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Published on 03/30/1998 All articles from this issue

Los Altos centenarian masters the 'keys' to robust, long life

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By Mary Cristy

Special to the Town Crier

When Irene Grace Turner came into the world on March 28, l898, Victoria ruled an empire on which "the sun never set." A native of South Wales, (U.K.) Irene grew into a spunky, active red-head. By the time she caught the admiring eye of Arthur Slade in the 1920s she was an avid motorcyclist, careening about on a "Douglas."

"She gave it up when she and dad married," son Peter said with a grin.

Arthur didn't want his wife risking life and limb, preferring instead to see her at the piano playing popular tunes of the day. The pair settled on a small farm in Cardiff, U.K to raise cattle, geese, and chickens, and subsequently a son, Peter. But the Depression came, and with it the loss of the farm.

The family moved to Somerset, England where they stayed together until l947 when Peter emigrated to the United States. A year later Irene and Arthur followed to make a new life in California.

Irene's love affair with Arthur lasted 65 years. When Arthur died "She was devastated," Peter said, "but I was there to help, and she came through."

In the course of her lifetime Irene has survived two heart attacks. Two years ago she sustained a fall that broke her nose and shoulder, and in December of last year doctors warned Peter that Irene probably wouldn't live through a virulent bout of influenza that laid them both low.

Peter geared for the worst, but under his tender care Irene rallied and lived to celebrate her centennial on March 28. Friends and neighbors honoring Peter's request for "Your presence, not your presents" filled Irene and Peter's charming Los Altos cottage with flowers, perfume, and candy. Irene, perky and alert in her rocker greeted guests with "I'm l00 years old!," and displayed her card from Hillary and Bill Clinton proudly.

"Ask her how she feels," a guest prompted.

Quick as a wink Irene quipped, "With my hands!"

When the inevitable secret-of-longevity question was raised Peter said, "I've fed her all the things she loves best. Cream, butter, scones, in short whatever she fancies."

An experimental stay in a rest home two years ago "didn't work out," Peter said. With a fond smile he recalled "I had to take her home."

Peter's devoted care is augmented by retired nurse Fasiti Kanasara, a Fiji islander who came to live with Peter and Irene last May.

As queen of her little cottage Irene glows with health and contentment. She had left off playing the piano during her December illness, but two days after her birthday she was at the keyboard again, playing hits of the '40's and humming "The White Cliffs of Dover."

At this rate Peter feels confident she'll be in form to play "Happy Birthday to Me," at her l01st, next March. Asked to describe his mother "in a word" Peter smiles broadly and says, "Feisty!"

And Peter feels Arthur showed the better part of wisdom in encouraging Irene to downplay the motorcycle and stick with the piano.

"For you see, it might be difficult for her to ride a Harley-Davidson today--whereas she has no trouble a'tall sitting at the keyboard."