Says who? Four local experts on longevity - average age 101.
Three women and one man, all native Texans, all born at home, now live at Cornerstone Gardens, a Temple health care rehabilitation center.
Cornerstone Gardens will honor all four centenarians -- Dorothy Hampton, June Rousseau Campbell, Edward Lorenz and Nannie Haas -- at an open house Saturday from 10 a.m. until 2 p.m.
Cornerstone staff says these old folks are an inspiration. With little complaint, they endure blurry eyesight, hearing that fades in and out like a distant radio station and a fickle memory. Yet they still have the faculties to enjoy simple pleasures like catching a baseball game on TV, watching the finches and canaries in the aviary, dropping the double-five on an opponent in a domino game, and of course, visits from friends and family.
Three lived an agrarian lifestyle in Central Texas and had little education.
"Mostly they remember the early days with the family on the farm. The hard work. No one begrudges that. They knew what it took to get by. And that was just what was expected," said Amanda Sonnier, Cornerstone administrator.
One grew up a small-town doctor's daughter in East Texas, back when physicians made house calls in a horse and buggy. She remembers the first family car, a Ford Model T. You had to climb on a sibling's lap to get a seat.
"We were in awe. We couldn't believe it," said June Rosseau Campbell, turning 102 next week. "But you had to crank it, or when you started it, it sounded like a train running off. But it was wonderful."
Dorothy Hampton
Ms. Hampton's mother was born in Seton, but her father immigrated from Praha (Prague), Czechoslovakia. Today, she speaks with a sharp Czech accent.
"I stayed in the country till I was 21 years old. I did everything on the farm. Sometimes you get up at four o'clock in the morning. I loved gardening. And picking cotton was my sport. I loved to pick cotton."
Because she had three brothers, but no sisters, Ms. Hampton learned to play boys' games. "I didn't get to play dolls, 'cause my brothers needed somebody to play the ball. I had to sub. Baseball. We would play dominoes and cards and throw a penny up in the air and let it fall. Who came closest to the crack was a winner."
Ms. Hampton is known as the domino queen today at Cornerstone, regularly beating staff members half her age.
She met her husband, William Bruce Hampton, on the dance floor. She did not drive a motor vehicle until age 70, after her husband fell ill. She continues to amaze her doctors.
"Lots of people, if they're going to see my name in the paper, are going to be surprised that I'm still here. 'Cause I had four major operations, all cancer. He (the doctor) calls me 'Miracle Baby.'"
Ms. Hampton was the first resident to move into Cornerstone. At first she was unhappy with the transition, but now she has bonded with the staff.
"If you bend down to talk to her . . . she'll kiss you on the cheek," Ms. Sonnier said. "She sneaks a kiss."
June Rousseau Campbell
nBorn Nov. 18, 1907, in Minden (Northeast Texas)
nReason for a long life: "My daddy saw that we ate vegetables. We had carrots. We had peas. We had to eat vegetables before we got any dessert. I guess that's one reason why I've always been so healthy. I still love vegetables."
nEducation: Degree in classical music from Kidd-Key College in Sherman.
Ms. Campbell's father was a small-town doctor who made house calls in a horse and buggy until he bought the first Model T in their hometown. But when it came to childbirth, Dr. Campbell had to take a back seat.
"My grandmother believed in the babies being born at home, and she came over and brought her suitcase and stayed until the babies were born . . . she took charge."
During the Depression, Mr. Campbell continued to treat sick folks although they often couldn't afford treatment. Nevertheless, he found a way to send his daughter to a private Methodist college in nearby Sherman, and a son to pharmacy school at the University of Tulane.
Ms. Campbell taught piano most of her life and continued playing until a few years ago.
Edward Lorenz
nBorn Dec. 7, 1906, in Ben Arnold (Milam County)
nReason for a long life: "He was a tremendous dancer," son-in-law Buddy Albert said. "He was still dancing when he was 100 years old."
nEducation: Probably about eighth grade.
For decades, Lorenz and his wife, Pauline, danced their way across small farming communities in Bell and Milam County. "He had the reputation, he wouldn't sit down a song," son-in-law Albert said.
More than 400 people attended his 100th birthday party. Lorenz shook each guest's hand. "So you know he was pretty well liked," Albert said. "Afterward he said, 'You know, I got a little bit tired.'"
Lorenz says he didn't have much formal schooling. He farmed with his brother, grew corn, cotton, milo, "anything that made a dollar." He started with about 50 acres and expanded his operation, leasing and buying more land. At first, he plowed with horses and mules, but later traded up for a tractor.
Lorenz gets around today with the help of a walker. His thirst for orange juice is legendary - at least two glasses every day.
"When you come into work and you don't feel so good," said a staff member, "and there's Mr. Lorenz walking down the hall, 'Good morning, good morning. How are you?' It makes you think about getting a glass of orange juice."
Nannie Haas
nBorn July 10, 1908, in Sagerton (near Abilene)nReason for a long life: "I don't know what I did. God is the only one that knows. Worked all my life. Soup is my main thing. I like to quilt and cook."
nEducation: About seventh grade at a rural, one-room schoolhouse.
"I've been on a farm all my life. I had three sisters I had to take care of. We didn't have any brothers, so we had to work like boys," Ms. Haas said.
As a young girl, Ms. Haas' family moved to Whitehall, near Moody. At age 33, she married Ervin Haas. The couple met at a picnic in the small community of Moffat. She said two neighbors were former slaves. She canned the bounty from her garden every year.
Her granddaughter, Lisa Winkler, visits her regularly. She says that Nannie is her given name, but no one knows why. Ms. Haas liked to pull out her German songbook and Bible so she wouldn't forget the language. At Christmas, she joined other German descendants at Moody Leon Methodist Church and they sung "Stille Nacht" (Silent Night).
