It’s a hard life when you’re frail and no one cares
Commentary by SCOTT HYDER
The phone rang. The voice was soft-spoken and cracked with obvious age,
but I could hardly call it frail. There was a strength of soul and urgency of tone that
came across even over the phone.
Understand, though, it had already been a busy day, and I was wary of
honey-tongued predators who think of private listings as public lines of opportunity. So,
maybe I wasn't as receptive as I might have been when I grumbled a "hello" to
the stranger on the other end.
"Yes, hello," replied the voice, "I'm sorry to trouble you,
but I'm in rather dire straits. Do you mind if I tell you my problem?"
"Why call me?"
"Well, I'm calling everyone who will listen, since my time and
welcome in the area are fast running out."
"You wouldn't be the first. What can I do about it, anyway? I suppose
you're looking for a handout, is that it?"
"Well sir, I am looking for a ‘hand up,’ back into the good
graces of the community I served for over a century, but only if it's not too much
trouble."
"That’s what I figured."
"I wasn't always a charity case, believe me. I was once home to
hundreds, but now I'm homeless myself.
"In my early days, I lived squarely in the middle of town, and folks
came to see me every week in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. Of course, I was younger
and looked more respectable myself in those days. Nothing fancy, mind you. It was a
working town then, and appearances weren't quite what they are today.
"Back then, folks seemed to think I fit right in."
"Well, why didn't you save money, if you were so popular back then,
old-timer? Why didn't you think of your old age and set something aside before you became
such an old wreck?"
"Well sir, that wasn’t my mission, to save money and look after
myself. You see, I was a church, a house of the Lord, built to serve others, not myself.
"Hard to say if any souls were saved while I held them inside, but a
number of ‘em did their best while they were here. Course they're all long gone now,
‘cept for the memories I carry round with me."
"Look, I'm sorry, you know. It’s tough to hear, but times
change. Why didn't you?"
"Oh, I did my best to move with the times, as they say. Leastwise,
before I got moved myself, I managed some.
"Don't know about souls saved or lost in the bargain, but I continued
to serve quite a few in a new incarnation as a bar and restaurant. Some knew me most
recently as Louie's. Changing times, changing spirits. What we lost in prayer and
properness, we made up for in pasta and fun times."
"No pizza lasts forever. Not that I'm unsympathetic, you know, but
there’s no stopping progress. You should have invested for a rainy day along the
way."
"Never had the option nor the notion to hoard away something for
myself. Whether sacred or secular, my function’s always been to serve, but the money
never stayed with me as church or chow house. Never thought I'd find myself without ground
underfoot, stripped of dignity and destitute, though. It's humiliating, really. Maybe I
just should have passed away."
"Hey, I care, you know, but that’s life. Here today, gone
tomorrow, and all. I mean we’re proud of our little mining town heritage, but real
estate rules.
"History can be documented with a few photos at the Pio. Besides,
from what I understand the mayor says you’ re an eyesore, and very discouraging to
have around for the folks who live near the Park & Ride where you've been squatting
lately."
"It's true, I'm afraid, all true. I'm in dismal shape and
lack any moral foundation in life. I've seen better days, but they're likely all behind me
now. I'm out of fashion, out of funds and out of favor with enough of the in-crowd to
afford to fancy ever getting myself a face-lift. Yesterday’s bride, today’s
fallen woman, washed up and no longer presentable in good society. I've been parked and
ridden one too many times."
"Ah, don't take it so hard. I'll give you a buck or two."
"It's no use. I'm doomed to dumpster diving now. It’s better if
I just give up the ghost and let them use my timbers in some chic snack bar somewhere.
"Maybe now that I'm in the valley of death, the Peaks that are going
to take my place would like a board or two from my old frame. Nostalgia sells, they tell
me. Maybe a photograph will survive me somewhere—not as I look now, mind you, all
shoddy and derelict, but as I was back in my glory days. Yes, back in the good o1’
days when I still had some pride, some respect, some standing in this community. Those
days are no more. There's no congregation to stand by me or inside me anymore. Sorry to
have taken your time."
And, just like that, before I could say a word of encouragement (which I
was about to do, mind you), the line went dead. Seemed kind of rude, actually. But, hey,
I'm as liberal as the next. We all have a bad day now and again. Let those who've never
been rejected toss the first stone. I listened, didn't I?
What could I say? Ask the people to defend the legacy of the past in an
age that tries to look forever young? Ask the Chamber of Commerce to serve as a clearing
house for civic-minded citizens, realtors, contractors, landscapers, etc. to contribute
energy and expertise in order to have a community center for visitors and residents alike
to share and enjoy?
And where should it be, with property so high? Across from the visitor
center of the chamber, where Irving's is now? How large a plaque would be needed to list
all the necessary contributors, to give credit where credit belonged? The whole idea is
preposterous!
I guess, for a forward-looking community, old buildings are worse off than
children used to be—they should neither be seen nor heard from in an upscale mountain
town like ours. I wonder if there will be a funeral announcement, when the time comes?
Scott Hyder of Ketchum is a Jungian psychotherapist.
