The Song of an Old Man

                                  The Song of an Old Man
                                                by
                                    Barbara E. Lehman


                Some one to love
                Some one to love
                Yes, I want someone to love

        And who doesn't? Everyone, from a new born babe to the dying old gentleman or woman, needs and wants SOMEONE TO LOVE. Take Mr. Albert, for instance: a  63 year old lonely soul who lived in Sunshine Home where I worked. He made this thought very clear.
          "Hi. You're not very big, are you?"
          "Nom I'm not." I answered on my first day in the upstairs and contact with him.
            "You're a pretty girl."
            "Thank you."
            I bent forward to swing the mop in the hall there. He brought his cane closer, took a step nearer and glancing quickly around, leaned towards me, and in a low voice, said, "You're  a nice girl."
     
                        I'm an old man
                        But crotchety as I am
                        I want someone to love.

            The biggest voice around Sunshine Home was gruff Ralph Beardsley. You could hear him from one end of the building to the other. Even I, with my hearing aid on, had no trouble hearing him. WIth his slap-shuffle and loud talk you always knew when he was near. I told Mary Jane Powell one day, " I can't get over it, Mary. I can hear that Ralph long before he gets any where's near where I am working. That's something because of my hearing loss. Gee, he even makes me wonder if I  could hear him without my aid."
      She nodded, laughing.
        "He is loud, isn't he? Well, they are all different and that is what makes it interesting to work here."
        While working downstairs he and I had a few bad moments. I had to sweep and mop all the floors in the halls, rooms and do the stairway as well. Usually I ended up at the stairs just as he was going to or coming back from getting the mail.
He did not like me working on the stairs when he was going through and told me so in various ways. Mostly, very grumpily, he would comment about my being in his way.
        Having tangled with him thus a few times, I wasn't too enthusiastic about cleaning his room. But I did it faithfully for several weeks, singing the while. I was swinging the mop in the hallway some distance from his room, marveling on some thoughts on love that I had, when he came out. While passing me, he paused, his hand on my shoulder and said in the quietest voice I ever heard him use, "Thank you for cleaning my room." I couldn't believe my ears. I looked up into his face; sober with a soft sparkle in his eyes - and I knew he meant it.

                        I'm all alone
                        In an old folk's home
                        And I want someone to love.

            Over the months as I worked there I heard many tales. But one of the most constant themes was one of loneliness and a wish for visitors of both relatives and total strngers. One said, most of them are alone,  that she hadn't seen a relative in years.
            One old man was so taken with me that he offered me a seat beside him on  his bed. I refused gently, reminding him I had work to do. He, then, patted me on the shoulder, took my hand into his own, smiled and said, "I love you." His voice was one of the softest I have ever come across yet. It was like an angelic whisper the way he said it.

                            If you come visit me
                            Stranger though you be
                            Then I'll have someone to love.

            I was cleaning near the sitting area when an insurance man of one of the men came up one day. As they were at the point of the chairs, I heard Mr. Albert say, "That's our girl." with pride and pleasure, referring, I found on looking up, to me.
              Ralph and Gilroy Peters, Ralph's best friend, were going to the sitting area on another day and I wasn't out of earshot, so heard, "That's our girl" in the same proud possessive manner, with just a hint of hope for a verification. Ralph got it, of course. Always  they make these remarks in my hearing range.
              The insurance man's visit was talked about because he spent a little time in the sitting room with them listening  to them talk. But a visit from the Sisters of our parish got quite a reception.
                I told the Sisters of the longing of these oldsters for visitors. They decided to add them to their visiting times. I showed the two around. Everyone was pleased. Each tried to tell them what a good girl I was. But, most of all, the days that followed were filled with memories of that visit. They talked of little else.  Some even begged me to have them come back, to urge them to come soon and stay longer. Begged me, mind you.
              Every day I had to do the rooms. Some days I had some special jobs to do that were both separate to and a part of, my whole job. I had besides the rooms to do, special wood work, mirrors, windows, light fixtures and other glass objects. I found it best to do every other day the special jobs and three times a week the main jobs. That way it all got done and didn't take such a toll on my strength.
              Well, this one day I was sweeping,  then mopping, in Mr. Albert's room while he was in it. I began to clean it anyway. From the time I entered till I was out of it, he used his precious kind words over and over.
              "You're pretty."
                "Thank you."
                He'd take his pipe from his mouth, say, "You're a nice girl," put it back in to take a puff and start in again somtimes removing it, sometimes speaking around it. I was in only five minutes but I'm sure he said all his few lines at least 25 times. I sighed and thought, broken record, as I went on.
                That afternoon I had time to start on the light fixtures. I was two doors down and to the right of his room when he came along. He saw me busy. He tapped the door with his cane, took his pipe out to say, "You're a nice girl."
              "Thank you," I answered. I continued with my work aware of his presence still. Again he tapped, this time to say, "You're pretty." All I could do was smile. He wasn't done yet for next he said, "You're a good girl." He puffed a few times on his pipe, then said, "You're cute."
              I smiled and went on with my work. He tapped the door again, looked up and down the hall to be sure we were alone then, "I like you." Then he scooted out of there as if he had said too much.
            " Well, you made that kind of plain, Mr. Albert," I muttered to myself as I got off the ladder to do the windows. And then I saw the handsome figure of our local young doctor of the time coming up the walk to enter the building. In an instant I knew Mr. Albert wasn't the only one feeling a heart beat increase. "Someone to love" flitted through my mind and it occurred to me it was an important thought. I stopped.
            "Someone to love," I murmured softly, slowly. Yes, I am not only one that needs someone to love. These old men and women really do mean it when they say, "I like you." It's really, "I love you," as Mr. Ensanal downstairs had whispered after shyly touching me and offering me a place to sit on the bed beside him which I smilingly reused. I need someone to love. They need someone to love. In this case, I'm elected. Unamnimously. These lonely souls love me. Some are never visited by any one. Others occasionally,  and well, it seems that the nurses, cook, and cleanining lady are all they got to love. So they love them each in their own way.
            Of course, Daub and McClearn are lucky in a way. Their sweethearts are in the same building. But the others are all widows, widowers or bachelors.
            In silence for awhile I worked. As I got to the central point where the hall to the dining room joined that of rooms and the porch, I over heard Albert  say to Gilroy, "Here's our girl. She's a pretty girl, a good girl." And Gilroy smilingly agreed.

                          No one visits me any more.
                            I'm alone, tired, and sore.
                            I miss the goings and comings of people
                            And who will take me to see a church steeple?

                            There's no one but nurses here;
                              Those angels so dear.
                              A young girl who works all day
                              Stops with a word to say.

              My Grandfather was in this home in the downstairs part. I would go down sometimes to look in on him. Sometimes after I washed my hands the nurses there would let me feed him as they were often short handed and by now he needed to be fed like a baby. It was hard for me. But I was glad to help them in any way I could. I did not mind too much doing something for my Granddad. He had done much for me when I was a youngster. Now I was giving back when I could and how I could. He died one day while I was working there. All the elderly souls upstairs knew of it before I had my things put away for the day. They were quieter and kinder towards me, if that were possible.

                              But, you know, I like to talk
                              And go with others for a walk.
                              I can't do that any more.
                              I'm lonely, tired and sore.

                                I've seen lots of troubles in my day;
                                The world has always been in a bad way.
                                But if people loved others more
                                It would be far less sore.

                                Some one to love
                                Some one to love
                                Yes, I want some one to love.