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His defendants did not have a chance in court, as Koch well knew. He recognized a lost cause, yet he refused to concede it.
One of the fundamental elements in Koch is his capacity to recognize lost causes and principles simultaneously, to wield hope against the facts—a capacity not acknowledged by those who think of him as the enemy of the hopeless.
This facet of Koch is revealed most fully in nothing political, but rather in the story of his most painful lost cause, one that required the greatest display of hope. One recent afternoon, with the light fading, Koch recalled the death of his mother. When he spoke of it, his voice at once softened and rose in pitch, as if he were imitating a boy.
He was asked: Do you picture her in any special way?
"Yes. There was a ... [Then the voice changed] She died of cancer. And that was very painful.
"I remember the medical report. It filled 'the four quarters of the abdomen.' And ultimately the liver. [Then, spoken very quickly] And she died [like a reasonable conclusion]. It was an interesting episode.
"I dropped by the house one night. It was August 1, and it was 1960. There was my mother. She was very pleased to see me. And she said, 'I'm so glad you came, because tomorrow I'm going into the hospital.' And I said: 'What's wrong Mama?' And she said, 'Well, I'm not feeling well. I saw my doctor and I told him there's something wrong.' He had been treating her, the doctor, for a gall bladder for five years. She was taking Pepto-Bismol. And then she said, 'But I said to him, No. I want to go in the hospital, to take whatever tests can be taken.' Quite a smart woman. [Looks up to make sure you realize this.] And the doctor said to her, it's gall bladder, and we'll just operate. We take it out. We'll repair it. God knows what. [The sentences sound increasingly like Yiddish-English.] "So ... [long pause] she was operated on [by a different doctor]. My father and I were there. And the doctor came down.
And he said, uh, [almost inaudible] I've got to tell you something, now or later. He said, uh, 'Mr. Koch—talking to my father I'm going to tell you the truth. Your wife has cancer [voice raised for bravery]. She's going to die in three months. And there's nothing I could do and there's nothing you can do [loud here] to help her. And you should let her die in dignity. I know you won't do it. I know you will run from doctor to doctor. It will not help you.' Well, that is some news. So, we take my mother home. She doesn't know ... They always know ... And just as that doctor knew we would do—my father and I, my brother, and sister, said, no we can't let her die this way. We have to do something. It's ridiculous! You can't let somebody die."
The rest is a pilgrimage. Dragging his mother from place to place, from treatment to treatment, quack to quack. Everyone phoned with a miracle cure. His mother implored: "Why don't you let me die?" And Koch: "Oh, Mama, you're silly. You're not going to die." Then the astonishment: "She died to the day, three months; that is what is so incredible." The