Have you ever been in a position where you’ve inadvertently ignored someone when they needed you most? I have. I missed a call from a friend once because I had my phone on “do not disturb,” which is common for a writer. He and I had already talked that day, and he sounded great. I thought nothing of it and put my phone on “do not disturb” and forgot to turn it back on later that evening. I work a lot, anyhow, so no telling when I stopped working. The next day, I had a voicemail from my friend’s partner. The phone didn’t ring, and I remembered that I had my phone off. I knew it was bad news. This guy never calls me. When I called him back, he told me my friend had died. I looked back through my missed calls and my friend called the night before. It was a simple mistake, but you never know when someone’s going to need you. The story below is about that.
I usually never tell people this story only my wife knows.
Anyways, about ten years ago, I used to have a temp job in a retirement home. So part of my rounds included this old guy named Hans Frugenheim or something, I could never really say his last name correctly. We used to laugh about that.
Hans was clearly foreign, he had a thick accent. He lived over in the old folks’ tower meaning he was pretty lucid still. Hans tipped great even though again it was clear he was poor as dirt. I could tell he just wanted someone to talk to. So I would sit and visit for 20 minutes every time I came by.
He told me about how he had a wife and daughter back East (I’m from San Diego) and that he had left them a while back. So one day I am looking around his room and I see these strange drawings all over, all very similar in style.
I ask what they were and he tells me he is an artist. I say “no way so am I!” (though I no longer am an artist anymore). Me and Hans get to talking and it turns out he used to work at the art school I went to – Pratt, in Brooklyn.
He shows me his work, they are etchings, which is a medieval technique where you carve marks into a piece of copper, then cover it with ink and carefully wipe it from the top so it is only in the groves you carved, then you press it against paper and viola, a print. Very labor intensive obviously. Anyway I thought it was cool and he liked having someone be interested, so we would always chat about his art.
One day when we were discussing his work, Hans turns to me and says, “would you like one?” Well I was super excited and very thankful, I picked one I thought looked sorta cool and told him, “Hans, if you ever need anything, ever, here is my phone number I’ll take care of you.”
So some times goes by now keep in mind I am 22 or so – I was young, I was a drinker, and a naive idiot. Anyway I had one of those novelty answering machine messages that, when it picked up, I just pretended to be there you know like “hello….(5 seconds)….hello…”
Anyway, one day when I was particularly hung over early in the morning, the phone rings
I am in a crappy mood so I don’t answer
*beeeep* “Pope… Pope is that you, Pope?” It is Hans and he can’t figure out that I have an answering machine. I was feeling crappy/lazy and didn’t want to explain my stupid prank to Hans, so I just didnt pick up.
I could hear Hans calling for me for what seemed like an eternity. I wait till its done, and I pass out again.
So I go into work the next day and my boss, the owner of the retirement home, casually says, “Oh hey did you hear that Hans died last night?”
Needless to say, I was an absolute wreck.
I have never before and never since felt like such an absolute asshole.
I went home to think.
I sat down and looked up at the etching I had chosen and Hans had given me. I nearly fell over the image is of an old man dying in a bed, being attended by a wife and a daughter with what looks like a traveling salesman passing by, indifferent to what is going on inside.
The image shook me to my core – I was the salesman, passing by carelessly, not looking at the suffering going on around me.
An image of the actual piece Hans gave me.
I still hang that picture on my wall and it is the first thing I see when I come home, to remind me to fight apathy. And to remind me to always respond to people in need, because you never know just how much somebody may need you.
