by Kathi Koll
As he worked tirelessly on the project, his friends would say, “Don, I hope you’re not putting any of your own money into Cabo; it’ll never work. Cabo is a world-class fishing mecca,” they’d prod, “but no one goes there to play golf.”
Don’s gut told him something different. He shook off their barbs, and with the help of Jack’s keen eye for course design, propelled Cabo into the world-famous golf resort it is now. Building Cabo del Sol was a creative labor of love for Don, and the course was quickly ranked in the top 100 of the world by Golf Digest. Today, there are as many golf bags as fishing rods arriving at the airport.
Don was on a roll and loving it. He bought the Palmilla Hotel in 1984 along with the surrounding beachfront and hillside, added another hundred rooms to it, built the Palmilla Jack Nicklaus Signature Golf Course, had the highway moved, and developed the adjoining land into private home sites. He then mirrored his efforts at Cabo del Sol, a five-mile stretch nestled south in a beautiful cove along the Sea of Cortez. The owner was Bud Parr. When Don showed up with cash in hand to settle their deal, Bud sat on the other side of his desk and said, “I’ve changed my mind about the price. And I always get my way.”
He pulled a cloth off his desk, revealing—in true Wild West fashion—a loaded gun facing right at Don. Don leaped towards him and said, “Bud, if you don’t take that gun right now and put it in the bottom drawer of your desk, I’m going to take it, stick it up your ass, and shoot your flipping brains out!” (and flipping is not the word he used). Surprised, Bud followed orders, and they made their deal. Don’s charisma was a big part of his reputation, but it didn’t take long for people to realize he shouldn’t be crossed.
Forty years later, Don said to me, “Come on, Kathi, get in the car. We’re going to the Hacienda to talk to Mark Parr.” He was one of the three sons who inherited the resort from their infamous father, Bud. I loved listening to Don come up with a strategy for how the conversation would go and the rapport we’d develop with Mark. “OK, Kathi, don’t talk too much, and don’t talk too little,” he coached as we drove down the coast. “You grew up near Mark, right? Talk about your old neighborhood.”
We played this game for two years before he made his deal. It took a lot of negotiations, dinners, and lunches to get there, but what an experience it was for me. The education I received watching Don was priceless, and I enjoyed every minute of it. None of this came without guts, sheer determination, and his insatiable love for the area. Many say Don put Cabo on the map. He paved the way for the third wave, those landing their private Gulfstream jets today, bragging to their friends about the new unspoiled resort destination of Cabo they’ve “discovered.”
Mark knew Don could be trusted and didn’t want the property to go to anyone else. Don had earned a stellar reputation in Cabo. He loved Cabo and Cabo loved him. Don was respected and loved by the local people of Cabo, because his resorts and developments were responsible for the creation of thousands of jobs. He was honored for his generosity towards the community in 2006 when Governor Narcisco Agúndez named the new fifty-two-acre sports complex The Don Koll Sports Center, an unheard of honor for a “gringo” in Cabo.
Don measured success by a very simple yardstick. For our fifth anniversary, we flew to a resort on mainland Mexico. As we landed our small plane, Don said, “This place isn’t doing very well. Look at the iron. We have the best plane here.” We returned to Cabo after our anniversary weekend, and he said, “Look how great Cabo is doing! We have the shittiest little plane here.” Seeing the prosperity of Cabo gave him more pleasure than anything he personally gained from it.
I visited the construction site of the sports center with Don many times during its early stages. He always took pleasure in watching the work being done and the excitement it was bringing to local people involved—especially our good friend Marco Ehrenberg, who had spent countless hours working to make this dream come true.
When I think of Don’s and my new normal, one of the most challenging and important pieces was how to get Don back to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, the city he held deep within his heart. Standing at the foot of our bed, watching Dr. Shpiner about to perform an emergency trach change, I looked at Don and said, “Don, tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, and I promise you, we will be in Cabo next year on Valentine’s Day.”
Dr. Shpiner looked up and said, “What are you talking about?”
“We have a year to figure it out,” I answered. “Let’s make it happen.”
When I shared my idea with Dr. Shpiner and a few others again months later, it once again fell upon deaf ears. “There’s no way you can take a completely paralyzed man on a respirator 1,500 miles south to Mexico,” the doctor said.
Then Marco called me one afternoon and said, “The governor wants to have an opening ceremony for the community, and he’s hoping Don can make it.”
With Don’s fragile condition we could never commit 100%, but we explained to all concerned how excited he was and that he would do his best to make it. The governor was even generous enough to open the schedule to any day or time of day that would be convenient for Don.
I really didn’t think it would be anything other than a few dignitaries. If I had known what the event was really going to be like, I would have had all our family and friends there. When the event rolled around, though, we were glad to have three couples visiting us who were excited to come along. As we left the house, me in the van with Don and our friends following in another car, we were stopped by a police officer waiting for us to exit our driveway. He was there to escort us to the ceremony. We drove down the highway with a line of police cars—red lights and sirens leading the way.
As we turned off the highway and followed the escort through the local community near Cabo San Lucas, which is now a city of thousands, the road turned to dirt and was full of potholes. We had to hold Don’s head tightly in place against the wheelchair headrest, for fear it’d fall forward and he’d be injured. But he didn’t mind; he was smiling ear to ear. The energy changed from a tourist town to a local community brimming with excitement. There were banners on every corner.
“Look, Don,” I said. “Look over there at that sign. It says, ‘THANK YOU DON KOLL!’ Look at that one. It says, ‘BIENVENIDO DON KOLL.’” There were people everywhere making their way to the sports center. Families pushing baby strollers. Dogs running down the street. Teenagers laughing with their friends. Older people slowly maneuvering through the throngs of attendees. Police directing traffic. It was amazing. We arrived at the stadium where the unfinished parking lot was full of cars, busses, bicycles, and people. As we approached, hundreds of people made way for us to drive to a little spot next to an ambulance. The organizers had thought of everything.
“Hi, everyone,” said our friend Marco as he came up to the van. “There’s going to be several activities, and then, Kathi, you’ll speak for Don.”
“Marco, are you kidding me? I’m giving a speech?” I was shocked.
“Don’t worry, Kathi,” he said. “You’ll be great, and I have an interpreter for you since you don’t speak Spanish.”
One of our friends chimed in, “I thought we were going to a little gymnasium somewhere. What in the heck is going on?”
Marco escorted us to an area in the outside arena where the governor greeted us. Through his interpreter, he asked if there was any way Don would have the stamina to circle the stadium with him. I asked Don what he thought, and he mouthed, “Absolutely.”
Opening ceremeony at Estadio Don Koll with Governor Narciso Agúndez Montaño
We took our position alongside the governor in the front of about fifty dignitaries, local businessmen, senators, and city council members. You name them—they were there. To open the ceremony, the local high school band paraded onto the field followed by a group of drum majorettes. A number of grade-school soccer teams represented in different colored uniforms lined the track as we started the procession, with me operating Don’s wheelchair. There were thousands of people fi
lling the stands, and those who didn’t have a seat were lined five deep outside a fence. As we passed by the crowd seated in the bleachers, they stood in a wave motion and chanted, “DON KOLL, DON KOLL.” The only dry eyes in the house were Don’s as he flashed his wide smile to everyone from the top of the bleachers to those peering through the chain-link.
When it was my turn to speak, I looked at the crowd and shared with them the story of when and why Don first ventured to Cabo, starting with, “When my husband first arrived here in 1964 by way of his small plane, most of you hadn’t even been born.” I shared his love for the area and respect for the people. I finished my speech with, “Don is an American who loves his country, but a huge part of his heart lies here and always will.” The sky lit up with fireworks along with endless cheering and applause. Families lined up to introduce themselves to Don and posed to have their children’s pictures taken with him. It was an unforgettable experience for me, and the smile it brought to Don’s face showed not only his joy, but also the deep gratitude for the country he loved and respected.
* * *
During the first eighteen months, I still clung to the idea he’d get better. Dr. Shpiner told me too much time had passed, and Don would never get off the respirator and breathe on his own. Each time the doctor visited, I’d follow him out of the house to his car and say, “Haven’t you ever seen the Guinness Book of World Records? Don’s going to be in it. He’s going to get off the respirator.”
Between the regular medical staff, medical specialists, therapists, someone to cut Don’s hair and clip, his nails there were a multitude of different people coming and going throughout the year. I normally did Don’s nails, but sometimes he’d get a real manicure and pedicure, which was imperative. Some people worked regular shifts, some would only come once or twice a month, but all had to be scheduled.
The job was daunting, but after a while, it became routine. The part that never settled into regularity was Don’s fragile condition. It could change within minutes. He could go from being stable to having a temperature of 101 and spiking in an instant. His personality could change from happy to depressed in a matter of moments. The dreaded unknown was always lurking. Even seemingly banal things like sleeping position became important, scheduled parts of life. His skin specialist came to educate us on the fragility of skin in Don’s condition. She explained that skin breakdown could lead to bedsores, which could easily become complicated by infection. “Many people don’t realize it, but bedsores were the source of Christopher Reeves’ problems in the end,” she informed us before explaining the complex schedule of turning and repositioning Don would need every two hours, twenty-four hours a day.
“You know, Kathi,” Don’s long-time doctor, John Storch, said to me once, “your situation is the hardest. There’s no beginning and no known end. If Don had a terminal illness, there would be somewhat of a timeframe, but your life is the unknown. Don’s life could be a matter of minutes or many years.”
He was so right. Every night when I closed my eyes, I had no idea if he’d still be with me in the morning. Every morning as I readied for the day, I never knew if he’d still be with me by nightfall. The uncertainty never escaped me. I later learned that this is called “anticipated grief,” a very difficult existence many caregivers live with.
Each night when I kissed Don good night, I’d rest my lips on his cheek. I’d be so close that I couldn’t see all the tubes and machines keeping him alive. I’d close my eyes and pretend all was just like it always had been. I’d open my eyes in the morning still nuzzled up against him thinking the same thoughts. Only the reality of the day stole these precious memories.
When the long-term team was pulled together, I did start to get used to having all sorts of people I barely knew living with me. They were the ones Don and I felt most comfortable with. Everyone tried to give me space, but it was impossible to do so. I lived in the same room as Don, and he wanted me by his side as much as possible. I never had a full night’s sleep because I awakened every two hours to help turn him. There were always questions, stories, concerns, and problems from the medical staff. One day I timed how long it took me to get from my bedroom to the kitchen and back again for a pencil. Forty-five minutes. I had absolutely no privacy or alone time. Of course, neither did Don.
If I had it to do all over again, knowing what I do now, I’d make a point of carving out time in the day for myself, and now I counsel family caregivers to do the same. No one knows or can easily handle the stress put on a caregiver. As time goes on, the patient becomes increasingly needy and, I hate to say it, selfish. A regular schedule for me would have helped us both. If I had set aside an hour each day on a regular basis, Don would have been used to it and known it was my personal time.
I learned that our medical ward, with so many personalities to live with, was a world unto itself with similar problems to that of a little country. I loved some staff that Don didn’t want anything to do with, and he insisted I ask them to leave. “Don’t take it personally if you don’t work out with Don,” I explained to released staff members. “He asked me to marry him without thinking he’d be with me twenty-four hours a day. You’re new to him, and he just might not want to spend the rest of his life with you. Good care is one thing, but there has to be a personality fit in a situation like his and mine.”
Don wanted one woman gone from the start. Her personality was erratic, but she worked hard to make herself indispensable. As time went on, we felt that her personality swings were suspicious. Even scarier was the realization that many of Don’s close emergencies and equipment failures were on her watch. It began to look as if the close calls were constructed. We were in agreement: She had to go, and go quickly. It was a difficult situation that I didn’t have the energy to confront head on, but I was dealing with Don’s precious life and happiness. My gut instinct is usually right, and in this case, it reminded me that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Since Don could never be left alone, I worked with a few trusted nurses, and we worked out a secret backup calendar, which made the transition seamless.
Most of the staff members were dreams come true, and we had a good working relationship. They came to form a bond with Don, and I could tell he felt the same way towards them. It was obvious who he respected and felt secure with, and for the most part, many of the original team were with us till the end. As incredible as the staff was, there were some serious problems in our little world. One heartbreaking situation stood out against all the rest.
Don mouthed to me that he wanted one of the girls fired. I thought she was fantastic. He became extremely upset and was mouthing words so fast I couldn’t keep up.
“Slow down,” I said. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Yes it is,” Don mouthed, “One of the girls is touching me inappropriately.”
Stupidly I said, “Normally you’d call this a hall pass. You wouldn’t believe how lucky you were.”
He didn’t think it was funny at all, and I felt horrible I had kidded him.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Don, the staff needs to bathe you, and that part of you is part of it.”
“I know the difference,” he mouthed. If he could have talked, his voice would have been booming. “FIRE HER.”
Hearing this confession broke my heart. I felt guilty I didn’t know sooner, but how could I have?
10
ONE MORE ROLL IN THE HAY
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
—Lao Tzu
The first time Mother Dolores came back to Los Angeles from the Abbey was in 2007 when she was invited to be the honorary chair of a Neuropathy event. The Reverend Mother allowed her to attend, knowing it was for a good cause, and I think the rules of the Abbey had lightened up a bit. The evening was filled with the excitement of friends old and new there to welcome Mother Dolores back after so many years being away. My family was there to support my brother and to meet Mother Dolores
for the first time. The aunt they almost had. Maria Cooper, Gary Cooper’s daughter, was there. She was a childhood friend of my brother’s and close to Dolores, along with being another girlfriend of my brother’s whom I looked up to as a child. The audience was filled with celebrities excited to welcome Dolores back into their fold.
The first time I met Academy Award–winning actress Patricia Neal, I was visiting Mother Dolores at the Abbey when I was a little girl. The second time our paths crossed was this evening, when I spoke with her about my husband’s stroke in hopes that she might have some valuable advice to pass along to me. The stroke she had sustained was legendary, and there had been many articles written about her bravery and strength in fighting back to live a fulfilled life. I was looking for some encouragement, but all she could say was, “Oh dear, my stroke wasn’t nearly that bad. I’m so sorry.” Several years after Don’s death, I watched the Stephen Hawking movie The Theory of Everything and wished that Don had been able to operate his wheelchair and speak, even if he remained difficult to understand. Don’s physical limitations made his life difficult in ways that made Hawking’s look enviable. It would’ve made a world of difference, but we managed a full, vibrant life regardless.
Dolores was only in town for two days, but she made it very clear to my brother that the two things she wanted to do were meet my husband, whom she and the other sisters had been praying for, and attend the Neuropathy benefit. Before arriving at our home, my brother quietly took Mother Dolores to all their special places, including lunch at the Beverly Hills Hotel. I told my husband how important it was to her to meet him and wondered what he would think of her wanting to spend time with him.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He looked at me with the cutest expression and rolled his eyes as if to say, “Oh brother, what are you getting me into now, Kathi?”
It had been years since my childhood visit to the Abbey, and I was nervous to see Mother Dolores again. I wasn’t sure how I was to act or how she would react to me. I had grown up believing she was bigger than life, a movie star with amazing stories. After their wedding was canceled, I thought of the hurt I felt she had caused my brother, the confusion of why she would be in such a place, the wonder of how it would be to greet her as an adult and not as a child. Most of all, I was nervous to see my brother with her. My mind was full of questions of how she could have done this to him. She came in with my brother and another nun, Mother Angele, who was my brother’s goddaughter.