Golf chips in to give Alzheimer's patient links to past

Emerging from a white stretch limousine parked in front of the Buffalo Grove Golf Club, Henry "Hank" Miller steps into his past.

The 84-year-old resident of Arden Courts Alzheimer's Assisted Living complex in Elk Grove Village tips his golf cap as he greets old golfing partners of many a foursome, relationships that began nearly four decades ago.

"I'm still hanging in there, somehow or another," Hank says with a shrug whenever anyone asks.

"At times, he's pretty good," says his brother, Mike Miller, 73. The younger brother makes all the decisions now for the man he says supported the family after their dad died, and "took care of Mom for 14 years."

"Hank and I were partners for years, 12 years, maybe longer. I'm getting like he is. I can't remember things either," says Arnold "Whitey" Krause, 78, who longed to be a golfer but didn't become a regular until he teamed up with Hank. "Hank made me feel at home."

Hank's home now is Arden Courts, which set up this lunch and golf outing as part of its Heart's Desire program that gives residents the chance to fulfill a wish, such as a chance to hit the putting green with old buddies.

"Golf is a constant reminiscence for him," says Kelly Fritz, the activities director at Arden Courts.

Giving up golf a half-dozen years back was a sign that Hank wasn't the man he used to be. Then he started getting lost and having minor car accidents. Last August, Hank moved into the Alzheimer's home, where he competes fiercely in Bingo, but gets frustrated with the foam golf equipment and miniature bowling.

The middle child of five born to his chauffeur father and his Irish mom, Hank always was athletic.

"He was the smallest guy in his class at Lane Tech when he graduated and went right into the war," Mike says.

A signalman on a Navy tanker in the Pacific during World War II, "he watched a torpedo go by and hit the boat next to him," his brother says. Shrapnel earned Hank a Purple Heart.

After the war, Hank took care of his widowed mother and drove a truck in the city. When his mother died, he lived for 32 years with his sister, Tella, her husband and six kids in Arlington Heights. Hank smoked four packs of Lucky Strikes a day and drank too much at night, both habits he quit years ago. He also served as a neighborhood bookie, taking bets on the ponies for his friends.

"He was an angel - with horns," Whitey says with a laugh.

Always quiet, Hank fails to recognize one old friend at lunch, and he seems unsure of how to react. He methodically finishes the food on his lunch plate, as his friends Whitey, Ed and Norma Marcin of Gurnee, Dick Monaghan and Reg Prokof of Buffalo Grove, and Len Hansen of Arlington Heights tell old stories about golfers, thrown clubs, lost balls and life that all elicit lively laughs.

"Right in the middle of the pond."

"So he was shooting 7 off the tee."

"He'd never take a gimme, even from 2 inches away."

"A young lady built like you wouldn't believe."

When they continue the conversation outside on the putting green, Hank becomes more comfortable, more animated.

"I've got to putt," he says.

"Whoa, a break," Hanks says, as his first putt skirts to the right of the hole. So does his second.

"Whoa, another break," he says before deadpanning, "I'm consistent."

Then he nails three straight putts from 6 feet away. Mike coaxes him to try a long putt. In silence, Hank rolls a 40-footer within 2 inches of the hole. His next putt is perfect. Hank is good.

"Used to be," Hank says. "I haven't played in so long."

Friends say Hank, also a top bowler who once rolled a near-perfect 298, always played according to the rules (refusing to accept gimme putts) and generally turned in excellent scores in the low 80s or upper 70s.

"I might have been in the 60s once, 69 or 68. I can't remember," Hank says, shaking his head. "I played so often, I didn't pay attention."

But he pays attention to these few hours among golfing chums who carry as many canes as putters these days. For a moment, he's the old Hank.

"I like seeing these guys," he says.

It's a wonderful day with friends, sunshine and golf. The only bothersome thing, his brother notes, is that Hank may not remember any of it by now.