THE LONG HALLWAY CHAPTER 4

THE LONG HALLWAY … NITTY GRITTY

On my second day, I was present for the entire morning routine. Breakfast began shortly after I arrived at 7 am. All 40 patients lined up two by two in the hallway, Fred at the front, the Aide and me at the back. Most of the men assembled quickly, except for Robert, a tall, lanky, young Black man who moved at his own unhurried pace. I remembered him only vaguely from the day before: the only Black patient on the ward, reclining on his bed instead of sitting up like the others.

Belts and shoelaces were not allowed, so Robert walked on the backs of his brown canvas crepe-soled shoes, turning them into makeshift slides. His pants were too loose on his thin frame, so he kept hitching them up. Though many of the men were decades older, Robert was by far the slowest of them all. He lagged behind the group on the long walk to the Dining Hall. Our repeated attempts to cajole and encourage him were completely ineffective. The only other patient who stood out from the rest on our trek was Nicky – a tiny man who spoke no English, and carried a dirty, once-white sock which he waved along windowsills as we made our way down the halls.

After breakfast, we lined up again – Fred in front, the Aide and me at the back. Robert still trailed behind. Nicky continued his “dusting.”

Back on the ward, the men lined up at the Dutch door of the office for their medications. Then came the daily cleaning. The patients pushed all the beds on the left side of the ward to the center and dust-mopped the floor. Nicky and another small elderly man moved most of the beds, with some occasional help from a few others. They repeated the process with the other beds.

When it came time to move the right-side beds, Robert continued reclining on his mattress, letting the two little old men push his bed – with him still on it – around the room. My nineteen-year-old self was shy and introverted, but this crossed a line. I marched over and demanded he get up. He ignored me completely. I couldn’t make him help, but I refused to let the older, smaller men push him around like cargo. I persisted, and he finally stood up. As soon as his bed was back in place, Robert resumed his reclining position, feet propped on the foot of the bed, arms folded behind his head, content to contribute nothing further.

After cleaning, I tried speaking with some of the patients. I didn’t get far. Yanko’s bed was the second one back on the left side, and he immediately waved me over, calling, “Come heah. Come heah.” His accent was thick, his English fractured. I caught maybe one word in five – Chicago, tall buildings, elevators, Baby Ruth candy bars, railroad trains. Most of these words were greatly assisted by gestures. I was not sure of anything he said beyond those words. After about fifteen minutes, I managed to move on.

Most of the men didn’t converse, but I greeted each one, told them my name, and hoped my smile conveyed something gentle, kind, and encouraging. Each day, the men began to seem a bit more accustomed to me. Every encounter left me with more questions.