Heartfelt thanks to a town that gave so much

By Guest

Dear Editor:

The sons of Karl and Frances Bischoff wish to thank so many of their wonderful neighbors, friends, first responders — simply put, too many people to count — who gave their lives as residents of Canton so much meaning.

It’s easy to take for granted the things that make up normal everyday life. In our case, Canton provided so much more. My brother Karl was “special needs” before the term was invented. Yet the neighbors around our house on Lincolnshire Drive accepted Karl for who and what he was, and in doing so, helped keep my mother and father sane. The town of Canton (and this was before “mainstreaming” of special needs children was a thing) ensured that he received the education he was entitled to.

As far as I was concerned, I found myself wanting to escape Canton with all my heart and soul — first by going to school in Boston, which meant I could enjoy all the sights and adventures of the “big city,” but still return home to do my laundry and have a home-cooked meal. Eventually, I made my escape to California, where I’ve lived since 1990 — it took a cross-country move to fully appreciate the family and town I left behind.

When Frances, our mother, developed the cancer that would kill her, it was the town that rallied around her. From the first responders who came to her assistance when she was too weak to get out of the tub, to the folks at the Canton Co-operative Bank who’d bring food to the doorstep, to the neighbors who kept her company when things were bad, to the priests at St. John’s who visited her and kept her spirit nourished and prepared her for her final journey. And when her journey was finished, it was the people at Dockray and Thomas who helped give her life the coda it so richly deserved.

It took 17 years for Karl, our dad, to follow her. In that time, he resumed his very active Meals on Wheels route, was chased by numerous widows (and never succumbed to their wiles and charms). As he aged, and his mind and body changed, it was, again, his neighbors and his fellow townspeople who kept him “aging in place,” at home and independent, far longer than anyone could expect. It was his neighbors who drove him to the doctors’ when he could no longer do so, and it was his neighbors who kept me apprised of his, quite literal, ups and downs.

When his time came to leave his house and enter assisted living, it was his neighbors who refused to forget him, and kept him company when I couldn’t be there. It was the neighbors who would also “gently” remind me that the lawn needed mowing, or that my dad’s American flag wasn’t always flying outside the garage.

When I’d make my visits to help, as best I could, to take care of his house, his banking and his health, I was sustained by the compassion of not just the neighbors, but the wonderful people at the Bank of Canton and the Canton Co-operative Bank who were more than just bankers but friends; the folks at Town Hall who kept me on track with taxes and such, the Canton Veterans Services Department who were always on hand to keep me updated on what he, as a proud veteran of D-Day, the Philippine Invasion, Okinawa, the Japanese Occupation and the atomic bomb test at Bikini, was entitled to — well, there are simply too many people to count, but you all have our eternal gratitude.

As my dad prepared to leave this world, it was the nurses and aides at the Hellenic Nursing Home who cared for him in his final weeks. When it was time to say goodbye, it was again, the wonderful people at St. John’s who prepared him spiritually. It was the veterans of Canton who presented the colors to my brother, and it was, again, the folks at Dockray and Thomas who gave him the dignified sendoff he so richly deserved after 91 years of life, and reunited him with his beloved, where they share their eternal rest.

Their house is rented, yet the folks who live there continue to fly my dad’s flag.

My brother is in a group home not far from here. I’m in California with my wife and daughter, yet when we visit, all our 10 year old wants to do is play with the kids who live across the street from my parents’ house, and of course, feed Vito, the pig who keeps watch over Gary Titus’ chickens.

Last Saturday, a bunch of CHS ’80 graduates gathered at Big D’s — it was my first time seeing these wonderful people in 37 years — and it reminded me that, sometimes, you can go home again.

In some ways, our time in Canton is finished, but not forgotten, for it is Canton that formed us in so many ways.

We will always be grateful for what Canton has given to us.

Richard and Karl Bischoff

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