Sometimes when encountered with a free afternoon and a friend, the best thing to do is to buy used Science Fiction novels and give them to ancient nuclear physicists.
Maybe I should back up. Several months ago, a small group of friends and I went to the nursing home in our town to visit lonely people (on valentines day). As we were walking the halls making forced and loud (they’re deaf) conversation, a very bent old man walked toward me. He said, “come along, come on, I want you to meet my family”, so I grabbed my friend Landon and we followed the old man to his room to meet his family. He led us down the hall to a small and neat room with a little kitchen and bathroom attached. The walls were painted a clinical white, but completely covered with framed and poorly printed photographs. The man, who introduced himself as Bill Brown, proceeded to explain each photograph. “This is my son, Walt, this is my wife, Kitty, we’re separated…” We spend the next hour and a half listening to Bill, who took a particular interest in Landon, he kept saying “we’re really just the same.” He showed us his computer where he’s documenting his life story. He showed us the CD he made in Los Alamos in 1965. He showed us his printer, and complained about nursing home life, which he found extremely dull. “These people, they’re all vegetables, and there aren’t any books here at all, only bibles… and I’m a scientist dammit! You can only read the bible so many times.” After our time was up, Bill reluctantly let us go and we decided to come back soon with some Science Fiction books for Bill (his favorite).
That is how, 2 months later, I found myself browsing the bookshelves of the thrift store with my other friend Dani, searching for science fiction novels for Bill Brown. When we delivered the books to him, he was stunned and thrilled. He couldn’t believe it. He got Dani and I to give him our email addresses and I think that excited him even more. We spent a good hour talking to him. This time he told us all about the nuclear reactor he built at Berkley in the fifties or sixties. I expect an abundance of emails from him in the future.
Nursing homes are depressing, but it’s easy to make someone’s day with a short visit and some books about Mars. Then maybe, just maybe, someone will visit you when you’re seven hundred years old and completely off your rocker. That’s what I’m hoping anyway.
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