Out of the Vault

Back in the day, when I actually had readers, this posting about John must have resonated with a lot of folks, because I remember having over 50 comments about it. Anyway, here it it is, in it's original form. I'll post up the latest on John later.

I frequent the local library a lot. Now, if you spend any time in libraries, you’ve probably noticed that your local public library can attract some pretty strange characters. Over the course of the years, I’ve seen a parade of mad poets, disenfranchised drifters, self-proclaimed geniuses, and the just plain insane drift through ours. Enter John.

Now, John is one of those truly unusual folks that you meet from time to time who makes a lasting impression. He’s in his middle thirties, tall--well over six feet, and badly overweight, topping out at maybe 350 pounds or so. He’s usually unshaven with three or four days of stubble on his face, and he has a long droopy mustache and aviator style glasses that give him a perpetually mournful look. Remember the acquaintance I mentioned in an earlier post who always wears a bandana around his head? Yup, John. I think he wears it because he’s balding, even though hair straggles out from the sides and back and hangs down his neck and past his ears. With his do-rag on, his mincing, shuffling walk and peculiar, high-pitched voice, he really attracts attention wherever he goes. However, it isn’t his looks that cause such a negative impression, it’s his manner.

John speaks in a stammer, and when he’s excited (or angry) you’ll sometimes think he’s never going to get anything out. He punctuates almost every sentence with “you know”, but it comes out y-y-y-you k-k-k-k-now. Even though the stammer can be a little disconcerting at times, it isn’t at the heart of his problem when dealing with others. It’s his obsessions.

Yep, obsessions, and I don’t mean little flights of fancy or things he just likes to talk about from time to time. I mean things he talks about every time I see him, and I’ve seen him fairly regularly for the last 10 years or so. I mean things he dwells on, lives for, things he clutches to his heart and refuses to let go. The kind of things they give you medication for. What kind of obsessions? Well, one of the most pronounced is his obsession with movie stars. Not just any movie stars, but female stars from the 1940’s through the 60’s. He’s totaled absorbed with ancient musical stars, washed-up has-beens, reputed lesbians, over the hill musicians—you name it. He has thousands of photos and clippings of these folks, and whenever I see him in the library, he’s usually hauling a sackful of them around.

He always buttonholes me—and therein lies my problem with him. I think I’m one of the few people around here who is nice to him, and my repayment is that every time he sees me, he talks non-stop about whatever he’s latched on to for that day. John is one of those folks who simply won’t let you go once he gets you, and I can’t just walk away from him, so I’m a virtual prisoner whenever he catches me. My capture lasts anywhere from 20 minutes to (sometimes) over an hour. With his excited stammer and non-stop frenetic speech, you can’t get a word in edgewise. Johns family life isn’t very good, and I hear about this all the time. Although John is in his mid-thirties, he had a very strong attachment to, and lived with, his mother, who died a couple of years ago, and my impression is that no one else in the family really cares much about him.

John has a brother with a pronounced drug problem and a sister who won’t give him the time of day. His father died recently, and left his sister control over the small inheritance that they’ve received. I hear about the battles between John and his siblings over this tiny estate until I feel like I’m involved in some sort of daytime drama. You see, John has a major obsession with art, specifically with German art and Renaissance art. There is an exhibit of fine art nearby, and John has been chomping at the bit for months to go. He’s tried to get money out of the estate from his sister to go, to no avail, so lately every time I’ve seen him, I’ve heard about her hard-heartedness and his determination to go. I get the entire word-for-word verbal battles they’ve gone through, complete with his petty plans to take revenge on her. During these periods when he’s really angry, Johns’ sad-looking brown eyes glitter behind his chipped, wire-rimmed glasses, and his stammer becomes more pronounced, which makes me even more anxious to make an escape.

Sometimes, in a effort to escape, I’ll quickly slip in another topic. Perhaps if I can change the subject of the conversation, I can wrap it up quickly and make a polite exit. Nothing doing. I’ll introduce a new subject quickly, he’ll go “yeah, yeah” and immediately swerve right back into his discussion on whoever (or whatever) has captured his fancy for that day. I don’t have to answer, or even acknowledge that I’ve heard what he says. A simple nod of the head occasionally, or a “Yeah, uh-huh” will suffice.

Some of the library personnel have noticed this, and they occasionally will help me out. They’ll send an employee over to say that “somebody in the office wants to ask you something, Basil.” That always gets me off the hook, and I usually wind up shamefacedly sneaking out the back way in order to avoid meeting up with John again. I feel really bad about this. I think John’s a very lonely person with no one to talk to, so I’m probably one of the few people who will even give him the time of day. I’ve seen other people brush him off, and he always looks hurt when this happens. Sometimes I’ll make an arraignment with some of the library staff to “come get me in 10 minutes.” I’ll go over, say hi, and listen for 10 minutes, then make an escape when someone comes to tell me there’s a message for me somewhere. That way, he gets to talk to someone for a bit, and I don’t end up trapped for an hour listening to rumors and scandalmongering about Doris Day, or whoever.

I recently bought him a ticket to a museum exhibit with one of my credit cards, because that’s the only way he could pre-order one--apparently he couldn’t get a credit card himself. He was very gracious about it, paid me promptly, and told me about everything he saw when he got back. Told me over and over and over. John is a fairly intelligent guy, and he has some interesting things to say sometimes. Although I may see him as “a cross to bear”, I don’t want to be rude or hurtful to him. They say that what goes round comes round, so maybe when I’m in the old folks home someday, soaking my teeth in a glass and drooling on my bib, somebody will come by and listen to me rattle on about the Stones, Nirvana, Nicole Kidman, American Idol and Stephen King.