Some Songs by Mayer Shevin
CHARLIE'S HOME
© Mayer Shevin, 1988 This
song is based on a true story which I heard from John McKnight. It
is dedicated to my father, Nathan Shevin, who grew up in Jamesburg NJ and
who had a fine appreciation for simple neighborliness.
When I got out of high school, I worked up at Pinewood,
The state institution two miles from my home.
I worked on a ward with the boys they called "low-grades,"
And one of my boys there was Charlie Malone.
Now we called them all "boys," but he prob'ly was thirty --
He was never a problem, he always was good --
He'd just stand by the window with his hands in his pockets...
Charlie never once spoke, I don't think that he could.
By the next spring I landed a job in construction.
I was happy to fin'ly leave Pinewood behind.
I had hated the job, and I never went back there...
But some of my boys kind of stayed on my mind.
This summer, I took a day's trip down to Jamesburg,
The town where my Uncle Sid lived all his life.
With Uncle Sid gone, the farm needed tending
And I worried about Aunt Rebeccah, his wife.
I told her, "Rebeccah, you know you can't stay here --
It's not right, you here on this farm all alone!"
"Don't worry," she told me, "I'm well taken care of..."
And then in through the back door walked Charlie Malone.
She gave us both lunch at her big kitchen table.
It was strange to be sitting with Charlie again.
When we finished, Rebeccah and I washed the dishes,
And she talked about Charlie, her boarder and friend.
Aunt Rebeccah told me that about nineteen-eighty
Some state institutions began closing down.
"Charlie's dad came from Jamesburg, and so they moved Charlie
To an eight-person group home just outside of town.
Uncle Sid drove on by on the day the home opened,
And that's the first time he saw Charlie Malone
Staring out of the window, with his hands in his pockets
Looking little, and frightened, and very alone.
"Now the people in Jamesburg are kind of 'standoffish,'
But Uncle Sid said, 'It just doesn't seem fair
To have folks coming back here with families from Jamesburg,
And most people act like they aren't even there!'
"So Sid got to know Charlie -- he'd take him out places --
Charlie carried equipment when Sid would coach ball,
And on Saturday night, Sid and Charlie would go down
To Post 47, the Legionnaire's Hall.
One day Sid asked Al Gossett, the Legion commander,
'How about making Charlie the bartender here?
Hell, the man's over-age, and there's nothing much to it --
All he needs is to tell apart two kinds of beer!'
"Well, that got people feeling OK about Charlie.
Guys would stop by and see him the nights he'd tend bar.
On July fourth, Al Gossett was made the Grand Marshal,
And Charlie rode with him up in the first car.
"Charlie lived at the group home until last September,
But when Sid died, I asked to have Charlie move in.
We were both of us feeling abandoned and lonesome
And to leave him out there on his own seemed a sin.
And you know that it's funny, but since last September,
Well, Charlie and me have become quite a pair --
What with his friends, and Sid's friends, and my friends, and our friends,
Neither one of us has time to just sit and stare!"
I learned something important that day from Rebeccah,
That neighbors and friends mean a hell of a lot --
You don't need a diploma to be a good neighbor;
You just open your arms wide and share what you've got.
See, the people in Jamesburg won't waste something useful
And they know there's enough when you're willing to share...
Somewhere, some piece of paper says Charlie's retarded,
But lucky for all of us, Jamesburg don't care.
THEIR WAY
Mayer Shevin
[This song is a parody of "Their Way" by Bob Blue, which is in
turn a parody of "My Way" by Paul Anka.]
I came, I read the regs, I threw my staff into confusion
I filed a form reporting each abrasion and contusion
I bought some rubber gloves, I labeled each and every stairway
But more, much more than this, I did it their way.
I've got three facial tics, I picked one up with each site visit --
But that's not much to ask for all those HCFA* bucks, now is it?
They came, they checked their lists (and, may I say, not in a fair way)
But me, I know I'm good -- I did it their way.
Yes, there were times the clients cried, they said "We
want to go outside!"
But I said "No, for after all, you might get lost, or
you might fall --
It can't be so -- we need their dough -- we'll do it their
way!"
But now the times have changed, and now they talk about "community" --
But me, I will stand pat until I'm promised full immunity.
You see, we've worked so hard to master this "custodial care" way --
You see, I have a board -- I do it their way.
For what's an exec? Is it a crime to see that checks
come in on time?
And if the clients don't agree -- too bad! They
signed their ITP!
I am no dope -- I still can cope -- I do it... THEIR WAY!
NANCY'S SONG (DRAGONHEART)
© Mayer Shevin, 1993
Music By Sarah Pirtle and Mayer Shevin
This song is not literally true, but rather represents the composite
experience of many people whose opportunities to communicate through facilitated
communication are being withdrawn. It is dedicated to Anne, David,
Rosemary, Nancy, and to everyone imprisoned in silence.
All my life I've dreamed of singing in a place that's just like
this one
With my words of fire and notes of crystal soaring from the stage
Boldly winging out to cross the gulf of silence that surrounds us
Taking cold hearts by surprise
Speaking truth to ancient lies
Blessing each word as it flies to you from here inside my cage.
Oh, my name is Nancy Jamison, I live at Pinewood Center,
It was 1967 when they took me to that place.
Mamma told me we were only going for a little visit
But I guessed the truth while watching unbrushed tears run down her face.
So I tried to call her back, but I've no voice at my disposal
My only sounds are like a roar, like someone's going to die
So I roared that roar, I roared that roar, I roared that roar, I roared...
and
I don't even think I heard her, when my mamma said goodbye.
Growing up at Pinewood Center is like sleeping in a depot --
When you wake up, there's a different crowd from when you fall asleep.
Many friends I made would disappear without a word of warning
And many heard my dragon's roar, but no one heard me weep.
As the years went by they taught me how to dress myself and bathe myself,
To point to pictures on command, though no one told me why.
And when at night my dragon roared, they'd tie me to my bedframe
As I tried my best to thunder, "Let me free or let me die!"
But all my life I've dreamed of singing in a place like this
one
With my words of fire and notes of crystal soaring from the stage
Boldly winging out to cross the gulf of silence that surrounds us
Taking cold hearts by surprise
Speaking truth to ancient lies
Blessing each word as it flies to you from here inside my cage.
Then a year ago they came around with letterboards and keyboards
And they showed some people how to type by holding back their wrists.
I don't think they would have tried me--some folks think of me as hopeless--
But they had to when I wouldn't let that keyboard from my fist.
Joe and I took to it quickly -- Joe's a man who works the night shift.
Joe has always known that I am smart, though he never could say why.
When I typed out, "JOE DO YOU THINK THEY WILL TIE ME DOWN IN HEAVEN?"
That's the first time I think anyone heard either of us cry.
Joe and I got to be friends then -- he'd come early just to see me
And we'd spend time with him talking and me typing about life.
We would talk about our wishes and our secrets and our losses --
I would type about my momma, he would talk about his wife.
I told him about my dream of singing in a place like this
one
With my words of fire and notes of crystal soaring from the stage
Boldly winging out to cross the gulf of silence that surrounds us
Taking cold hearts by surprise
Speaking truth to ancient lies
Blessing each word as it flies to you from here inside my cage.
Then a couple months ago, a man brought in a stack of pictures,
He said "Let me see if you can type what each of these things are,"
I could tell from how he talked to me that he thought I was stupid --
I could tell this man brought danger, I could tell I was at war.
So I typed out anything I thought of, just to make him leave me --
I could feel my dragon's fury rising stronger in my chest --
By the time he finished, he was talking like I was a baby,
And as my roaring started, I knew I had failed his test.
So they took away my keyboard, said they'd proved I couldn't do it,
Said I was as stupid as my diagnosis said I'd be.
But at night when everyone's asleep, Joe brings a piece of cardboard,
And we pick up on our year-long conversation, Joe and me.
Joe has written down this song of mine, then called in sick this evening,
And right now while you are listening, as he sings this song for me
I am probably tied down, and I still live at Pinewood Center
But the fire that's in my dragon's heart at last is roaring free.
And tonight my dream comes true of singing in a place like
this one
With my words of fire and notes of crystal soaring from the stage
Now my words have finally crossed the gulf of silence that surrounds us
Taking cold hearts by surprise
Helping damn their ancient lies
I bless each word as it flies to you from here inside my cage.