I met Teddy earlier this year when our kids were involved in an activity together. As in most activities like this, the kids do and the adults watch . . . but not Ted. He was right there, and I mean RIGHT THERE. As close as he could get to being right with the kids, his arms up yelling, making a HUGE fuss about his kid and giving a high-five to everyone he could after it was done. I’m all for cheering for your kid, but this was over the top . . . to the point where he had to be talked to and told to keep it down, move to the side, etc. Over the next few months, I had other brief contacts with him, mostly at these events. He continued to be loud and boisterous in his cheering (you could always tell where he was during an event), but he did moderate somewhat after the first “talking to”. I was more a witness to conversations with him than actually in conversations with him. Even in everyday life he seemed over the top and too intense (tho’ always in a pleasant and happy way).
Teddy was hit by a car last week as he crossed the Boulevard on his way to pick up his son from practice. He made sure someone took care of his dog (who always accompanied him in his backpack), lapsed into a coma, and never regained consciousness.
We went to the Funeral Mass last Friday and I was, once again, reminded how superficial my casual interpretations of others can be at times. The receiving line for Teddy’s family stretched to the front door of the church. Along the way down the aisle, the family had constructed posters with pictures showing snap-shots of Ted’s life from his earliest days to the present. Proud moments as a kid, summers down the shore, the births of his children, moments with family and friends . . . a full and rich life marked not so much by grand achievement and monetary gain as by . . . love. The brief moments I spent with him and observing him did not capture the complexity and depth of this man’s life. Despite his tendency to make “mistakes” in what he did and what he said, this was a man who touched people’s lives in a good and positive way. From the way he went out of his way to help others, his skill as a cabinet maker, his over-the-top devotion to his kids, his clear enjoyment of others. Ted brough a sense of festivity to casual conversation. And those mistakes? From what I learned, he was quite willing to admit them, apologize for them, and move on. He had a humble understanding of himself and seemed to have accepted himself more than most of us have. And, it seems, he accepted us, too, more than we accepted him for who he was.
My “knowing” of Teddy was superficial at best. My understanding of him since the celebration of his life last Friday is much greater. I will miss him at the next show. I will think of him . . . often I hope. For with every thought of him, I smile. And wish that, in some ways, I could be a bit more like him.
Rest in peace, good man.
–Dan Hartman, MD
Dear Dr. Hartman, As always, I appreciate your introspections and willingness to share your humanity with your patients and friends. After spending a lifetime with bipolar ll d/o and being a ‘wounded’ mental health professional for over 30 years, I frequently think about how fortunate I have been in my lifetime. I have witnessed the tail end of the demise of institutionalized care of psychiatric patients. I have worked in state and county facilities that had wards full of elderly lobotomized patients, who had spent most of their adulthood in psychiatric wards. The basement of one facility was lined with cages where patients languished prior to the availability of thorazine. All the buildings of these facilities are connected with enclosed walkways or tunnels so that patients could wander from place to place without regard to the weather. I’ve poured over charts on wards that record treatments such as ECT, insulin shock therapy, et. al. but never was discharge to home a part of the plan.
I say these things to reinforce the graditude I feel to have been able to avail myself to the miracles of modern psychiatry. What would have been my plight if I had been ill before modern psychopharmacology and patient rights. I am thankful and I pray daily for the souls who wern’t as fortunate as I and for those patients that I have the privilege of serving daily. Most of all, I thank you and all the physicians who have cared for people like me, who have given us hope and dedicated care. May the grace of God be with you.