This post’s title refers to a slim paperback, written by Ronald J. Glaser, MD, that offers a plan for winning the war against cancer, our most terrifying foe. I have never read the book and don’t remember when or how I got a copy. Today, I took a closer look at it after getting the saddest news there is about D. J., a close friend from Treasure Island.
Dr. Glaser’s premise is that we are our own worst enemy when it comes to cancer in that as much as 85 percent of all cancers can be traced to environmental issues caused by man. Does that apply in my friend’s case? I don’t know. Was it his choice of professions? He didn’t smoke, but perhaps a lifetime of work as a carpenter, builder, remodeler, and handyman exposed him to enough industrial pollutants to cause the Stage 4 chest cancer he died from. Even if D. J.’s diagnosis didn’t completely fit Dr. Glaser’s narrative—and because human health is complicated, it might not—applying the title of the book to his case seems appropriate. That’s even though it wasn’t a fair fight for D. J. or a battle he could win.
Life isn’t fair. Why should D. J. be a casualty in a war we should have won by now? Dr. Glaser’s book was published in 1976, fifty years ago. Why do some cancers become terminal so quickly? D. J. was only in his mid-sixties. His family came first, but he was always active his whole life, either by working or by pursuing his favorite hobbies: fishing, boating, hunting, cooking, working on cars—things that made him happy.
D. J. and I were friends for more than twenty years. In that time, he did countless jobs for me. Like works of art, his projects (a shed, deck, chandelier, wall safe, bathroom storage rack, garage lights, and others) are everywhere in my house and make me think of him. A relationship that started with the installation of a keypad lock soon developed into a lasting friendship. We had so many conversations about politics, government, law enforcement, classic cars, Treasure Island gossip, and the crazy things people do. All with never a cross word between us.
If you wanted to hire D. J. for a building project, you had to tell him well in advance of when you needed it. He didn’t advertise, but he always had several customers on his waiting list. His work was that good. He also didn’t hire helpers or construction crews. Since he was going to be responsible for the result, he did the work himself. I trusted him completely, and we never bothered with estimates.
One quick story from a happier time. D. J. collected wasp nests. A couple of years ago, I told him about some bad-ass hornets that were attacking me every time I tried to prune the bushes near their nest. “Those are bald-faced hornets, and they are super aggressive,“ he said. “I can get rid of them if you want, but I would like to keep the nest.” Like I was going to argue with that.
Long after dark one night when the hornets were back in the nest, D. J. taped a flea fogger to a long pole, activated the fogger, and positioned it next to the nest’s entrance. All this while standing on a ladder and shining a flashlight on the operation. At least, that’s what he told me. I was safely inside and wasn’t there to watch. A couple of days later with the hornets all dead or long gone, he cut the nest down and added it to his collection.
So long, D. J. I hope there are some things I can do to ease the burden on your family.
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