Hangin' with Mr. Harry

It was December 15, a cold, gray Sunday afternoon. I went to visit my grandmother at her nursing home in Denham Springs, LA. In the warm, quaint dining area next to the small galley kitchen, I sat with my Ma-Ma at a vinyl cloth-covered table and made my best efforts to convey my love to her through words, touches and hugs. During this time, a man I would come to know as Mr. Harry pushed his grey metal walker into the room and sat down with us.

Starting a conversation with Mr. Harry was easy; he was a laid-back, friendly fellow. His thin, gray hair was gelled and combed back neatly. A tall man, his skin appeared reddish and worn with age.

I do not know his exact condition, but Mr. Harry’s way of speaking reminded me of my grandmother’s way of communication when she was in her earlier stages of Alzheimer’s; the use of many "I don't know"'s and contradictions.

While I sat at the table with my sweet Ma-Ma on my right, I talked to Mr. Harry who was seated across from me.

”Mr. Harry,” I began, “do you know any good stories”

”Nah.”

” You don’t have any good stories from your life?“

Mr. Harry told me he had no good stories at all. So, laughing, I asked if he would share a bad story instead. We laughed more, then I decided to use more specific questions. This technique proved effective and, from there, his story unfolded.

I asked Mr. Harry what kind of work he had done. ”Well," he said, "I was an accountant for quite a few years.“

He continued, “And I worked in grocery stores and drug stores and… I started working when I was… actually I was too young to be working but I worked anyway.”

Mr. Harry said he worked and stayed in school at the same time. I know many people my grandmother’s age had to drop out of school in order to work, to help their families during the Great Depression.

My turn came to field a question from him. He asked, “What kind of work do you do?“

I told Mr. Harry I work for a plant out where the Ethyl plant used to be. When I’m talking to an older person about my job, that’s how I explain it. A lot of older people have never heard of Albemarle. When I say “Ethyl,” though, their eyes light up in recognition. My late grandfather retired from Ethyl. A lot of men of my grandparents’ generation were employed at the Ethyl facility here in Baton Rouge, working to produce leaded gasoline until that era ended and the age of unleaded gasoline began. At that time, Ethyl was renamed Albemarle and the facility’s use branched out in new directions.

At the mention of Ethyl, Mr. Harry proudly told me he ”spent 20 some-odd years in chemical plants.” I asked him about his function in those plants. He replied, “I done accounting.” Mentally kicking myself for not remembering that, I continued my exploration through Mr. Harry’s life and experiences.

He told me he had worked for BF Goodrich in Beaumont, TX. “If you ever go from here to Houston, you could see the plant on the I-10. I it’s about 10 miles out of Beaumont on the way to Houston. It’s a rather large plant.”

I mused aloud that, working in accounting, he didn’t have to get his hands dirty out in the plant site. “No,” he agreed, and we both laughed.

” Well that’s good! You retired from there?”

” No, I didn’t retire ,” Mr. Harry replied.

” Okay.”

He continued, “But I’m not working now.”

A little confused, but with no grounds from which to argue, I simply responded, “Nothing wrong with that.”

Mr. Harry agreed.

”Twenty years,huh? That’s a long time,” I commented.

“You know, I tell ya, you need 20 years to have a decent retirement nowadays,” remarked Mr. Harry. I nodded. I know that all too well. I know many people, myself and my parents included, who do not stand adequately prepared for retirement. I made a mental note to put more emphasis on improving my savings habits.

I asked if his family came to visit him in the nursing home very often. “Well, most of my family is in Kentucky and Indiana,” he said. Mr. Harry told me he was the youngest of five children. Before him came three brothers and one sister.

At that time, a nursing home employee named Cathy walked in. Cathy is a slight, small lady, full of smiles and good conversation. I have witnessed her always being friendly and caring to the residents she assists. Mr. Harry spoke up, asking Cathy, “Is it safe to be in here?”

”No,” Cathy answered in a teasing tone.

”Huh?” inquired Mr. Harry.”

Cathy repeated, “Nope!”

I injected my two cents into this new conversation with, “I think she’s teasing you, Mr. Harry.”

Eyebrows raised, Mr. Harry leaned toward me and repeated, “She said no!”

Cathy filled me in: “He said while ago, well the other day, well you know the women mostly eat in here. And I said, ‘Mr. Harry, you can’t come in the kitchen. It’s a danger zone.’ I said, ‘They got women in here; it’s a danger zone!’ And I meant, you know, the kitchen’s not safe.”

Cathy also informed me that Mr. Harry is often caught trying to get his own coffee, which of course is not safe for residents to do on their own. He uses all kinds of tactics and sly means to try and get his coffee. But he usually gets caught!

Turning his attention back to me, Mr. Harry asked if I lived in Baton Rouge. I told him I did; that I lived out near LSU.

Mr. Harry inquired as to whether I was a student at LSU. Laughing, I told him I was not. “Oh, I’m old. I’ve been… I’m done with college. I’m on to… working and not making enough money, like most of the rest of America.” I laughed.

Banging noises came from the open, adjacent kitchen. Mr. Harry called to Cathy, “Could you keep it down in there?”

Cathy shot back, “NO! I’m-a hit you with my broom!”

” You’ll get me?” grinned Mr. Harry.

Cathy teased him that yes, indeed she would. “He told me one day I was to pretty to be so mean!” she told me with a twinkle in her eye.

”Ohh!!” I adulated. “Well that is a sweet talker if I’ve ever heard – with those big blue eyes!”

A moment passed. Then Mr. Harry piped up to Cathy, “You know I hadn’t had any coffee this afternoon?”

At a nursing home, you can almost always find someone ready and willing to chat. I appreciate the learning and laughter I experience with people there, residents and staff alike! Good times visiting my Ma-Ma and making new friends.

I didn't get a shot of Mr. Harry but here is one of Ma-Ma and me. I had just given her a Christmas card and we were looking at it together. Love that lady.