Johnny

Johnny and his mother, Gail, lived on my floor in Heather Gardens. I am using their real names because they are no long alive. Gail died on Christmas Day. Johnny died this spring. They were two of my favorite, most memorable, neighbors. I am one of the few people who would say that.

I believe each person has a story. After we die, there is one story that becomes our legacy. Gail’s legacy is that she was born profoundly deaf. That is her story. But she was also a very bright, social woman who had a college degree and raised two sons. Her speech was almost impossible to understand but that didn’t stop her from being the first person to welcome  me to the building. She was always happy to see me. Even as I was getting ready to move and she had advanced dementia and was scaring people, Gail remained one of my favorite people.

Johnny’s story is that he was homeless before he moved in to take care of his mother. That is his legacy, but he was so much more than a dutiful son. He was a tall, unkempt man who was a licensed electrician. He preferred to sleep outside. He made friends easily (except in my building) because he was kind and generous. He was creative and loved to play tricks on people. He decorated his door in elaborate motifs for every holiday. He was especially fond of St. Patrick’s Day and thought of himself as an overgrown leprechaun. Once he decorated his doorway in giant spiders.

Johnny had a special love for his homeless friends, a love that was not shared by the residents of my building. He hired a woman named Marie, who may or may not have been his common-law wife, to move in to his take care of Gail so he could earn money as an on-call electrician for the local electrician’s union.

The bond between Gail and Marie was obvious. Whereas other people fought with Gail and insisted they were right, Marie never told her no. When Gail wanted to play games, they played games. When Gail wanted to put together jigsaw puzzles, they did puzzles. If Gail didn’t want to take a shower, Marie took a shower herself, and called it “good enough.” Marie cooked food and Gail ate it. Gail stopped going out in the hallway and bothering people. Marie did their laundry in the community laundry room, even though she could hear the mean things that the residents said to her. I thought she was a skinny saint in rags and purple hair.

After Marie moved in, Johnny gradually started inviting some of his other homeless friends to stop by, as well. They came to say hello to Gail and Marie. Many of them came to take a shower and wash their hair. They left after about an hour, clean and happy. I liked talking to them. Many of them were intelligent people who had made some very bad choices in their lives. Most of them still had all their teeth.

One night in May, 2023, I rode down in the elevator with a newly washed young man and his bicycle. I wished him a good night and then told him that I was on my way to meet some friends. I was celebrating my 80th birthday. The man shook my hand and then reached into his back pocket for his billfold. He took out the only money he had, a five dollar bill, and gave it to me.

“Happy Birthday!” he said.

“Oh, no. I can’t take your money.”

“But I want you to have it. It isn’t everyday that you turn eighty years old.”

“That’s true. But if you really want me to have a happy birthday, you will take that money and buy yourself something to eat.”

My last day in the building, I knocked on Gail’s door to say goodby. She wasn’t wearing any clothes and obviously didn’t remember who i was. She looked happy. I told Marie to let Johnny know that I came to say goodby.

Three months later Gail died in hospice care. Six months later, Johnny also died. He had multiple forms of cancer and was in terrible pain. We never knew he was sick.

May Johnny and Gail rest in peace. I will hold them in my heart forever.