Ex-Central coach cares for wife with dementia

MUNCIE, Ind. (AP) – It’s a little after 9 a.m. on a Wednesday, and the receptionist at Morrison Woods Health Campus is confused. Five minutes pass, then 10.

Finally she says, “It’s not normally like Mr. Rowe to be so late. Let me call him.”

Berlin Rowe has walked through the doors at this assisted living facility every day for the last nine months at 9 a.m. – or sometimes a little after, evidently – and God-willing, the 87-year-old will continue to do so every day as long as he is lucky enough. When he is at his Muncie home, he says he wishes he was here.

The receptionist gets off the phone with the answer: “His ride hasn’t picked him up yet.”

Rowe is allowed to drive in good weather, but on this chilly day, he uses a transportation service for seniors. When he arrives at 9:30, he grins: “Substitute driver, she couldn’t find me.”

He walks down the hall donning a faded purple hat with an “M” on it, greeting various employees.

“What’s up, coach? How you doin’?” one asks as Rowe strides by.

“Great!” comes the reply.

Rowe, who coached the Muncie Central boys basketball team from 1967 through 1974, is indeed in a great mood this morning, despite his delayed arrival. He is about to see the reason he comes here day after day, without exception.

He turns a corner and there she is, strapped into a stretcher. Ruth, his wife of 68 years, doesn’t smile or even acknowledge him as he approaches her side.

“Are you awake this morning?” he asks. “Yes, you are.”

Ruth was diagnosed with dementia about four years ago, and suffered a stroke that affected both sides of her brain about nine months ago. But she somehow survived, so Berlin says a good day is when Ruth will look at him while he talks to her. Making eye contact is special, considering Ruth has not spoken to him in a year and shows no signs of having any idea who he is.

Each morning he shows up wondering, will today be a good day?

Berlin coached the Bearcats at a time when fans would line up outside of the school the night before sectional tickets went on sale. If you could buy tickets at 8 a.m., you better be lined up at 8 p.m. the night before. Owning a few season tickets merely guaranteed you a chance at claiming those same tickets for the sectional. When the Bearcats went to semistate in 1970, they took 17 school buses full of fans with them. Half of Hinkle Fieldhouse – Rowe estimates about 7,000 fans worth – was clad in purple to see the Bearcats knock off Columbus North in the afternoon and Crispus Attucks that evening to advance to state.

In the 1960s, Central had become one of the most hated teams in the state – because it was always so good. From 1951 to 1963, the Bearcats won three state championships and finished state runner-up twice. When Rowe took over in 1967, the pressure was immense.

In those pre-, pre-, pre-Internet days, information on the other state contenders wasn’t just a click away as it is now, so Berlin and Ruth subscribed to 15 different newspapers. Fifteen. Ruth went through all of them every day and would cut out any stories or stats about the teams on the Bearcats’ schedule – or for that matter, any team they could meet down the line in regional, semi-state or state. She organized them into folders so Berlin could go through them before games. Basketball was always their life, so they worked together.

“At Muncie Central,” he explains, “you had to assume you were going a long way each year, so you had to be prepared.”

And thanks to Ruth, Berlin always was prepared. They graduated from Noblesville High School in 1948, and she accompanied him to Indiana State University when John Wooden recruited him to play guard. Wooden, however, left for UCLA before Berlin had even arrived on campus. Berlin laughs about it now, saying, “He never asked me to come with him to UCLA.” Wooden, of course, went on to win 10 national titles with the Bruins.

Around Thanksgiving in 1948, Berlin and Ruth got married, at which point Ruth’s time management and money skills rubbed off on Berlin. However, Berlin never informed his new coach of his marriage, and he only found out when he called the dorm and discovered the couple had moved into an apartment off campus. The coach wasn’t pleased.

They left Indiana State the following year as Berlin went to work in Noblesville, but he decided he wanted to play again and did so for a year at Anderson University. Then he was drafted into the Army, serving two years, including 13 months in South Korea. When he finally returned, Ruth sensed it was time to move on. “I think it’s time for you to quit playing,” she told him.

Ruth always knew what was best for Berlin, like when it was time for him to hang up the high tops, because, as Berlin puts it, she was incredibly bright. She was the valedictorian in high school and Berlin says that the high school wanted to pay for her college with the promise that she would come back and teach. Ruth declined because while “she had all the brains” of the relationship, she didn’t really like school much. She taught him about time management and money when they were just starting out as a couple.

With Berlin’s playing career through, he and Ruth entered the world of coaching. They started small with Royal Center High School in Cass County (part of the consolidation that is now Pioneer High School). Berlin coached the school of about 200 all the way to semi-state, where it lost to Lafayette Jeff, which had about 2,000 (that season explains why Berlin was, and still is, against class basketball). He moved on to Monticello High School for three years before the opening at Central.

Berlin and Ruth had three children – two daughters and a son – and he coached his son at Central through his junior season. There was one fan who would always sit right in front of Ruth and yell at her son and the rest of the team, but she didn’t stand for it. Ruth always chided the fan.

The Rowes often had the team over to their house for meals, and Ruth loved to cook for them. Especially before games, she didn’t want them eating junk food.

There’s one story Berlin loves to tell of his wife. Ruth was home alone one day when a college coach from Idaho stopped by the house to talk to Berlin about one of his players. But Berlin wasn’t home. Turns out it didn’t matter, because Ruth gave the coach a complete scouting report: “Good jumper, great leaper,” she informed the coach. The coach offered the player a scholarship, and Berlin gave Ruth all the credit.

Now whenever Berlin sees one of his former players, they all say, “Where’s your wife? How’s your wife?”

The truth is, she’s not doing well. And Berlin knows it.

When Ruth got dementia four years ago, Berlin cared for her at home. But then, Ruth got a bladder infection about a year ago and he had to take her to the hospital. They discovered her blood count was low on hemoglobin, it caused her to have a stroke. She wasn’t expected to live through it, Berlin says, as it went up both sides of her brain.

“The hospital didn’t think they would save her,” Berlin says. “They had to do a lot of things in a very short period of time.”

He pauses.

“She’s very strong.”

And that brings us to the present day, with the stark realities that face Berlin each morning when he arrives.

Ruth Rowe does not know the man who shows up to hang out with her all day and is heartbroken to leave her each day, so much so that he would rather she be asleep when he leaves for fear of her seeing him depart. Other than an occasional yes or no, she has not spoken to Berlin in a year, and she likely never will again. He feeds her yogurt, applesauce and pudding, which are the only things she can swallow as she is on a feeding tube.

Meanwhile, he sits beside her each day and continues to talk to her because there’s nothing he would rather do.

“We’re just glad to hear anything from her,” Berlin says quietly. “We’re just so lucky she’s not in any pain.”

Berlin’s memory is sharp. He can recall in vivid detail the dramatic upset loss to Cowan in the 1969 sectional, or the run to the state semifinals in 1970. Ask him about a game from 50 years ago and he can break it down into quarters. He can tell you the other team’s best player. It’s remarkable.

He can also recall the 30 years he spent each summer on vacation with Ruth in Daytona Beach, at the same hotel in the same room each year. He remembers their last trip together, which was to Branson, Missouri, four years ago. Much has changed since then.

“We’ve reconciled ourselves to the fact that this is the way it is,” Berlin says. “There’s always hope. Maybe it will get better someday. We’re just thankful she’s as alert as she is.”

At one point while Berlin is speaking, Ruth turns her head and stares at him, as if she is suddenly aware of who this man is, the one who constantly talks about her to staff and visitors. The one who talks to her when she can’t respond. Berlin glances over at her mid-sentence, and his smile grows wider.

It’s the kind of look Berlin Rowe lives for and brings him back each and every day.