Naomi Gladish Smith

The genial man in the hospital bed seemed to enjoy the visits on my rounds as a volunteer.  He appeared on our floor fairly regularly and though it’s never a good thing to have a patient return to the hospital, I couldn’t help being pleased to find his name on the list.  I knew he’d been some sort of judge before he retired, but we didn’t talk about that; we spoke of inconsequential things that interested us both.

Later in our acquaintance he told me about his painting.  He called it a hobby, but when he offered to show me a couple, I was astonished to see they weren’t at all amateurish, but lovely little oil scenes on particle board.  When he said he would like me to have one, I hesitated - about a nanosecond - before accepting with heartfelt gratitude.  The one I chose was a four by five-inch painting of what looked like a French farmhouse by a quiet stream.  And for years it has greeted me each morning as I sit at my desk.

It was some time after I heard of his death that I looked him up on the internet and found he wasn’t just “some sort of judge.”  John Stamos was an Illinois Supreme Court Justice, the author of a landmark decision, a man whose colleagues lauded him for his humility and probity.  I wasn’t surprised. 

But to me he’ll remain the kindly gentleman who always smiled when I entered his hospital room.