PALO ALTO — Joe Manfrey was a World War II combat veteran 70 years ago this year. But on Tuesday, the ancient mariner was confronting a bald 3-year-old wearing a green construction paper mask that made the child look like a ferocious dragon.
“Give me five!” Manfrey said, towering over tiny Colton Mahaney. The child was standing in the hallway of the pediatric oncology unit of Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital at Stanford when he used his miniature right mitt to slap Manfrey’s outstretched palm.
“Ouch, man,” cried the big man, who at 89 is built like a wiry cornerback. “You are getting strong!” Even behind the mask, it was easy to see the boy’s eyes brighten and hear the chirpy giggles of a brave kid ignoring — for the moment — his battle with leukemia.
“This is not about me,” Manfrey said of his twice-a-week, uplifting presence in the famed cancer unit — a ritual he has repeated for nearly 25 years. “I do this for the kids and the parents, in order to take their minds off the difficulties they are going through. I try to make them feel a little more comfortable.”
In short, what Manfrey does is visit with moms and dads who are crushed beneath the terror of having a child suffering from the scariest malady of them all. Every Tuesday and Friday, since Packard’s inaugural year of 1991, Manfrey has been soothing big people, delighting little ones and inspiring the medical staff with his unshakable dedication.
“Joe embodies the great values of the Greatest Generation,” said Leslie Griffith, a nurse in the Bass Center for Childhood Cancer and Blood Diseases. “He is funny, engaging and soothing to parents, who can be crying or overwhelmed by a surreal sadness. But just when they feel lost, someone kind and upbeat like Joe arrives — an Earth angel, a beautiful spirit.”
One of Manfrey’s most inspirational moves is embodied in a pair of photographs he carries in the breast pocket of his neatly pressed dress shirts. One shows a little, bald 5-year-old boy. The other is of a burly, 37-year-old, handsome man, head full of hair.
“When our son, Rob, was 5 and we were living in San Leandro, he was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia,” Manfrey said of the cancer, which affects white blood cells. “By showing them the pictures together, it lets them know that I personally know what they are going through. It also gives them hope because they can see that Rob grew up to be healthy and strong.”
Rob, now 47, lives in Henderson, Nevada, but whenever he visits his widower dad in Sunnyvale, the son goes along to Packard as a kind of living, breathing exhibition of hope.
“A lot of folks have seen the pictures,” Manfrey said of the patients who regularly come to the hospital for long months, “but actually meeting Rob takes the good feelings to a whole new level.”
Manfrey was born and raised in small town Warren, Pennsylvania, the middle child of nine — four brothers, four sisters. “Eleven of us got along pretty well,” he recalled, ” sitting around the same dinner table every night.”
Still, when Joe was 17, in 1943, he got permission from his folks to join the Navy. In fairly short order he went from boot camp to shipping out on the USS Monmouth County. The vessel went from New York to San Diego, and then Hawaii. In January 1945, the landing ship took part in the historic assault on Iwo Jima.
“We were in one of those boats that go up on the beach and the doors open and the Marines charge and equipment is unloaded,” said Manfrey. “Of course, you’re scared because you’re getting shot at. One side of the ship got hit, and one man was killed and nine injured. Just lucky it wasn’t me.” His ship also went ashore at the Battle of Okinawa in April 1945.
“When the war ended, I was in San Diego,” said Manfrey, “everyone went crazy. They were shooting up in the sky, going wild.”
He did a full 20 years — after Korea and Vietnam — and was discharged in 1963. Back home, he married a church girl named Millie and they had Rob. The couple had moved to California when their son endured a two-year battle against leukemia. Back then, according to the hospital’s findings, treatment was much more difficult and rigorous than it is today with survival rates — 15 to 20 percent — compared with today’s 70 to 90 percent rate.
These days, as the volunteer walks through Packard, he is constantly greeted like a happenin’ hero. Every one knows Manfrey as the guy supplied with sock monkeys, Beanie Babies, dolls, games, toys and festive hats for bald heads. He is the one joking and trash-talking with the nurses.
“Because so many people donate things to Joe, he uses that as an excuse to go all over the hospital visiting kids and other patients,” said oncology nurse Stephanie Williams. “It’s so great to see someone who chooses to be here.”
Erin Johnson, a mom from Salinas has been bringing her 10-year-old son, Connor, to Packard — 75 miles each way — for 11 months of grueling, weekly treatments for severe aplastic anemia. For her, Manfrey is a steadying influence.
“We see Joe every Tuesday,” said Johnson, “and he always greets us with a smile and hug. He is wonderful. It would be far more difficult without Joe being here.”
Stacey Mahaney has also grown accustomed to Manfrey’s smiling face as she drives the 100 miles from Oakdale to Packard, each week since March, with Colton. But it’s worth it when she watches Manfrey hold out plush toys — a puppy, a rhino, an owl and a pelican — for her baby to choose from. Taking the brown pooch, he sweetly said, “Thanks, Joe.”
Stacey Mahaney recalls that Manfrey was around the day she heard the harrowing diagnosis of leukemia.
“When you are so devastated the way I was that day,” she said, “those two pictures of his son looked so beautiful to me. Joe’s the best.”
Contact David E. Early at 408-920-5836. Follow him at Twitter.com/DavidEarlySr.
