaughter so I can say that he's cute and cuddly. His language though, isn’t always so much. It took me years to convince him that calling certain ethnicities by certain colorful names wasn't acceptable, and he’s not the quietest guy in the room, given his hearing loss. But he’s come a long way. The 93-year-old him sees life and love a little differently these days. He adores my younger brother’s girlfriend and was so excited by her Italian heritage that he couldn’t wait to tell her about all the Italian cities he was stationed in during the war; he is most in his element when telling war stories. But what fascinates me the most is the difference between his take on war and his take on love. His war stories are sagas, long and involved accounts. But when it comes to love and marriage, his thoughts are concise, simple, and straightforward.

***

Me: “So what advice can you give me in terms of dating, love and marriage?”

***

My Zayda is resilient, tough; he fought for his woman until the end. He is friendly, fun, and always loyal. He loves his family and his life, but what always came first was the love for his wife.

***

Bubby and Zayda’s favorite love song: “It Had to Be You,” by Frank Sinatra.

It had to be you, it had to be you
I wandered around, and finally found
The somebody who could make me be true
Could make me be blue or even be glad
Just to be sad just thinking of you
Some others I've seen might never be mean
Might never be cross or try to be boss
But they wouldn't do
For nobody else gave me the thrill
With all your faults I love you still
It had to be you

***

Next Week: Jamie discusses recycling in the dating world.