Gerry Teldon: At 101, He Lives by “So What?”

By Aundria McMillan Humphrey

I spent a recent morning with a 101-year-old man who wakes up at four o’clock, writes whatever comes into his mind, cooks for himself, watches hours of YouTube, and shrugs at most of life’s aggravations with a simple philosophy: “So what?”

His name is Gerry Teldon, and after a few hours in his presence, it became clear that his age is the least interesting thing about him. Gerry greeted me in his comfortable, art-filled home with a cup of hot chocolate—made from chocolate he had shredded himself. Family photographs filled every room: parents, children, grandchildren, and a staggering 42 great-grandchildren. His wife, whom he adored, seemed to be everywhere too. “She’s in every room,” he said softly.

Gerry’s days don’t follow a schedule so much as a rhythm. Some mornings he wakes early; others he sleeps in and eats breakfast at ten. When ideas arrive, he writes them down. When people receive emails from him at three in the morning, he imagines they wonder what’s wrong with him. He laughs. “It’s my life. I do what I want with it.”

That independence of spirit has carried him through an extraordinary life. Gerry was a fighter pilot in World War II and later in the Korean War. He flew a plane nicknamed Mr. Lucky, and the name seems apt. He survived combat, traveled to more than 50 countries for business, and once found himself in East Berlin when the Wall came down—borrowing a hammer and chisel so someone could photograph him taking a piece of history. Yet when I asked what feels most present for him now, his answer came without hesitation: family.“Nothing is more important,” he said. When he turned 100, he brought his family to San Miguel for a celebration he still lights up talking about. He is puzzled—genuinely baffled—by parents and children who estrange themselves from one another. “What else is there in life?” he asked.

That clarity may have roots in his childhood. Gerry grew up wealthy, then lost everything overnight when his father did. One day they lived in a beautiful home; the next they were sleeping in the back of someone else’s house. From that moment, he understood that money is not what matters. When he raised his own children, he asked only one thing of them: never let money be important to your life. One son became a rabbi. The lesson stuck. Gerry doesn’t watch the news. He gave his television away. Instead, he spends hours on YouTube—learning recipes, exploring ideas, staying curious. He showed me his recipe box with pride and explained how to dry papaya seeds in the microwave and grind them for cooking. Avocado pits? He cuts them up and makes tea, then encouraged me to look up the health benefits myself.

There is no sense of fear around aging or dying in Gerry. He has made his plans carefully. His finances are organized, his burial arrangements settled, his care assured. “I don’t have to worry about it,” he said simply. Removing worry, it turns out, is one of his great life skills.

He credits his health not to luck, but to philosophy. “Nothing gets me aggravated,” he told me. “If I can do something about it, I do. If I can’t, I fluff it off. So what?”

One of the most striking moments of our conversation came when Gerry described how he categorizes people: acquaintances, relationships, and friends. In his 101 years, he has had only three true friends. To him, friendship means absolute trust—knowing that whatever you share will go no further. “There are things you can tell a friend you wouldn’t even tell your wife,” he said.

Gerry believes deeply in writing things down. He began his autobiography when his young son once asked, “Who are you?” The book—now expanded—captures not just events, but the people and moments that shaped him.

“Your family doesn’t know everything about your life unless you write it,” he said. His great-grandson is now reading it.

When I left Gerry’s home, I felt lighter. Not inspired in the grand, self-help sense—but steadied.

Here was a man who has lived fully, loved deeply, prepared wisely, and released regret entirely.

At 101, Gerry Teldon doesn’t chase meaning.

He inhabits it.

Aundria McMillan Humphrey, Founder, Kickbutt Ageless Living & slowdowngranny.com, exploring conscious aging through writing, community and a recently launched Substack podcast: Living & Learning with Aundria Reynolds