MEMOIR

Just Because He was a Loner, Doesn’t Mean He was Alone

The importance of an inclusive community

His name was Bobby.

Everyday at 7:00 a.m. and again at 7:00 p.m., he took a long walk. The route was exactly the same, down the street, into town, up and down Main Street, back home. As he walked, he said the rosary loud enough for anyone in earshot to hear.

He always looked neat and clean, hair groomed, clean shaven. He wore striped tee shirts in various colors with black slacks.

When I was a kid, mom told me to keep away from him. When I asked why, she said he “wasn’t right.”

Dad would try to say hello to him when he walked past our house but when he got no response, Dad would shake his head saying, “God love him” and look down.

Bobby lived alone and the blinds were always closed. He was the Boo Radley of our neighborhood.

I haven’t thought much about him until I read David Todd McCarty’s wonderful piece:

Then the memories came flooding back.

Bobby attended daily Catholic mass and sat in the same spot each time, reciting the words of the mass with the priest.

He attended daily Catholic mass and sat in the same spot each time, mouthing every word along with the priest. Everyone knew where he sat and left the seat open for him. People addressed him when they saw him.

“Mornin’ Bobby. How ya doing?” No answer.

“Hey, Bob, how’s it going?” A slight nod. Never a word.

When I think about it, I am taken back by how the neighborhood treated him.

It was common to see women drop off a casserole on Bobby’s porch. They would knock and leave it outside his front door. Later that night, a clean casserole dish sat outside the door with the same two words scrawled on a note: “Thank you.”

His next door neighbor mowed his lawn every time he mowed his own lawn.

In the winter, Bobby’s walkway was always shoveled by some neighbor.

Even the roughnecks of the neighborhood knew to just let him be. It was not cool to taunt Bobby.

I never questioned any of this. It was a different time.

In the late 1960’s, we knew much less about mental health. I could venture a guess about Bobby’s condition, but that is not the point of this reflection.

What strikes me so many years later is how well the neighborhood took care of Bobby. I don’t know if he was lonely or depressed, happy or sad. I do know that he was seen.

I don’t remember anyone mocking him. He was a fixture in the neighborhood and people accepted who he was and allowed him the space he needed to peacefully exist. Somehow, he seemed like he was getting by.

Our minds like to categorize.

We organize most things, separating this from that.

The everyday dishes sit in a cabinet separated from the china. The holiday decorations get packed away from the stuff of every day. The tools in the garage are organized by type and use, separated by shelves and containers.

Categorizing works well with objects, but it doesn’t work so well when we do it with people because our paradigm becomes an “us and them” split rather than a “we.” There is no Venn diagram focusing on our commonalities; instead, the light shines on what makes us different and it is the differences on which we fixate.

These days we diagnose, treat and separate people. Our efforts to integrate those with mental illnesses are feeble at best. We can do much better.

One day a For Sale sign popped up in front of Bobby’s small house.

His spot was empty in church and no one saw him walk up and down the street in the morning or in the evening. A distant relative stepped into Bobby’s life and became his caretaker. We never saw him again.

I never questioned any of this. It was a different time.

In the late 1960’s, we knew much less about mental health. I could venture a guess about Bobby’s condition, but that is not the point of this reflection.

Advances like psychotropic medicines and various forms of therapy certainly have been a Godsend for many and have helped people heal and function more fully in the world. Indeed, that is improvement. But we can do much better.

Instead of placing those with differences “away” from the general population, we would be wise to look back at how interacting with others who have differences can benefit us all.

We may not have had the tools to diagnose and treat Bobby, but we knew he belonged inside the Venn diagram. He was part of the neighborhood. He was part of the community without having to earn his way into it.

There is something very right about including everyone, especially those with differences. He belonged. Just like everyone else.