BEACON PEOPLE: LYNN RINGER [SA, 1-25-25]

BEYOND WINTER: The Sometimes Relevant Memories of An Old Man—BEACON PEOPLE: LYNN RINGER [SA, 1-25-25]

 Lynn Ringer died recently. 87 years old. They said she would die at 20.

Twenty is when she got ovarian cancer. The survival rate then was 1 [one] %.

She and a friend had moved away from their small town in North Dakota to live together in a city and have careers. Instead of a career, she got cancer. One night, in the hospital all alone, she spoke to the cancer. “Well, one percent means somebody will live, and it might as well be me.”

The next day a new oncologist came to see her. Not only new to her, but new to oncology. Paul Hamilton had been a pathologist but decided he didn’t want to deal with diseases only. He wanted to deal with people. He said to his new patient, “Well, one percent means somebody will live, and it might as well be you.”

The tall, beautiful young woman and the short, wily old man formed an immediate bond. Their story is told in the book, I’m a Patient, Too, By Albert Fay Hill. Paul understood that a cancer patient might listen better, and feel more supported, by a fellow patient than by a doctor. He began to take Lynn with him on his rounds. From that beginning came Cansurmount, the cancer support program, patient to patient.

That is common now, but it was novel in the 1960s. It was still new when Helen and I went to Iliff Theological Seminary in Denver in the summer of 1990 for a course called “Empowering the Cancer Patient,” lead by Lynn and Paul and fellow-survivor and theologian, John Anduri.

Only six months before, the pale oncologist had told me “A year, or two.” I needed empowering.

It was a fascinating class. I was the only one with cancer, so Helen became almost another instructor, for she had insights as a cancer spouse that no one else had. Most class members were Iliff students, but mature, second career people: A retired school superintendent. A minister whose wife was dying from cancer. A professional bounty hunter, who plied his trade on the weekend while he was in seminary. A few in addition to us who were there just for the one class: A nun. A reclusive woman in a wheelchair. An accountant.

The accountant, Judy, was fun. She said, “Accounting is so boring. One day I was driving by here, and saw the sign and thought, ‘Theology school. That looks interesting, so I just came in to sign up. When I told a friend, she said, ‘But shouldn’t you do something else first… like go to church?” She ended up marrying a preacher she met in that class.

Helen and I became fast friends with John and Paul and especially with Lynn. We stayed in touch. She was a pilot and would fly from Denver to Illinois to see us.

One day toward the end of the summer, John asked us each to say where we wanted to be in twenty years. I said, “I want to be sitting in the chair Lynn’s in now, and say the same thing she said twenty years ago. ‘Somebody’s going to live. It might as well be me.’”

I got to do that.

There are people in this life who are light house beacons. For me, one of those was Lynn. One of the joys of old age is getting to see the life of a friend in wholeness, from start to finish. “Well done, good and faithful servant.” I give thanks for Lynn, for her inspiration, for her friendship, for her life.

John Robert McFarland