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This
Bachelorette Turns 105 and Has Her Pick
By Tina Kelley
The New York Times, March 29, 2003
Agnes Warner has seen three centuries,
two Halley's comets — actually, the same one twice — and eight
great-grandchildren. She led an all-women's band in Florida in the 1960's,
when she answered to the name Toots. She played cornet and a wicked hand
of bridge.
But
things have been a little quiet for the past 30 years for Mrs. Warner, who
dresses meticulously and has hair as white, fine and elegantly shaped as
spun sugar. Her husband died in 1969, her band members followed and her
back and short-term memory are causing her problems.
So
when Edie Barr, the recreation director of the Chelsea at East Brunswick,
the assisted living facility where Mrs. Warner now lives, asked what she
wanted for her 105th birthday today, her answer was at the ready: a date.
"She
said she didn't want to get married, but she wouldn't mind a
boyfriend," said Mrs. Barr, who arranged for an article in The Home
News Tribune, a local newspaper, about Mrs. Warner, announcing that
"great-grandfathers are sought to vie for the opportunity to be her
date for the evening."
Today,
four mature muffins sat in a row in the Chelsea's lobby, all clean-shaven,
with red roses in their lapels, two with canes, and one wearing a
herringbone jacket, plaid shirt and colorful knit vest. Decked out in big
pearl clip-on earrings and a wrist corsage, Mrs. Warner danced with each
in order. There was Contestant No. 1, Michael V. Gonzalez, 94, who led her
waltzing as "Somewhere My Love" was played on the baby grand
piano.
Bachelor
No. 2 was George Zupeck, 88, who retired 26 years ago from Squibb and
urged Mrs. Warner, "Come on, get close," as he led her around
the floor to "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" He had called the
Chelsea after seeing the newspaper article, and his references were
checked at the Elks lodge. "They said, `He's a beautiful dancer, take
him,' and they did," he said. And he was.
Tom
Fargin, 85, a former longshoremen's union representative in a gray suit
and red tie, danced with Mrs. Warner to "Moon River."
And
from the Chelsea, there was Carl Mendola, 85, who waltzed with Mrs. Warner
to "Edelweiss." (She prefers the fox trot, her son, Russ Warner,
who is 75, said later.)
Between
numbers, she rested in a wing chair decorated with roses and carnations,
and Mrs. Barr interviewed the men about how many great-grandchildren they
have and their views on older women.
After
the dancing, Mrs. Warner pushed her walker over to the piano and began
playing for the crowd, as she often does during cocktail hour, which
starts at 3:30 p.m. Though she complained that she did not remember the
songs, she persevered, and the notes coalesced, haltingly, into melodies,
her hands meeting in music familiar from the early part of the last
century. She played "Give My Regards to Broadway" and "The
Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze." Mr. Zupeck asked her to play
"God Bless America."
Mr.
Gonzalez requested the honor of accompanying Mrs. Warner, whistling with a
canarylike vibrato as she played.
After
several songs, Mrs. Barr reminded Mrs. Warner that it was time to choose a
bachelor. When Mrs. Warner said, "Oh, please don't ask me that, they
were all very good," Mrs. Barr resorted to an informal applause
meter.
Mr.
Mendola, the home-team favorite, won hands down. Mr. Zupeck congratulated
him. Mrs. Warner fiddled with the buttons on her white cardigan. She
played another old favorite on the piano, and the audience of about 40
residents caught up with her, singing "You're a Grand Old Flag."
Mr.
Mendola was clearly pleased that he had carried the day. "She's a
wonderful woman, a very nice woman," he said. "We speak well
together, as if we'd known each other a long time."
"You
are the winner, kid," Mr. Gonzalez told him.
"Thanks,
Michael. You're No. 1."
Karen
Popick, Mr. Mendola's granddaughter, said he had been excited by the
dating game. "He got a specific outfit picked out," she said.
"It was adorable. He got his hair cut."
Mr.
Mendola called her "my No. 1 granddaughter." He referred to Mrs.
Warner as "my lady friend."
Followed
by relatives with video and still cameras, the couple proceeded to the
private dining room, which featured six gold candles in a candelabra.
"Carl,
you're going to have to carry the conversation," Mrs. Barr said to
him, as the couple approached the table.
"Sure,"
Mr. Mendola said.
To
Mrs. Warner, he added, "You're a lovely lady."
"I
have a bad back," she said.
"Sit
back," he suggested.
"I'm
getting old, you know," she said.
"Never
say you're getting old," he said.
The
choice of pork chops or scampi did not quite suit the birthday girl.
"Don't
you have anything I like?" Mrs. Warner asked the waitress.
When
her son tried to order her a sandwich, she revolted. "Cream cheese
and jelly?" Mrs. Warner said. "Oh God, I have that every day of
my life." They decided on chicken for her, with milk and a salad.
When her glass arrived she raised it and said, "Here's good luck to
you, sir." Mr. Mendola was busy with his pork chops and did not hear.
He wore his room key on a yellow phone-cord bracelet, and it clicked on
the plate. They ate in silence.
"You
don't talk much at the table, is that your way?" she said. "Not
that it matters. You got a wife?"
"She
passed away in 1987," he said.
"That's
O.K.," she said. "For this. I've been a widow for a long
time."
Before
dessert, the couple were left to their own devices. Whatever their
conversation, they kept it to themselves.
Mrs.
Warner's son reported, after discreet questioning, that a good-night kiss
had not occurred between his mother and her date.
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