Hilary Cooper

PARKIE SHAW

Parkie Shaw and I became friends almost twenty years ago. In those days he was an elegant, imposing figure with a sharp wit and a strong sense of his New England roots. He occasionally affected a cane because, he said, he was in the early stages of a disease the name of which did not sink in. It was multiple schlerosis. It has sunk in.

Today, he cannot walk and all movement is extremely difficult. His sense of humor and his remarkable intelligence survive, but he is much kinder now and he more often jokes about himself. "I am an expert on belt buckles," he says, "and I can recognize people by their nose hair. At four-six one sees life differently than one does at five-eleven. Quite an interesting change."

He is still a commanding figure, sometimes literally. At parties and so on, when he is being ignored, as people in chairs often are, he simply summons an interesting person to his side and starts talking, as he always did. And listening too, as he does now.

He says this about his disease, which he has thought about in depth. "MS is a relationship. It is not your friend and it is not your enemy but rather it is your constant companion. You have to make time for it as it will certainly make time for you."

I had always thought he was a good guy, even when his manner was a little imposing. Now his life is difficult, very difficult indeed. And his response to it is as elegant as anything he has ever done.