Appeared in the Friday, 1.11.08 edition of the St. Petersburg Times:
Age no handicap for centenarian - At 101, she couldn't qualify for a parking tag.
CLEARWATER - When Dorothy Burt took a fall at home recently, the paramedics asked for her medical history.
No medications. Gall bladder surgery in 1950. That's it.
They paused. Gall bladder? 1950? In disbelief, they checked her date of birth.
Nov. 23, 1900.
* * *
She always swore the greatest invention was electricity.
She should have known. She grew up without it. Without plumbing. Without heat.
For a while, the family lived in Saskatchewan. Mrs. Burt's mother would stay awake all night poking the fire so her nine kids didn't freeze to death. They heated bricks in a wood stove and slept huddled to them.
The family moved to Tarpon Springs in 1910. They rode a horse and carriage to church on Sunday. On weekends, they paddled out to Anclote Key lighthouse.
When she was young, Mrs. Burt knew an Olympic swimmer who practiced in Lake Tarpon, her family said. She would row next to him in a boat to ward off alligators.
She remembered a hurricane in the 1920s - there were no weather alerts, but they could tell things were changing outside. During the storm, the windows in her parlor blew out.
She remembered taking a romantic submarine ride with her husband, Donald Burt, whom she met in the Panama Canal Zone. Mrs. Burt worked as a nurse there. Mr. Burt was in the Navy.
He wrote a letter to her mother, asking for her daughter's hand in marriage. They had two children, Donald Jr. and Edith. Both of Mrs. Burt's children eventually died as adults after battling cancer. Her husband died, too.
But she just kept on going.
* * *
She moved into Clearwater's On Top of the World community in 1969, when the complex was two buildings and cattle grazed across the street.
She never left.
It felt safe. She knew where every light switch was, every nook. Her granddaughters would buy her new furniture, but she preferred the old, familiar items.
When she sat on the porch, people waved. Her neighbors watched her scoot around the back yard, holding onto the side of the house, watering her plants.
At 100, she was walking a regular mile, said her granddaughter Beth O'Malley. At 101, a doctor turned her down for a handicapped parking permit, O'Malley said.
At 103, she gave up her driver's license.
A neighbor would bring over caterpillars in a box. Mrs. Burt would feed them milkweed, and watch, fascinated, as they developed into monarch butterflies.
Every day, she ate green pepper, cucumber, tomato, lettuce, yogurt and cottage cheese. She had low-fat meat three times a week, and she loved ice cream.
In November, she had a birthday party.
"After 107 birthdays, I wonder why I'm still here," she told the St. Petersburg Times. "I feel that God will call me when he's made a place for me."
She read the newspaper everyday, without glasses. When she read about a giant sperm whale floating in the waters off Pinellas County, she was transfixed.
"We were just discussing how one might euthanize a whale of that size," said O'Malley, 48. "To have that type of conversation with someone 107 years old, it really is amazing."
Last week, she fell. At the hospital, she turned to her granddaughter and said, "Does my hair look okay?"
The family moved a hospital bed into the condo. Mrs. Burt asked for it to point toward the sunrise.
On Tuesday morning, Mrs. Burt ate some ice cream in her condo. Later that day, she died.
Generally speaking, those of us that work for hospice see a different type of end of life. It's nice to know that not everyone needs us in the end.