Note: The Rev. Arnold Moede passed away Aug. 24, 2018, one month after the passing of his wife of 69 years, Beth Louise Moede. Independent, insightful and forthright to the end, he was 92.

When Arnold Moede turned 88, he set his driver’s license on fire.

Yes, he acknowledges, he could have just thrown his license away when he decided to quit driving.

“But I wanted to protest getting old,” he says. Moede and his friends, who meet at Whataburger every week for coffee, devised the plan. “We talked about how we wanted it to be dramatic, so we said, ‘Let’s burn this!’”

And, together, they did just that.

Moede turned 92 in September, and while he hasn’t driven in the past four years, the retired Lutheran pastor is still getting around just fine, thank you very much. He walks tall, using a cane to take laps around the assisted living home he moved to when he was 90. His wife of 68 years, Beth, is in a nearby facility, and he goes to visit her each day. He also keeps busy through weekly gatherings with a group of friends, and regular conversations with his four children and others near and far.

You married your wife, Beth, in 1949. What’s the secret to a good marriage?

“It’s very essential that you choose correctly,” Moede says. “I was going to Nebraska Wesleyan for college, and Beth’s older sister was a student there. When I met her, I asked, ‘Hey, you got any more at home like you?’ And she said, ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’ “Beth had just graduated high school at the top of her class. Beautiful. Red hair. We got married four or five years later,” he says. “She’s the best speller on the face of the earth. And just witty, funny. I see her every day, and it’s a pleasure.”

As a pastor, you worked all over – including 10 years in Monrovia, Liberia. And you remained active in the church even after you retired?

“Sometime after I retired, I happened to be in a church office, and … man, they were all running around like they didn’t know which end was up. I asked if they needed any help, and told them, ‘I can empty wastebaskets or whatever you need.’ I ended up doing interim work filling in as a pastor where they needed me. So even after I retired, I worked with 26 different congregations that were searching for a minister. I enjoyed that. I really did.”

What are you reading right now?

“’The Wit and Wisdom of Winston Churchill.’ It’s a slow read, but very interesting.”

Retired Col. Don Hilkemeier and his future wife, Adana, both found making the phone call for a first date nerve-racking. Now, after 11 years of marriage, they always kiss goodnight.

Looking back, it seems like they were destined to meet.

The couple attended the same church and, thanks to the Air Force, had many of the same friends and experiences.

But they didn’t connect until they were in their 70s.

“We put it as a God thing,” Adana says.

Adana was married to her first husband, retired Air Force Col. George Hull, for 50 years. Don and his first wife, Grace, were married 47 years. After their spouses died in 2004, Adana and Don went through grief counseling. That’s where they discovered their common ground.

In 2006, after a whirlwind romance that was sparked on a seniors' bus trip to Palo Duro Canyon, they wed, and, from boisterous family gatherings to quiet nights at home watching ‘Jeopardy!’, they’re enjoying every minute together.

How did you start dating?

Don: “It wasn’t until nearly a year (after Grace died) that I did my teenage bit, and I thought I could call Adana. I was so glad when I called because I got an answering machine.”

Adana: “I called him back, and I was relieved to get the answering machine.”

What was your first date?

Don: “We danced, and we had dinner and chatted with the ladies next to us.”

Adana: “They were having a really good time. ‘How long have you been married?’ they asked. And he said, ‘We’re not married.’”

When did you propose?

Don: “I was taking my son and his wife on a cruise for their 35th anniversary, and I was trying to get her to go along, but she didn’t think it would be appropriate. I was on the way to the airport, and I pulled in and rang the doorbell. I said, ‘Will you marry me?’”

Adana: “I was surprised, to say the least. I said, ‘Of course.’ But I think I said it was too soon.”

Don: “We were acting like a young couple, but we were 73 years old.”

Adana: “We were married March 18, 2006. The kids said, ‘If you’re happy, that’s all we care about.’”

What’s the first thing you do each morning?

Don: “Thank God for another day. And we make the bed together. We play a little game. We throw the pillows into place and declare a winner.”

What’s the last thing you do each night?

Adana: “We give each other a little kiss and say, ‘I love you’ and ‘sleep well.’”

Don: “And I say, ‘Good night, my sweetheart.’”

What do you wish for your grandchildren?

Adana: “A better world. You look at a new baby and try to think in 20 years what will be going on.”

Don: “I would wish for the peace that surpasses all understanding. It’s unlikely the world is going to get better. They need to create some kind of inner peace that gets them through it.”

Bogner Stubbs, 92, took a chance on football and a girl. Both changed his life.

The year was 1948. Stubbs, a high school coach, was supervising his team at a county tournament. When referees at the event introduced him to Willidean Ayers, a coach for one of the women’s teams, she caught his eye.

That tournament was in February, but Stubbs didn’t find time between teaching and a summer camp to take her out until seven months later, in August.

And once he decided to get to know her, he didn’t waste any time. “I asked her to marry me on the first date,” Stubbs says.

The couple was married for 62 years and -- amid their many adventures and travels -- had two sons, four grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. Willidean died in 2010.

Born in Corsicana, Texas, Stubbs quit his grocery store job and moved to Oklahoma with a hope – but no certainty – of playing college football. He landed a spot on the University of Tulsa team, playing center and guard.

First job?

“My first professional job was as a high school coach in Checotah, Oklahoma. A boy who played quarterback for me in 1954 called me the other day from Oklahoma. Gosh, that’s a long time ago,” Stubbs says.

“I coached there 12 years and then at Tuloso-Midway High School in Corpus Christi, Texas, for 25 years.”

Was it in Corpus Christi that you discovered Whataburger?

“Near the H-E-B, there was this Whataburger stand that looked like a teepee. My two boys and my wife and I wanted to know what in the world was a Whataburger, so we tried it, and we became addicted. We hadn’t had a hamburger that good. We’ve been Whataburger fans ever since.”

Now 92, Stubbs enjoys 7 a.m. tee times with pals after they enjoy breakfast at Whataburger.

What was one of your favorite stages in life?

“We traveled after we retired. We went to a lot of square dances in different parts of the United States, and we went to Europe, Hawaii and Alaska, places we didn’t get to go as kids or as a young family,” Stubbs says.

“We were driving along in Corpus Christi one day, and my wife reminded me I had said I would take her to Hawaii. Then she said I was waiting until she passed away, and I was planning to take my next (wife). Boy, that made me mad! I made a U-turn and went to a travel agent. We went to Hawaii and stayed on a boat at night and toured in the day.”

Any regrets?

“No. If I had it to do over, I would make the same trail.”

Dorris McCoy isn’t taking retirement sitting down.

Nearly 90, she works out at a San Antonio YMCA almost every day, and she’s set her sights on walking her third 5K race.

“I exercise to make me feel good,” she says.

McCoy believes in forging her own path. As a teenager, she left her parents’ home in the country to continue her education in San Antonio. Then, degree in hand, she built a career in education, including becoming the first black teacher at Travis Elementary in San Antonio in the 1970s – something she says really wasn’t that big of a deal. “I got along with everyone, and I just took care of those kids,” she says.

She continues to take care of those close to her: her daughters, grandsons and great-granddaughters, as well as herself.

“Most people have this retirement thing mixed up,” she says. “They want to go home and sit in a chair and watch television all day. That is damaging. I want to keep moving.”

What do you remember most about growing up?

“Daddy worked day and night for the family to be comfortable. He taught us to do the same, to work hard. But it made some people mad because they didn’t want to work, and they could see him always working, always taking jobs to support us,” McCoy says.

“One year, just after Easter, some people burned down our house because of it. My sister Lydia had to run back in there and get me out. I was 9 years old.”

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned in your 89 years?

“Mama and Daddy would preach all the time: Watch what people do. You have to watch what people say and watch what they do. Do they match? Some people will tell you the sun is shining, and you might need to go outside and look for yourself.”

What drew you to the YMCA?

“I’ve always been fairly active, but what brought me to the YMCA was a case of depression. My sister passed, and she had been living with me. I wasn’t feeling good after that, and the doctors wanted to put me on a lot of medicine. Well, I am really not a medicine taker. I just prayed and prayed, and my daughter said, ‘Mom, why don’t we go to the Y?’ I signed up the 27th of July 2003, and I’ve been coming consistently,” she says.

“You can’t do it halfway and get results. I’m here every day, for about two hours. I walked my first 5K a few years ago, and people were going so slow. I was like, ‘Hurry up, people!’ I want to do this!” she says.

After his service in the U.S. Navy, Herb Gray missed the application deadline for Texas Tech University in Lubbock and instead enrolled at Trinity University in his hometown. He figured he’d transfer the following year.

“But then I fell in love with Trinity, and I fell in love with a girl at Trinity,” Gray says. “We’ve been married now for 65 years and counting.”

Two graduate degrees, two careers, four children, eight grandchildren and two great-grandchildren later, Herb and Carolyn Gray have a philosophical take on their journey together.

“Our paths through life have been as good as you can get,” Herb says. “It’s been in the hands of God.”

Their journey has been punctuated with plenty of visits to Whataburger, where both order a Whataburger Jr. and an apple pie, sometimes with a side of small French fries.

“We’ve been known to go three times per week,” Carolyn says.

Tell us about who you are:

Herb: “I was in the personnel office at Kelly Air Force Base for 40 years. I became chief of labor and employee relations, and I went to law school. Never got into being a lawyer, but certainly a member of the Texas Bar.”

Carolyn: “I taught elementary school for 31 years. I always enjoyed learning and pursuing education. Now, we like to go to movies with friends on Friday evenings and do things with our church.”

What do you want people to remember about you?

Carolyn: “That I was a mother who loved her children. We’re fortunate that our children don’t live far from us. I’m proud of them all. They work hard, and they are good people.”

Herb: “I have a high regard for accepting people as they are. And something I’ve stressed to our kids is to work at making good things happen.”

Would that be good advice for your younger self, too?

Herb: “I’ve definitely had it on my mind all my life. It could say on my grave marker, ‘He enjoyed trying to make good things happen.’”

Carolyn: “You should write that down.”

Hector Garza has met presidents and traveled the globe – all thanks to tamales.

Born and raised in San Antonio, Garza took what he learned as a child working in his mother's tamale business and applied it to building a successful career in marketing and sales at Anheuser-Busch.

That career took him all over the world – but his heart stayed puro San Antonio.

“I was born here, and my family’s here,” he says. “I just never thought I would end up somewhere else. I just love my city.”

A veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps and member of VFW Post 76, Garza now uses his entrepreneurial spirit to help fellow vets wrangle support for VFW events.

He holds other Texas traditions close to his heart as well, visiting Whataburger about three times a week, where he and his wife each get a Whataburger Jr. “I love it,” he says.

Growing up in S.A.:

“We lived and worked on the West Side. There were five of us. My father worked as a meat cutter for a small store. My mother and her aunt made tamales at home. My brother and I would go around the neighborhood and take orders on Fridays, and we would deliver them Saturday mornings,” Garza says.

“My dad’s friend owned a little property at Zarzamora and Texas streets. He rented the space to my father for $25 a month. My brother and I painted it and got it ready for the first summer. Believe it or not, in three months my father was able to quit his job. And my brother and I were able to go back to school in September so that was fortunate.”

You turned your business instincts into quite a career.

“I became director of Hispanic sales and marketing for a seven-state region for Anheuser Busch. I flew all over the place and met a lot of people. I met with the president of Mexico and George H.W. Bush one time. I remember sitting there at the table, looking around and saying, “How did I get here?’” Garza adds: “I didn't go to college. It was all street knowledge.”

Any advice to share?

“Always be looking for opportunities. Tell people what your plans are and what you’d like to do. You never know who will say, ‘Hey, I can help you.’ You gotta tell your story. And you have to be willing to work hard. Success is not going to come working just eight hours a day, five days a week.”

Note: Thelma Holland, a woman who lived life with confidence, flair and passion, passed away in May 2018 at the age of 93. “Our fun, beautiful, shining matriarch has gone to be with God,” says her granddaughter Anya J. Holland. “She was a fashionista full of wisdom and grace. Please enjoy her story, as will we. Thank you to the Whataburger Family for taking an interest in her and sharing her thoughts.”

When it comes to advice, Thelma Holland doesn’t hold back.

“Girls, you listen to what that man says. Then, you make your decision,” Holland says. “If you’re going to make a decision to be with him, you need to know what he’s all about. And you won’t find that out running your mouth.”

Holland knows about the value of listening. She’s worked since she was a child, always listening to people and building relationships based on that skill.

“People will tell you everything you need to know about them just by talking about themselves,” she says. “Think about what Miss Thelma told you. You want to know what you’re getting before you get it.”

Where did you grow up?

“We had a farm, outside Seguin, Texas. I was the oldest of six, and we all worked. We had to chop the weeds out of the corn as it grew, pick the cotton, and pull the watermelons and the corn and put them on the wagon. We hated picking cotton, but we liked all the rest of it,” she says.

“After they ate, my mother and father would go to rest for a bit at 12. They’d say, ‘Thelma, sell the vegetables for us.’ So I’d sit out by the road and sell to everybody. Cars were always passing by. Bonnie and Clyde came by all the time. They were just as nice as they could be. I couldn’t believe it when I heard about what they had done.”

What brought you to San Antonio?

“It was 1945. When I was 19, my daddy made me and my sister move to San Antonio to get work. I went to work in a cafeteria. Then, when the stores integrated blacks and whites, I got a job selling clothes. I was one of the first black ladies that sold clothes at Joske’s,” she says.

“But I retired from Kelly Field. That was 1987. I worked there for 22 years. I was good at math. They would give me budgets, and I had to see how much money I could save for the government. I always liked math. A lot of people don’t, but it was easy for me.”

And you modeled for local department stores and events, too?

“Oh yes, that was fun, fun, fun. They taught me how to walk, how to look right. I loved it. I got a chance to go everywhere and see all those pretty clothes,” Holland says.

“I always did love to sew. I didn’t need a pattern, either. I’d go into Frost Bros., and look at a new suit. They would be asking $125 for it, and I would look at it and could go home and make it just perfect for $11. That’s all it would cost me. They didn’t like that at the store. It got to be that I would walk in, and they would say, ‘Here she comes! Get her out of here!’”