In 1947, Gene Bloom was born to an Italian-Irish Catholic mother who had fallen in love with the wrong man. Her family was told nothing about this secret child and when Robert was born, he was given to an orphanage. He remained there until he was six months old and was adopted by Louis and Betha Bloom.
Both families lived in the same city. Neither knew about the other.
GB grew up in a middle-class Jewish family. His father was a printer. His mother had ambitions for her son and she hovered over him as though he might disappear from her grasp.
She busied herself with all things Gene Bloom. He received all the advantages afforded any Jewish boy in the 1950’s: Jewish education, Bar Mitzvah, Day Camp, freedom to roam with friends and encouragement for good grades and good deeds. But she couldn’t fix those first six months of orphandom that informed his feelings of self-worth. He never felt he was good enough, even though he was. He never felt he was smart enough, even though he was.
GB grew up to be a kind, generous and affectionate man. He was all those to a fault. It was the fault part that made me so angry.
As overbearing as my own ego is, his hides. I could never understand it. He was a great dentist. I mean a really great dentist: ethnical, accomplished and kind to his patients and staff. But if patients, staff and ultimately colleagues took advantage of him, he stood back. He didn’t want to anger anyone. He wanted everyone to like him. Those damn six months.
His profession suited him. He didn’t love it, but he was good at it. He eventually received a gubernatorial appointment to the State Board of Dental Examiners. He loved that. And, after he retired in 2013, he joined the University of Colorado School of Dental Medicine faculty. That’s what he loved without reservation. At last, his hidden skills . . . the ones he hated himself for . . . were turned around and did him some good. His kindness, generosity and lack of ego strength created a wonderful teacher. He was patient and thorough. He understood instinctively the fears of students performing complex procedures on a living human being.
He would have stayed there forever. But then his body betrayed him and those damn six months made it impossible for him to fight.
But, once again, serendipity moved in. After prodding him for 40 or so years about finding his biological family, GB finally consented to let me research it. Here is a long story I’ll make very short simply because I need to post this and get to the hospital for GB’s neurological tests.
Nick and Helen T. had fifteen children. Ten survived: five boys and five girls. They lived in a 900 square foot home in North Denver. Many of the family worked at Mid-West Liquors, a business owned by the Zerobnick family of Denver. A man named Robert Zuckerman worked there as well and he and Alice fell in love. How do we know it was love? Because the children Alice raised, many of GB’s first cousins, knew her well. They knew there was a “secret about Alice” but never knew what until that secret, Gene Bloom, presented himself to his biological family.
That family has been a gift. Despite already having 26 first cousins, there was room for one more. The traditions that the family’s offspring grew up with have been shared generously with GB and me. This family has gigantic arms and they graciously extended them to embrace a man who had needed them for so many years.
This act of love from his biological family didn’t cure those lost six months. They couldn’t. But they created a new perspective about the generosity and loving kindness of people.
So, now a quick post and off to the hospital. GB’s procedure went well yesterday. The temporary shunt is busily draining fluid. Today we’ll learn if there is a significant difference in his gait. If so, the permanent shunt will be placed on Thursday, November 21. If not, he comes home and we deal with the reality of a diagnosis we don’t want.
Air. 
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