The Old Bum on the Beach
All of my life I wanted to change the world and make it a better place for my fellow man. Given all the strife and unhappiness that plague people of every race, sex, age and creed, I figured mankind could use all the help it can get. So when the time came for me to attend college and select a career, I chose to become a social worker and devote my life to helping the underprivileged, the troubled, the indigent and the homeless souls that roamed the streets of our country's cities and towns.
It was on a warm Saturday afternoon in late April, with graduation and the completion of my formal education only weeks away, that I took a rare break from my studies and walked along a nearly deserted beach in northeastern Massachusetts. Sitting on a large rock, gazing out to sea was an old bum. It looked as though the derelict's clothing had not been washed in weeks. The man himself was no example of good personal hygiene either: his long, lank hair was oily and uncombed, his beard was unshaven and his body odor bordered on being offensive.
I grimaced with revulsion, wanting to keep my distance.
How can someone let himself sink so low? I wondered, uncharitably.
It suddenly occurred to me that this unkempt old man was one of the legions of unfortunate souls I had wanted to dedicate my life to saving. Now would be as good a time as any to practice what I preached. I may not be able to save him, I reasoned, but at least I could extend my hand in friendship and perhaps buy him a decent meal.
Determined to live up to my own high ideals, I sat down on a nearby rock and called out to the bum, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
I was not quite sure what I had expected by way of conversation. Perhaps the old man would simply tell me to go to the devil or grudgingly acquiesce to a few minutes of small talk. There was even the very real possibility that his mind would be so dulled by alcohol or drugs that he would not be capable of holding a normal conversation. What I certainly had never expected was to spend the next few hours conversing with a warm, amusing, sensitive, intelligent and highly educated man.
I was in for one hell of a surprise!
After engaging in several minutes of pleasant discourse about mundane topics such as the weather, the upcoming Democratic primary election and the chances of the Boston Red Sox winning another pennant, the old bum proceeded to tell me the story of his life.
* * *
"When I was born," he began, "my dear parents—like so many other wealthy, professional, socially prominent parents of their generation—wanted what they thought was best for their son. They provided me with a secure, supportive and loving home. I was given nutritious meals, preventative medical and dental care and all the material necessities my parents deemed essential for a normal, healthy and happy childhood.
"One of my mother and father's main concerns was for my education and social development. I was put into my first playgroup before I could walk, plopped down in an expensive playpen with other blue-blooded toddlers amidst a mountain of overpriced educational toys designed to stimulate and challenge our developing young minds. As a privileged child growing up in one of Boston's finest neighborhoods, I was sent to a highly accredited private school, where my parents saw to it that I participated in every kinder camp, each little tyke athletic team and all learning activities open to children of my age group.
"Throughout my boyhood, my parents kept my calendar full—winter, spring, summer and fall. I joined the Cub Scouts and, later, the Boy Scouts. I took piano lessons, skiing lessons, swimming lessons and gymnastics. In school, I played soccer, baseball, football and basketball. Then in my spare time—what little there was of it—I worked on the yearbook staff, served as class president and was a member of the computer and science clubs, the school band and the boys' chorus. Frankly, it was amazing that I found the time to do my schoolwork. Yet I did, and I managed to graduate with honors and get accepted into Harvard.
"My life was even more hectic from the moment I graduated high school. There were four years of college, followed by medical school, internship and residency that all made it possible for me to have a successful medical practice.
"Once I was established as a physician, I met, courted and married a young woman from my own social circle. On the day of our wedding, my parents watched with pride as their son, the doctor and Harvard graduate, took his marriage vows. Perhaps they even congratulated themselves on a job well done.
"In the decades that followed my return from our three-week-long European honeymoon, my life never deviated from the narrow path that my parents had so lovingly plotted for me. My medical practice continued to grow, and I prospered financially. My wife and I moved out of our two-bedroom apartment and into a five-bedroom colonial with a three-car garage and two acres of professionally landscaped property. I drove a brand-new Mercedes, and my wife drove a late-model BMW. As was expected of the both of us, we belonged to the best country club, participated in every worthwhile civic group and donated to all the socially acceptable charitable organizations.
"After two years of marriage, my wife gave birth to a son and three years after that, a daughter. Like our parents before us, she and I wanted what we thought was best for our children. In particular, we were concerned with their education and social development.
"And thus the pattern continued for another generation: playgroups, preschools, sports teams, high school clubs, Ivy League colleges, wise career choices and advantageous marriages. Inevitably, the cycle was completed, only to begin again with the birth of the grandchildren.
"Then I reached the age of seventy-two. My wife died the year before, and my son and daughter, who had followed in my footsteps and become doctors, were capably handling my medical practice. So I decided to take the next step in the American dream: retire and enjoy the fruits of my labors during my golden years.
"For the first time in my long life, I had no appointments to keep and no schedule to follow. There was no one I had to see and no place I had to go.
"I was utterly lost!
"I had absolutely no idea what to do with my time. For hours on end, I just sat in my recliner in front of the television, watching early morning game shows, midday talk shows and afternoon soap operas while feeding my face with an assortment of unhealthy junk foods. Eventually, my life ground to a halt. I didn't exercise, bathe, shave or even change my clothes.
"As a man of medicine, I knew the great risk I was taking with my health, so I got cleaned up and forced myself to take a long walk once a day. It was incredible! I felt like I'd been reborn. I'd lived in Gloucester since I got married nearly fifty years earlier, yet in all that time I never walked along this beach, never watched the tide come in, never saw the sun rise or set on the horizon, never smelled the salt in the air or listened to the cries of the seagulls. I was always much too busy doing something that I thought was more important.
"Suddenly, a whole new world was open to me, one of new sounds, sights, scents and tastes. I walked for hours, looking at places and things I had driven past in my Mercedes without noticing them.
"Did you know there is a huge chestnut tree on the corner of Danvers and Essex Streets and a wonderful cluster of lilac bushes near Stephen Prescott's statue on the Common? I never knew it, but I do now. I also discovered that the Dreyfuss family has the most beautiful azaleas in town.
"And birds! I sat on a bench on the Common one warm spring afternoon and counted dozens of species, each with its own unique coloring and distinctive song.
"But what I've come to love most about our quaint little town is the changing of the seasons. I like to watch the leaves turn color in early autumn and then fall to the ground at the end of October. I look forward to the first snow in the winter and, after the spring thaw, to seeing the buds and new growth on the trees. In the summer, I enjoy all the colors and fragrances of the blooming flowers and the feel of the warm sun on my face.
"Those are things I now wish I had learned to appreciate when I was a young child. I've come to realize that they are the true riches in our world. It's ironic. I had a portfolio full of blue chip stocks and bonds and several parcels of valuable real estate in Massachusetts. I was a very wealthy man. I had a grand home, a loving wife and two wonderful children. Make no mistake about it; I'm grateful for all life has given me, but I can honestly say that at no point in my seventy-two years was I ever truly happy. But I am now.
"You've only to look up at the stars on a clear, summer night to feel the wonder of the universe, to stand outside in a thunderstorm to feel alive or to just sit here on this rock and watch the waves crash on the beach to feel at peace."
* * *
The man I had mistaken for an old bum finally lapsed into silence. I sat quietly on the rock looking from his smiling face to the distant horizon and then back to—nothing! The old man was no longer there. But where could he have gone? Had I only imagined him? No. He had been there beside me one minute, but then he was gone the next.
My curiosity got the better of me. I had to know who he was and what had become of him. I tried to remember some of the details from his story: he had lived in Gloucester for almost fifty years. He had been a doctor, and his two children were now doctors. They should not be too difficult to locate in such a small town.
Finding the answers I sought was as simple as opening the phone book. I called and made an appointment to meet with Dr. Jerome Byrne and his sister, Dr. Constance Phillips. When I arrived at their office, I briefly told them all about my strange meeting with the man I believed to be their father.
"You must be mistaken," Dr. Phillips said brusquely.
I then related many of the details I remembered from my conversation with the old bum on the beach. The brother and sister stared at each other for several moments, and then Dr. Byrne turned to me.
"I don't know what this is about, whether or not you're on the level or if this is some tasteless joke you're playing."
"I assure you, Dr. Byrne, this is no joke. I spent several hours talking to your father. It was quite a conversation!"
"Our father died at age seventy-two, a few weeks after he retired. He was found just as you described him: dirty clothes, unwashed body and hair, unshaven beard, sitting on his reclining chair with a half-eaten bag of Doritos in his hand. The television was still going when I ...."
The doctor closed his eyes, unable to continue speaking.
"That was four years ago," his sister added.
* * *
I graduated from college that June and went ahead with my plans to change the world. But rather than help feed and clothe the homeless masses, I chose to work with preschool children instead. Unlike other teachers, there are no computers in my classroom. I don't teach my young students to recite the alphabet or count to ten. Most of the time we just go outside and play. We observe the sights around us, and then we close our eyes and listen to the different sounds and breathe in the many scents.
I don't know what their parents have planned for my charges in the years ahead or what life has in store for them, but at least for the brief time that these young children are in my care, they can enjoy just being young and alive and marvel at the wonderful world around them.
As I grow older with each passing year, I often remember that old bum on the beach. Had fate sent him to me that day to deliver the message that changed my life, or had we met by sheer chance, while his spirit was on a pilgrimage to experience all the wonders of the world that he had been oblivious to while he was alive?
Salem always enjoys the simpler things in life, like the beach and the free seafood that sometimes washes up on it.
