I wish I could tell you what a wonderful neighbor I am. I wish I could tell you Sam Jacobsen’s life story. I wish I could make you laugh. I wish I could make you cry. I wish you could look at me and tell me how I was a wonderful person in the twilight of someone’s life.
But I’m a daddy. I’m a husband. I’m vital to my company. My family is close. and they need me every weekend. It is rare that a weekend goes by that plans aren’t made weeks in advance.
In short: Sam is my neighbor. Not a human being needful of love and caring. Not a human being needful of human contact. Not a human being lost, confused, and lonely. He’s just a guy that lives in a structure next to me. He’s moving out today, and I’m the Grade AA schmuck who missed out on a chance to glean some wisdom, wit, or just some decent karma.
Sam is a member of “the greatest generation”. He signed up years after all his pals signed up. He was popular with the women, connected to the powerful, a child of the advantaged that took advantage of it and skipped out on the draft. His contribution was in the USO. He was a comedian. I have been accosted first hand by his comedy, and can tell you exactly why his name is not a household name. He wasn’t funny. His imitations were mediocre at best. And he rehashed used jokes.
Either way, I had an old guy living next to me who I could have been a decent person to. I could have learned from. I could have had a “Tuesday with”. But instead I shoveled half his walk after snowfalls. I mowed his front lawn every other time I mowed mine. I chain sawed his tree that fell during the big storm. I was the good neighbor.
But I was the bad neighbor. I knew his son was a shmuck who ignored him, and lived in DC. I knew his nephew was a good person who lived several hours away. I knew at least one shady character had tried to take advantage of him. I knew Sam was lonely. I knew I promised I’d give Sam a laptop someday. I knew I was seeing Sam less and less these days. But I was busy. My life, as a father of a 3 year old boy, puts a focus on the 3 year old boy. I rush home from work to see him. I stall leaving in the morning to play with him. I live my self-centered little life and ignore the man with the incredible history, the rich stories, the sad progression of his wife’s Alzheimer’s, the character that is Sam.
I saw people moving stuff out of Sam’s house tonight. I was at the Vikings game. I stayed late. Hey, it was a victory, might as well hit the bar for a while, right? I come home to see a For Sale sign planted in front of his house, and some folks hauling stuff out of his house. I hopped over the fence to see if there was anything I could do to help. I chatted with one of the guys for a while, hauled out some heavy stuff, and then saw Sam.
Sam was Sam. He was the same guy I’ve known for 6 years now. But that was the problem. His house was for sale. His life was being hauled out. His possessions were being hauled out to the alley. But Sam, Sam was oblivious. I suddenly realized that the Sam that I had been seeing for the last year or so was the Sam that I was seeing tonight. He was a Sam that had lost it, a Sam that needed help. A Sam who’s neighbor was too busy to realize that Sam needed help.
Sam was an actor. A comedian. A joker who could fool anyone for short stints. The Short Stint Sam was the only Sam that had been in my life for three years now. Sam could get a bit chatty at times, and my life was busy. I never noticed that Sam had lost it. Until tonight.
As Sam’s life was hauled out in front of him, Sam rode his stationary bike. The Playboy centerfolds on his wall that he called his carrot on the stick were gone. The realtor wisely decided they should go. The fifty years of Sam that sat in the house paraded past, and Sam pedaled on. How could have I missed the Sam that I was now seeing? He was so obviously gone, yet so obviously the Sam I had been tossing greetings to over the fence for the last year or so. The last long conversation we had was over a year ago. The last conversation with any substance well over two.
In my well-laid-plans-that-never-took-hold-even-though-I-had-good-intentions, I was going to buy Sam a 812.11 wireless card so he could use my internet for free. I was too busy. I didn’t get around to my wireless for even me this week.
Sam’s still riding his bike. He’s pretty oblivious to all the action around him. His stationary bike is one of the ones that has the handles that go back and forth. They cast a long shadow onto the fresh snow of his back yard. It’s the last thing left in that room, save for Sam.
If you want to to talk about fucked up priorities, I’ve been ignoring my son for the half hour it took me to type this.
Sorry Sam. You lose again. It’s time to play.