A small and extraordinary population
Most of our lives are spent acquiring the quirks and qualities that define us - the mix and match of needs and preferences, the wins, losses, and life lessons that express our personalities. And although we may not be aware of it, who we are is indelible, separate from our routines and possessions.
At a glance, the residents of Windemere Nursing and Rehabilitation Center might seem seduced by conformity. They move about in like rhythm, the sharp edges of personal expression and priorities smoothed by time and compliance. It would be easy to imagine those who all live so similarly in the quiet rooms off the quiet hallways as all being similar. But they remain a small gathering of remarkable individuals.
Mary Ellen Yakeley in her suite at Wildflower Court with her daughter, Chilmark artist Stephanie Danforth.
Photos by CK Wolfson
Mary Ellen Ovens Yakeley, soft-spoken and composed, was a member of the country's "99 Club," the first flying club exclusively for women aviators (there were 99) formed in 1930 by Amelia Earhart.
Ms. Yakeley lives in the assisted living first-floor wing called "Wildflower Court" in a welcoming suite with quilted blankets, framed family photos (uniformed photos of her husband, a retired Navy Captain, and two sons: a two-star Admiral, a Naval Commander), and paintings made by one of her three daughters, Chilmark artist Stephanie Danforth.
"I didn't have a dull life," she says lightly.
A math major at University of Arizona, Ms. Yakeley was teaching seventh grade at Adams School in Phoenix, Ariz., when she went on a vacation with friends to Hawaii that changed her life.
She smiles as she reminisces about meeting Navy pilots stationed there, including her future husband: "And all the navy pilots did was talk flying... and I was just fascinated."
She returned home, was accepted to the Civilian Pilot Program - pilots were needed to ferry the planes from where they were built to the bases - and received her pilot's license in 1940.
"It wasn't hard," she explains. "I just did it as a hobby. Then five or six of us bought a single engine, two-seater Piper Cub - they don't even make them anymore. Our only instrument was an altimeter. I would go out on Sunday and take my friends up. I would have a date and we'd go up and fly."
She says, "It was a long time ago. It was just one phase of my life. I'd decided to do something I thoroughly enjoyed."
And saying she doesn't like giving advice "because what applies to one person wouldn't apply to another," adds, "I would just tell people to do things. Just don't sit."
Mary Fisher, an Edgartown fourth grade teacher from 1929 to 1972, shares a room on Windemere's second floor, where residents receive more acute care. At 101 years old, she is well coiffed, good humored and sprightly.
Mary Fisher, looking much younger than her 101 years.
"It was during the Depression," she says. "I wanted to teach in Lowell where I lived, but Mr. Malloy said, 'If you get a job, take it.' I didn't know where in the world I'd be coming. I never heard of [the Vineyard]. I didn't know a soul."
She laughs when she says the most difficult thing about being a teacher then was dealing with parents, and the best thing was watching children grow up, seeing their children, and their children after that.
Ms. Fisher first lived at Mrs. Miller's boarding house. She married Island native Ellsworth Fisher, "a good natured man" who worked for the phone company. "He worked nights and I worked days." She laughs. "That's why we didn't get a divorce."
They couple lived in Edgartown, one house down from Emily Post - not Ms. Fisher's favorite person. "She'd pass by every night, but never spoke. We'd look up at night and she was in bed with her lights on, and the shades and I'd stand there watching her.
During summers Ms. Fisher remembers making chocolate candy at Bertha Mayhew's shop on Water Street next to the bank in Edgartown. "I made the fudge centers. She wouldn't show me how to dip."
John Mayhew reminisces about his days as a fighter pilot in the Navy Air Corps.
Outside the door of John Mayhew's second floor room is a photograph of him in the cockpit of his carrier-based F4 Grumman Wildcat. A descendant of "Governor" Thomas Mayhew, he was a fighter pilot who served in the Navy Air Corps for 20 years before retiring as a Commander.
"While I was at Brown University, Pearl Harbor took place, and I volunteered for the Navy Air Force," Mr. Mayhew recalls. "Most of the carriers had been sunk. My first real combat was land-based on Guadalcanal. I flew a single engine, F-4. We had six wing guns, 75-caliber machine guns, three in each wing."
His second tour of duty was in the South Pacific on an aircraft carrier. "The first few times it was a little tricky because it seemed so tiny. But I did OK. I never had any trouble landing. I never blew a tire."
He recalls the long flights, malaria, and being "cooped up" in the tight cockpit: "I don't mean that I wasn't nervous. I was. We'd worry about getting low on fuel on these long missions. And we'd carry belly tanks besides the internal tanks, and drop them when they got empty. "It was interesting." He pauses, then adds, "I loved it, I really loved it."
Across the carpeted hall from Ms. Yakeley lives 67-year-old Stephen X. Doyle, with calm demeanor and voice just above a whisper, who wrote more than 50 articles and book chapters for such notable publications as Harvard Business Review, Business Week, and Strategy & Business, and founded SXD Inc, a management consulting company with 72 hand-picked clients including Ford Motor Co., American Express, AT&T, Johnson & Johnson, and McGraw Hill.
Stephan Doyle can often be found working at the computer at Windemere.
Mr. Doyle matter of factly recounts starting out as a gym teacher at PS 116 in Central Harlem, taking courses at The New School for Social Research in Manhattan, and after meeting John Emery, founder of Emery Air Freight, working for him in sales dynamics. Three years later, at 26, mentored by Ben Shapiro, dean of Harvard Business School, he entered Harvard's doctoral program in business administration. "I have had the world's best teachers in the business world," he says simply.
"My life has been an exploration to this point - sometimes, exasperation - trying to figure out what's going on. There's more time that I want to spend on the personal part, sorting what's so, what's possible, and how do I pull it all together. Life's not easy, as we all know. The most important thing is not to give up on it."
Mr. Doyle glances around the quiet halls. "The older women here have become my teachers," he says. "I never would have predicted this, that I would have friendships with older woman who are so wise and have so much to offer. At Windemere, we're all in it together."
For more information on Windemere Nursing and Rehabilitation Center, or to volunteer your services, contact Betsy Burmeister, 508-696-6465, ext. 722.
