Dennis McCarthy has the day off. Here is a “Best of Dennis” column originally published on May 16, 1991 in the Los Angeles Daily News.
Uncle Al is pacing the maternity ward, doing the job he does best — cuddling a crying newborn baby.
The retired 72-year-old Chatsworth man has been blessed with the golden touch, the people at Valley Presbyterian Hospital say.
Four years, hundreds of babies — and Al Dinsfriend hasn’t failed to stop one from crying yet.
But the baby girl in his arms Tuesday morning continues to wail, and Uncle Al — as he is affectionately called around the hospital — is feeling the pressure.
“Please, honey, don’t spoil my record,” he whispers, rocking her gently.
If she doesn’t quiet down soon, he knows he might have to resort to his big stopper — his lights out pitch.
Uncle Al might have to sing “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”
It is the song he sang so many nights to quiet his own baby boy — the song he so desperately wanted to sing to his three grandchildren but can’t because they are so far away.
And that, more than anything, is why this gentle, loving man walks the hospital maternity ward two days a week, five hours a day: cuddling babies, changing diapers and bathing newborns.
Why he walks them down the hall — clean and quiet — to their mothers.
Why he enjoys the quizzical stares of young mothers looking back at him, with the same question on their lips.
“Who’s this man holding my baby?”
Missing his grandchildren
Anne Marie Fastiggi leans over and touches Uncle A’s hand tenderly.
“It’s OK, take your time,” the director of volunteer services at Valley Presbyterian says, softly.
He nods, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Darn, I didn’t want to do this,” Al says.
With so much joy around him, he didn’t want to cry.
But he can’t get past this part of the story — his reasons for being here — without thinking about the three children in Switzerland.
“I miss them terribly,” Al says. “Being with these babies, cuddling them, singing to them — it’s all the love and feelings I wanted to give my grandchildren.”
Al’s son is an executive with a financial services company in Switzerland.
He smiles when I turn the topic to men and babies. All around us are women. Uncle Al is the only man among 25 maternity ward volunteers at the hospital.
“It doesn’t make any sense that there are no other men, does it?” he asks. “I don’t know why — maybe they’re scared of handling babies, maybe it’s just a macho thing.
“But I see them at the window, looking at the babies,” Al says. “I see the longing in their eyes. They aren’t fooling me.”
The shrug of his shoulders says “to each his own.”
Some men retire and play golf, some seek companionship with people their own age at senior citizen centers, some just become couch potatoes.
One cuddles babies. “If I stopped this and just stayed home, well, I wouldn’t last long,” Uncle Al says.
He lets out a laugh when asked about the reaction of mothers, seeing him walk into their rooms with their babies.
“Most of them are surprised. ‘A man?’ I show them my identification badge but some of them still look concerned so I tell them to call the nursery.”
That’s when mothers officially meet Uncle Al.
“They’e glad to see you’re still here when they come in for their second child. I’ve even run into mothers on the street who remember me. Makes you feel good.”
Last week, Al was standing in the hallway when nurses wheeled by a woman on a gurney going into the delivery room.
“She looked at me and had this big smile on her face,” he says. “I couldn’t place her at first. It was Lisa — my checker at Hughes.”
Small world.
Another satisfied customer
The baby is still crying. Uncle Al’s record is in jeopardy.
“I think it’s time for ‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad,’ Al,” Fastiggi says.
He shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says.
Uncle Al continues walking the baby in tight circles, gently rocking her in his arms. “Sssh, honey,” he whispers, over and over again.
Slowly, her eyes riveted on him begin to close and she falls asleep in his arms.
Uncle Al looks up, relieved. Close call.
He lays her gently in a crib and gives me a big, proud smile.
“You know something,” Uncle Al says. “I’ve got the best job in this hospital.”
He turns to walk to another crib, with another crying baby waiting for his arms.
A man’s work is never done.
Dennis McCarthy’s column runs on Sunday. He can be reached at dmccarthynews@gmail.com.