The 'Hey Game'

When I met Roy Ingram and his running buddy Red McTavish a little more than seven years ago, the two men were sitting on the smoking patio of Freddy’s 35er bar in Old Pasadena. Back then Roy was a more than spry 70; virile and fit from a lifetime of climbing and cutting trees for a living. But later, his words didn’t come so quickly. 

“Hey …” was usually how Roy greeted the faces he still recognized, mine among them.
He bore a remarkable physical resemblance to my own father, who died of Alzheimer’s disease back in 1986. Roy had also started to sound a lot like Dad did soon after developing Alzheimer’s, and I knew where his mind was heading at this point in his life.

So, as my Dad came to stop talking to me and my siblings and instead hummed or whistled in order to communicate, Roy and I played the “Hey Game” whenever we saw each other at the 35er and other places around Old Pasadena.

On any given night in recent years, our encounters would go something like this:
“Hey …”
“What?”
“Hey …”
Non-irritated pause. “What?”
“Hey …”
No answer.

“Hey … I love you guys,” Roy would finally fall back on saying to Deputy Editor Joe Piasecki, Calendar Editor John Sollenberger and me when words ultimately failed him. Then he would wrap a thin but still amazingly strong arm around my shoulder and give me a firm hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Last week, we learned through the grapevine that Roy died in his apartment at the Green Hotel, around the corner from Castle Green, where he had lived over these past many years. The slightly younger Red also has an apartment there, a few floors down from his longtime friend.

The inseparable pair was Pasadena’s senior citizen version of Felix and Oscar: The Old Couple, as we sometimes joked. If Red drank, Roy held back. If Red smoked, Roy tried not to, and eventually quit.
In fact, despite his increasing difficulty in expressing complete thoughts, Roy came to cut an amazing figure of health and vitality, having fully recovered from hip surgery after being hit by a car last year. He was no sooner on a walker than he was on a cane, then back on his feet, finally making his way back to the 35er’s outdoor patio, where he cheerfully tolerated smokers and still drank beer, only not so much anymore.

He was always meticulously dressed, wearing either a new shirt or sweater, and always a spotless golf cap, with the front brim turned down — just the way my Dad did it. Also much like my Pop, Roy was intolerant of fools, which included most politicians. Actually, this was one thing Red and Roy could totally agree on.

In his more lucid moments, Roy talked with great pride about his own three sons, three daughters and 16 grandchildren, and the old days, when he owned his own business and worked for a few Hollywood big shots, like director Norman Lear of “All in the Family” fame.

In recent months, though, Roy had not been his old self. His mental acuity only seemed to worsen, even if he looked healthier and his dress became sharper each time I saw him around town. Still, whether they saw him as a father or uncle figure, or just a nice person to talk with, young women seemed to gravitate toward this guy. Who knows; maybe he filled a parental void in their hearts similar to mine.

A week before he died, Roy was at the 35er, and we were playing the “Hey Game.”
“Hey,” he said. This time, I just smiled at him and didn’t answer. But he didn’t repeat himself. Instead, he said, “I don’t want to live anymore.”

“Oh, shush,” I said, trying to disguise my shock. “Listen to yourself. What are you saying?” In reality, I was very upset about this, mainly because my Dad had said similar things to one of my older brothers just before he died. I knew Roy was serious.

Then last week it happened; Roy died of apparently natural causes while lying in bed and watching TV.

“He looked peaceful,” said Joyce Parker, a nurse’s assistant at the Green Hotel and one of the first people to find Roy’s body the morning of June 18. “It’s like they say, it was just his time.”
We’re extremely saddened by Roy’s death, but if that’s what he wanted, we’re happy he’s finally found peace. We only regret not having a final opportunity to tell Roy that we loved him too.

Roy’s body was cremated Tuesday morning at Cabot & Sons mortuary. Family and friends are invited to attend a memorial service for Roy at 2 p.m. Saturday at Lake Avenue Congregational Church, 393 N. Lake Ave., Pasadena. For information, call (626) 795-7221.

Hey … rest in peace, old friend.