1,428 years of wisdom

More people are living to 100 years old than ever before, thanks largely to medical advances, increased access to health care, and overall improvements to public health and quality of life. And as 109-year-old Caroline Merrill of Ardmore has shown, one also cannot underestimate the importance of having an occasional apple martini.

The number of centenarians nationwide is projected to quadruple in 30 years, and the tally of older Pennsylvanians is growing at a rate 20 times faster than the rest of the state’s population overall. There is a cumulative wisdom in this group. Our state’s centenarians have lived through World War II, the Hindenburg disaster, the dawn of computing, JFK’s assassination, and the first humans to land on the moon.

Earlier this year, I sat down with 14 people who are close to or over 100 years old in Chester, Montgomery, and Delaware Counties. In these conversations, I learned about love, tennis, vegetables, gratitude, God, and the many professional accomplishments that have melted away with time. What matters instead, this group said, is far more basic: family, faith, and forgiveness.

At 3 years old, Charles Malloy was sent to live at St. Vincent’s orphanage in the Tacony section of Philadelphia with his brothers Marty and Frank. Their father had deserted the family, and their mother could not support her children. From 1928 to 1936, Malloy was raised by German Catholic nuns. “I didn’t know what family living was,” he said.

Yet, when Malloy reflected on that time 96 years later, gratitude prevailed: for his education, his brothers, his health, the Delaware River. “I’ve always been thankful for things I’ve had,” he told me, “especially when you have the experience of having a father who leaves you to the wind.”

After returning to live with his mother and graduating from West Catholic, Malloy was drafted into the Army during the Second World War. He completed basic training in Mississippi and was stationed in France during 1944 and 1945, for which he was wounded and awarded a Silver Star, a Bronze Star, and a Purple Heart.

The substance of those awards and accomplishments, at the end of his life, paled in intensity to his memories of the orphanage and his love for family. “I guess I did something they thought was important,” he said. Malloy studied accounting at St. Joseph’s College on the GI Bill and worked for DuPont for 35 years.

Forgiveness is paramount. “I never had any bitterness or anything toward my father, who shirked his duties,” Malloy added. “But I’ve married well, and I have great children. They’re all a blessing.”

Malloy died on May 18, nine months shy of his 100th birthday. When I asked the secret to living to 100, he replied simply, “Keep breathing.”

“I trust in the Lord. If you grow up without a father, that isn’t a good experience. But if you’re blessed as I am with a good wife, that substituted for a lot of things.”

Wanda Wilcke is fast. Walking next to her walker, I had to almost jog to keep up. “I don’t really feel that old,” she told me. “I keep active.”

As a girl, Wilcke played baseball with the boys in an open field across from her home. “I could catch the ball and hit the ball and run,” she said, “so they didn’t mind having me on their team.” As the second-oldest girl in a family of six children, she taught her four younger brothers how to play.

For years, she and her husband, Harry, a doctor, worked as missionaries in the Congo. Her job was to mix medicines. “I had to pray because I didn’t know much about mixing up medicines,” she said.

Her secret to living to 100 is gratitude and God. “I thank the Lord for it because he has given me a good life,” she said. “We didn’t have a lot, but that doesn’t make any difference. You can enjoy life with what you do have and be thankful for that and not be always looking for something more.”

“You’ve got to accept people. They aren’t always just like you are.”

C. Richard Fida loves love. Born in Germantown in 1924, his first love — a secret crush — was a nun. At one point, he said, he “was free and lucky” and “had a lot of money to spend. I had 16 automobiles.” After his first wife, Sally Gilligan Fida, died in 2002, he remarried Carli Millstone Fida, a woman some 30 years his junior who he credits with his longevity.

“Love means everything to me,” he said. “I mean, there’s nothing, there’s no life without love.”

In World War II, Fida was stationed at the Panama Canal. His proudest moment was saving a dozen sailors from drowning. The men had gone on liberty (a short leave from the ship), and Fida saw that they were intoxicated to the point of making a bad decision: deciding to swim back from shore.

“I knew they couldn’t make it,” he recalled, so he pulled them to safety. “When the captain of the ship saw me bring their sailors in, they complimented me and thanked me.”

Fida’s advice to younger people is simple: “Be nice to people. That’s the whole point of living. If you’re nice to people, you’ll watch and see: The Lord will make sure that you live a long, long life.”

“Love means everything to me. I mean, there’s nothing, there’s no life without love.”

Rosanna Lazin was born in Philadelphia in 1923. When the stock market crashed in 1929, her family couldn’t afford to stay in Philadelphia, so they moved to College Station, Texas, where her mother had a network of community and her father had been stationed during World War I. The family later moved to northwest Arkansas before returning to Philadelphia.

Lazin’s parents both treasured education, and her father insisted she and her siblings memorize poetry. She still can recite many lines of “The Children’s Hour,” and recalls sitting on her porch when the German dirigible Hindenburg flew over Philadelphia in 1937, before its fiery demise in Lakehurst, N.J.

Wherever her family lived, they grew a vegetable garden with beans and tomatoes and squash and turnips. At the time, she told me, a pound of hamburger cost 18 cents. “We ate very well,” she said.

Her family didn’t have a telephone until after World War II. When she moved into her first home, if she wanted to get a message to someone, she went to the corner store and used the public telephone. “10 cents would get you the dial tone, and then you put your number in, and then you pay 10 cents every 15 minutes, I think until you’re finished your conversation or until your dimes went out. So that’s the way it was,” she said.

The secrets to living to 100? Drink plenty of water and exercise. “Say your prayers every day and be thankful for everything that you have. And I especially am thankful for my health.”

“Get to know the world that you live in. Be ready to step up and correct a situation that is not going right.”

Marie Silvestri was raised in Brooklyn as the daughter of Sicilian immigrants. During World War II, she worked for the Brooklyn Army Terminal; at the end of the war, she recalls joining a crowd of people meeting the troops coming off the ships. When her brother arrived home safely, he kissed the ground. “Hopefully we won’t see any more wars,” she said.

Silvestri married a serviceman in 1949, Maurice Francis Silvestri, who grew up on the same street as her and later joined the New York Police Department. With a high school degree, she worked in real estate and insurance for a large, privately owned land developer and builder. In retirement, she and her husband traveled together to Europe and Africa. She has eight grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren. “They’re all beautiful and smart. I’m proud of them all,” she said.

She survived breast cancer in her late 60s. Her husband died early. “Other than that, I thank the Lord, bless my good fortune,” she said. Her advice to younger people is to “have faith and do what you need to do, study, and just be yourselves.”

“If things go bad, which they do, work at it, seek advice, listen to the elders, if you have elders who can clarify things for you, and go on and make something of yourself for your future and maybe your family that you may have someday.”

Even at 101 years old, Juanita Marguerite Watlington Goss is still learning and still enjoying life’s mysteries. She is reflective and eloquent — a consummate storyteller who describes life over 100 as “having a second chance.” Since her husband’s death at age 96, she has lived independently with family support. Two years ago, she discovered a Bible verse that has been a source of comfort: “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

“For me, it really works. Just don’t rush. Just take it as it comes. Do the best you can, and if you are a believer of any particular belief, use that, and it makes a difference,” Goss said. She’s found that prayers are “like magic.”

As a former librarian, her governing principles are gratitude and curiosity. Her advice to younger people is to slow down and find “periods of quietness” where we can remember that we have “great value” in this world. There’s always the opportunity to make a positive difference. Walking can clear the mind, and being out in nature opens up new ways of thinking. The goal, she said, is to learn “as much as you can.”

“I’m not ready to go yet. There’s still so much more I need to learn,” she said.

“I’m not ready to go yet. There’s still so much more I need to learn.”

Meticulous and concise, Anthony Krylow is an engineer with a heart of gold and a deep reverence for vegetables. “The secret to living to 100 is to do things right, eat right, and don’t buy a lot of junk food,” he said, “and always have a good salad before dinner.”

His advice for dating is straightforward: “Well, if I met somebody and I really liked them, I would tell them that they’re nice, and I would buy them a drink or something. That’s about it,” he said.

During his career, Krylow designed bodies and chassis of cars for the Budd Co. that were lighter and often cheaper than the models from competitors. “I was pretty successful in designing different things that are better than what the customer showed us,” he said. One of his prototypes is part of the collection at the Henry Ford Museum.

“Eat a lot of vegetables. Eat right. I always have a salad before I have dinner.”

Newt Meade has been playing tennis since he was 12 years old. He grew up near Hunting Park, where there was a merry-go-round, football field, and tennis courts. Meade was mesmerized by the tennis players and thought they might be thirsty, so he brought them water and juice on a cart. One player gave him a racket, and he began practicing what became a lifelong love for the game. Meade represented the U.S. in age-group matches until he was 94 years old, and competed as far away as Turkey, England, France, Spain, and South Africa.

Tennis is a social game. You can’t play alone. His advice for younger people is to “stay middle of the road. Don’t try to do too much or do too little, because you can get in a lot of trouble in the game with other people, other players, some are very nice and others, they don’t treat you too well. So I just pulled away from ‘em and just played with the ones that I liked the best.”

“Stay middle of the road. Don’t try to do too much or do too little.”

Henry Marini met his wife, Lois, on a night out dancing at Wagner’s Ballroom. “I could have went to a bar or a dance,” he said. “I chose to go to a dance, and that’s where I met my wife.” Marini grew up with five brothers and one sister. During World War II, five of the boys were in the military at once; Henry was drafted into the Army in 1943.

After the war, he and his friends formed their own social club on top of a garage in South Philly. They put down a hardwood floor to host dance parties.

He never thought he would be this old. “I guess I’m glad,” he said. “I’m glad that I’m still alive. I got a good wife. We’ve been married for 70 years and that’s all I can say.” Love, he told me, means “closeness always.”

The meaning of life, from the perspective of 102 years of wisdom, is to be fully present with the people around us. “That’s all life is, enjoying your company that you got.”

“That’s all life is, enjoying your company that you got.”

Catharine Koenig playfully describes herself as not just “an old lady” but “an antique.” She is proud of the travel she took to China after her husband died, her ability to do decoupage, and dance.

Her favorite memory is marrying Herbert, “one of the best men that God could give me.” He took her on hiking and canoeing adventures, and would tell her, “‘Kay, you can do anything you want.’ Everything was OK with him. I’m a lucky person. I was happy, and I only had one daughter, but she turned out to be quality instead of quantity.”

Her advice to younger people is to “keep active and don’t take so many pills if you don’t have to,” to “try to find things that will make you happy,” and to “think of the next person who needs a little pat on the back.” Her view of love is expansive: “You’ve got to love people. You got to love things. You got to love flowers, you got to love trees that burst in the fall and in the spring. See the joy that nature is going to give you also.”

Koenig is concerned about World War III. “Thank God we got over World War II, and I have my fingers crossed,” she said. “The world needs peace and so do we. So God help us all.”

“Keep active and don’t take so many pills if you don’t have to.”

Philomena Liberkowski is dedicated to being fully present in the moment. When I asked how old she is, she said, “It could be 100. Who cares? I’m here today. I’m not worried.” She grew up in South Philly as one of seven children, and credits that time with her success. “We knew from my family, well, not that we didn’t belong there, but we had to do better. So that’s why maybe we did better.” Her favorite memory is her children and the education they have obtained; her daughter is an anthropologist and her son is a teacher and a writer.

Liberkowski died at home on Aug. 20, after what her daughter Ida describes as a “long and glorious life.”

When we spoke in May, the 103-year-old’s advice to younger people was simple. “Stay in school as long as you can afford it,” she said. “There’s nothing like an education.” And a little bit of kindness goes a long way. “Be nice, be kind. Don’t worry about what other people have. It doesn’t matter.”

“Be nice, be kind. Don’t worry about what other people have. It doesn’t matter.”

When asked about her proudest life accomplishment, Edna Wooden’s answer is simple: her three sons and three daughters-in-law, whom she describes as “lovely.”

“They contact me on a constant basis. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for me,” she said. “If I need anything, they’re there for me.”

When she was younger, Wooden said, she “could run around the streets and dance and have a good time. It was easy then.” Growing up in Philadelphia, in her estimation, is much more dangerous now. “When I was young, I could walk the streets all hours at night and didn’t fear anything.”

Her secret to making it to 100 is movement. “Stay active and belong to something and keep moving around. Don’t just sit,” she said. “I can’t move around like I used to, but I enjoy being. I’m able to still be independent.” For Wooden, independent living is a source of joy. “I do what I want to do when I want to do it.”

Travels to England, Spain, China, Japan, Germany, and South America stand out in her memory. Wooden’s husband died 33 years ago, and she hasn’t dated since. The secret to long-lasting love, she said, is to try to understand one another. “Don’t carry malice with you. When you are together, one has to kind of give in a little bit.”

“Stay active and belong to something and keep moving around. Don’t just sit.”

Herman Whilby was born in 1918 in Green Hill, Jamaica, “a little bush town.” His mother came to the U.S. in the early 1920s, following her two brothers who immigrated to Philadelphia, and Whilby lived with his grandmother and aunt. In 1942, he joined his mother in Morton and worked as a dishwasher at Swarthmore College, where he was paid $28 weekly for six days of work. After five years there, he started working at a machine shop, where he was eventually promoted to foreman.

Whilby gives thanks to God for his 106 years. “I praise him every day. Every day I get up, I say, thank you, Lord, for another day, and he teach me all the way.” He encourages others to find their faith. “I tell any one of you in here, if you do not believe in God, you are on the wrong track.”

The 106-year-old is particular with his food, avoids fats and fatty meat, doesn’t drink or smoke, and is fond of a good joke. Whilby is proud of only having had one parking ticket in his life, after he bought a 1966 Ford for $1,800 and parked somewhere he shouldn’t have, near his home at 54th and Chestnut. “I’ve never been into a courthouse. I am a law-abiding man.”

“Treat everybody good, good, and you can’t lose,” Whilby said. “Be good. Love everybody. Do the best you can.”

“Be good. Love everybody. Do the best you can.”

Caroline Merrill — the oldest centenarian I interviewed — loves parades and the occasional apple martini at a restaurant. When she was 4 years old, she remembers helping her older sister make bandages for World War I wounded veterans at Zion Baptist Church of Ardmore. Her husband, Charles, was a truck driver for the Red Ball Express.

When her husband returned home from World War II, Merrill marched as a flag bearer for a parade in Ardmore. As a member of Leon Spencer Reid American Legion Post 547, she marched in the Lower Merion Memorial Day Parade for decades.

Her advice for younger people is to be present and accepting of all that we cannot control.

“Stop worrying about little things,” she said. “I don’t worry about what tomorrow may bring. I’ll leave that up to the good Lord.” On the other side of acceptance is happiness.

She also wishes younger generations would do more to respect their elders. “Older people, so many people, young people, they don’t honor them like they should, but older people, we can give them a lot of wisdom if they ask for it. And please respect your parents,” she said.

Her dating advice? “Don’t carry it too far. I don’t know what too far is, but just act normal.”

The secret to living to 100, Merrill added, is that there is no secret. “I love every moment,” she said. “So many of my friends … they worry about every little trick. I said, you need to stop right there. Turn it over to the good Lord since you can’t handle it yourself.”

“I don’t worry about what tomorrow may bring. I’ll leave that up to the good Lord.”