Los Angeles Daily News

Saturday, September 21, 2002 - The summons came by e-mail. Edith wanted to see me, her friend said. She was turning 100, and for her birthday she wanted to meet that "nice young man Dennis McCarthy who writes for the newspaper.'

Nice young man? Bless her heart and poor eyesight.

It's been 30 years since anyone called me a nice, young man, and that was probably my mother. I stopped by the beauty salon Friday morning to surprise Edith Hooper and wish her a happy birthday.

You've got to love this woman's style. She was spending her 100th birthday getting her hair done.

Her family and church were throwing her a big wingding this weekend, and Edith - who's outlived two husbands - wanted to look like a million bucks just in case there were any single men around.

She gave me a big smile and a hug, and when I looked into her face I saw my grandmother's face. She would have been 100 this year, too, rest her soul.

They would have been good friends, Edith and my grandmother. Near the end, at 79, only two things put a real smile on her face - watching her grandkids grow up and having her hair done once a week.

Edith - with five grandkids, three great-grandkids, and one hairdresser - understood completely.

The great thing about making it to 100 with your health intact, she says, is you find yourself smiling now more than you ever did.

Because every new day is a gift, and every new person you meet is a friend.

"That's why I wanted to meet you,' she said. "You write about interesting people, real people - doing different, good things.'

I've got a few desk drawers filled with journalism honors I've been fortunate enough to win over the years, but I'd trade them all in a second for those two sentences from Edith.

She walked into a fancy Ventura Boulevard restaurant a few days ago to find about 50 of her friends from Sherman Oaks Methodist Church and the Sherman Oaks Women's Club waiting to sing "Happy Birthday to You.'

You would think that at 100 there wouldn't be too many firsts left in life, Edith said, but you would be thinking wrong.

"They gave me a standing ovation,' she said, sounding a little awed and embarrassed that anyone would consider her important enough to stand up and clap for her.

"I've never had a standing ovation before.'

That's Edith, said Ruh Webb, owner of TM Salon in Sherman Oaks, as she watched her friend cuddle the baby of one of the hairstylists.

Nothing in life, and she means nothing, Edith tells them, compares with holding a baby in your arms.

"You can see why everyone loves her here,' Ruh said. "She's like our mom and grandma rolled into one, and we're her family.'

Edith worked for Technicolor for 17 years, getting to work at 5:30 every morning to make sure the "dailies' of the movie her company was printing were ready for the director to see.

"We redid 'Gone With the Wind' for the wide screen, and a lot of the Barbra Streisand movies back when people were keeping their clothes on,' Edith laughs.

"Pretty soon, Disney movies became the only ones I could count on to see people dressed in. I finally got tired of having to watch a bunch of naked people run around on screen before I had breakfast every morning - and quit.'

She lives in a nice apartment complex about two blocks from the salon, and ever since she quit driving, at 97, gets a friend to drop her off for her weekly hair appointment. One of the girls from the salon drives her home.

Her kids, grandkids and great grandkids were taking her to Barone's Restaurant for a big birthday party Saturday night, and her church is throwing her a big party today.

"The Lord's been good to me,' Edith said, getting ready Friday morning to have her hair washed. "I stay active, and have a lot of friends and family who love me.

"What else can a person wish for on their 100th birthday?'

Nothing else, Edith. Absolutely nothing. You've got it all already.

Happy 100th, sweetheart. Dennis McCarthy's column appears Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday.

-- Anonymous, September 22, 2002

Answers

How cool!

(They have to fight to get me to go get my hair cut)

-- Anonymous, September 23, 2002

I was complaining about my formerly luxuriantly thick hair thinning somewhat and the doc said, "Did your hairdresser notice it or did you?" I laughed and said, "I don't have a hairdreser--I noticed it." "But who cuts your hair?" "I do." He was astonished. I hate going to the hairdresser too. (My hair is still quite wavy and curly so if I screw up here and there it's not noticeable.)

-- Anonymous, September 23, 2002