Say Johnny Kosnow’s name in Waldoboro, and everyone has a story about him. Maybe it’s about the eight or so books he’s written about his life. Maybe it’s about the community at Panther Gym where he works out almost daily; or maybe about his work on town planning boards. Or, simply it could just be from his work with patients at MaineHealth Lincoln Campus as a respiratory therapist. Talk to Johnny himself, and the stories spill out, whether about the 35 countries he’s seen (his favorites being India, Iceland and Israel), the 40 states he’s visited, or his piloting an airplane all over New England. He was briefly a Marine, and later, a bouncer and a bartender in Portland. He owned half a share in a Portland fitness gym. He earned three degrees, one of which was in history, and the other two in respiratory therapy, each earned while holding full-time jobs. Johnny Kosnow came to Waldoboro via Miles, where he’s worked for the last thirty years and then some. Prior, for close to twenty years, he worked at Maine Medical Center. It's a life, and nobody tells it better than Johnny:
I was brought up in Portland on 137 Francis Street, and my mother, being a good Italian Catholic, insisted on all her children getting a parochial education. So, I went to St. Patrick’s down the street, and later got a scholarship at Cherverus, a Jesuit high school. There, I learned if you were good in sports or a jock, people gave you an edge. The teachers loved me, the girls loved me, and the guys liked me. I was very tough. I could endure a lot of pain. And inflict it, too. I got in a lot of fights. But then again, I’d grown up in a house of violence, where my father drank and then hit my mother. His family had come from Russia, or maybe Poland or Ukraine, and he would tell me, “Don’t you ever start a fight. But don’t you ever run from one, either.”
I was fifteen at Cheverus when I saw a pudgy upperclassman lift a weight heavier than mine. It pissed me off. From that moment on, I have been lifting weights in one form or another. And every year, at least until this year, I go down to Virginia Beach to compete in weight-lifting. I’ve been the best in my age category for six years, with four world championships. I’ve just turned 71, and God willing, I’d like to go down this year, too.
But eleven weeks ago, I had a stroke. Devastating. I was alone in the hospital, and I didn’t know what mobility I would get back.
And I live alone. There’s a certain degree of isolation and loneliness that comes with that. There were times, after I got out of the hospital, that I didn’t talk to anyone for three days. That’s horrible. I read in my AARP that loneliness is like smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. Isolation is a huge health hazard for seniors.
Before, I didn’t mind being alone so much. But after, it’s made me think, “What are you going to do? Are you going to be by yourself forever?” It is very sad and sobering. Also, because I’d always been independent, I never learned how to ask for help. I’ve since found that there are a lot of good people here. So many people stepped up, including all the management at Miles for getting me back to work.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my life. A few years ago, I realized that all the things close to me weren’t there anymore. I lost my mother in 1994; I lost a beloved dog about ten years ago; and then I lost the love of my life (she didn’t die, we just parted ways). And three years ago, I lost my daughter. It was a heroin overdose and the most crushing blow ever.
She’d been using for about fifteen years. Her mother and I knew, and we did everything we could. But I’ve come to understand it’s an illness, a neurobiological thing where the receptors in your brain, once you take that first shot, you’re hooked. Don’t get me wrong – people do get off it, but you need every fiber in your body to do that. My daughter would stop, but then she’d go back. It was a horrible feeling to watch that. She was 41 when she passed.
But I think hope is built into my DNA. You gotta keep fighting. I remember as a young man I ran a marathon. You wouldn’t think a guy weighting 228 pounds could run one, but I did. I beat three or four of people. But there were places when I thought, “I just cannot run any farther.” I kept pushing myself: “Just go another few feet.” It’s that pride I have in myself and spirit. Nobody knows what I’m going through. I do it because it’s simply who I am.
But to be fair, there have been times when I have lost hope, such as when my daughter died. When she passed, it was like a big chunk of me did, too. There were times when I said, “God, just take me.” I was filled with melancholia and depression. And I was seeing her in all the things she loved. Each time, it was like getting lanced by a sword. I couldn’t escape it. But she was such a kind person that I knew she wouldn’t want any of us suffering. So, I started asking myself what it was she would want me to do. And it was to keep going, be around, and to help her sister. So, I am living for my daughters now.
My other bottom was eleven weeks ago and being alone and in the hospital. I was so devastated that I started praying. I’d pray 20 or 30 times a day. Sometimes I’d pray all night. And there were times still when I’d close my eyes and say, “God, don’t let me wake up,” then I’d fall asleep. And when I woke, I’d say, “Nope, it’s another day.”
I’m always looking for that renewal, that renaissance, that rebirth of spirit. I pride myself on that.
But there are things beyond my control. I’d wanted to retire and collect social security, but as anyone on a fixed income will tell you, you cannot live on social security. There are times when I have to decide, “Okay, am I going to put gas in the car? Am I going to fill this prescription? Or am I going to pay CMP?” This is a tough nut to crack. But it’s the reality.
Right now, in the past three months, my credit score has gone down a hundred points. For forty years I never missed a credit card payment or was a dollar short. Never. But now, I just don’t have the money.
I had some debt that started with COVID, when I wasn’t working full-time. Then, because of my daughter’s issue, I took out another loan, which I shouldn’t have but would still do again because she’s my daughter. And now, my oldest daughter, who has primary lateral sclerosis is basically, at this point, almost to where she can’t walk. So, while I don’t want to, I’m considering bankruptcy. This, even though I’ve paid all my bills my whole life.
Yesterday was my first day back at work. I’m a little tired, but it’s part-time, and I think it will help financially. Being in the medical field, I know that there’s a lot of people that have it a lot worse than me.
I am one of the lucky ones. As I like to say, which I don’t say it haphazardly: if I passed away tomorrow, I’d tell everyone, “Don’t cry for Johnny Kosnow.”
I’ve had a great run.
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