Jeremy Finds Community (revisited)

Aging Can Bring New Freedom

SeventyFour photo

"More handicapped people are coming out," Jeremy heard Jack, nodding slightly in his direction, whisper across the table to Tom. Jack, one of 24 people in management who had gathered for a workshop about how to effectively manage change, was sitting three feet from Jeremy on his side of the table.

Tom, sitting kitty-corner from Jeremy, realized Jeremy was eavesdropping in amusement. He had a smirk on his face but said nothing. His eyes met Jeremy's for a second but then flashed back to Jack.

"And, women," Jack continued, wide-eyed, with his back toward Jeremy. "I took another management workshop a couple of months ago, and almost a third of the class were women."

"I can believe that," Tom, still with a whimsical look on his face, agreed.

Jack was conveniently ignoring Jeremy, even though Jeremy had introduced himself to both of his table partners after parking his crutches underneath the table and grabbing a chair. Jeremy had ventured outside his daily routine of familiar contacts and encountered another reaction to his disability from a person he hadn't met before.

Knowing that his gestures and facial expressions due to cerebral palsy often appear distorted and exaggerated to strangers, Jeremy tried to shape a slight grin on his face to let Tom know he wasn't offended. In fact, he felt privileged to have his own private view of human nature. It was like leaving his fly open and documenting, in his mind, the people who would draw his attention to his unfortunate oversight.

It was 1985, and, yes, Jeremy had come out. In fact, he had been out a long time. Jack didn't know that Jeremy had been taking workshops and courses every spring and fall since he had graduated from college in 1965.

But Jack was right. Jeremy was unusual and incongruous. He was in management; he had a disability. Yet, the fact Jeremy was vice president of communication for Heartland Dairies didn't seem to surprise him. Perhaps he didn't understand when Jeremy introduced himself.

It was five years before the Americans with Disabilities Act, and apparently more individuals with disabilities were coming out all the time. Jeremy just didn't see them in the circles he frequented. And Jack apparently hadn't either. That was not surprising because Jeremy considered just being "out" an accomplishment -- something many others with a disability had not yet achieved.

More than 20 years earlier, Jeremy remembers receiving little guidance from the School of Journalism's placement office at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, mostly because he was probably the first journalism student with a severe disability to earn a degree.

"We believe you'll be able to work on a job," Professor Abernathy, Jeremy's advisor told him a couple of weeks before graduation, as he stroked his black, narrow tie.

In one sense, that was reassuring to Jeremy. Professor Abernathy was a former advertising executive who had blandly settled into academic life and had written several stiff textbooks about advertising, promotion, and public relations. But he had, at least, been in the job market.

On the other hand, Jeremy could see he was going against the prevalent philosophy on campus at the time. After all, a university education was to help him learn how to learn so he could live life to the fullest. The vocational benefits were only secondary. Professor Abernathy knew, however, Jeremy's priorities were more utilitarian than that; he wanted to get a job.

At the same time, Jeremy felt uncomfortable. He was telling Jeremy something he already knew in his heart -- something so basic that he almost started to laugh when Professor Abernathy said it. Jeremy thought he was trying a bit of wry humor on him.

Yes, Jeremy confirmed to himself, he could probably hold a job. Professor Abernathy was serious when he said it. But Jeremy also saw the uneasiness in his eyes behind his rimless glasses. Jeremy thanked him, after realizing he had no advice about what careers in journalism held the most promise and how well Jeremy's temperament and skills matched the requirements of those jobs.

Jeremy was headed for a safety net -- a soft landing out of the mainstream of business. Dr. Reichman, a professor who specialized in the community press, recommended that he take a state civil service exam so he could qualify for an editing job with a state government agency.

But Jeremy didn't want to get lost forever in the stifling state bureaucracy or in sheltered employment that shielded him from the real world. So, he chose, instead, to prove himself with a typewriter and camera, translating what he observed and heard in the dairy plants and cow barns of Wisconsin into a coherent magazine for Heartland's members.

More than 20 years later, he still found it exciting to return to the university campus on a routine basis to talk about management theory and then grapple with the challenge of how he could transfer those ideas into practical programs that would work in rural Wisconsin.

Dr. Stewart, the instructor for the day, finally stepped in front of the group, and the six tables of participants quieted.

"We're going to begin today by first experiencing what it's like to manage change," Dr. Stewart began. "I'd like you to count off by ones and twos, starting with Jack, here."

The toes in Jeremy’s left shoe curled. Another icebreaker. He dreaded icebreakers because he didn't have the agility or the speaking ability to pull them off with aplomb. In fact, they just emphasized his disability.

"You, Jeremy, can sit this one out and observe because this could get quite physical," Dr.Stewart said quickly. Jeremy watched as the others started to count. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two ...

Jeremy soon found himself at a table alone, relieved but still conspicuous.

"Those of you who are ones are going to be blindfolded," Dr. Stewart continued. "The twos are your guides and helpers ..."

In 1983, Jeremy was out but still not in, included but still apart.

Nearly 40 years later, Jeremy and his wife, Liz, now feel a part of a senior living community where nearly every one of the residents are "catching up" to what it’s like to deal with some type of vulnerability. In that sense, aging can bring new freedom, Jeremy maintains, if an individual is part of a community in which limitations are so common and routine that they are no longer relevant to what really counts: who a person really is.

He believes Parker J. Palmer says it best:

"Community is a place where the connections felt in our hearts make themselves known in the bonds between people, and where the tuggings and pullings of those bonds keep opening our hearts."

Jeremy's takeaway tip from his story: Bask in the community of fellow elders who are experiencing the common challenge of living effectively with limitations.