The best jobs should teach you something, and hopefully, it will be a good lesson. I applied for a single job, but it turned out to enrich my life and change it.
When I worked at the Chesapeake Center I got a chance to form friendships with a segment of the community people often overlook: the developmentally disabled. And in those years I saw how our lives, perceptions and expected outcomes can form the basis of our lives, for clients and staff.
To be very honest, I got into the counseling job not by altruism but by accident. There was a vague ad in the Star Democrat, it had a few details but stated the job was in Easton. I applied to it, got the address of it, did a few tests and later I was hired.
After a few jobs, some writing assignments, down time and just plain living, I applied to work with the developmentally disabled in the area when I was in my late ‘30s. While it seems like a more action driven job and assisting younger clients in their daily activities, there’s also some older clients there.
Really I couldn’t help but be shocked at the responsibilities of this job. This wasn’t my wheelhouse. My grandfather treated me like I’d need the assistance of an entity so it was a surprise that I’d be the one helping people.
During orientation the program coordinator told the class of new recruits (I was one) that the job makes you “work on your stuff.” It’s true. Echoes of your lives and failures will play out like a movie you didn’t buy a ticket for.
My first shift was a house in the middle of town, Wynton. The houses names more often than not came from the streets they were on. From the sights and smells, it was a home in every sense. A counselor made home cooked meals, often desserts, it was a method I saw practiced in the best houses.l;
The counselor engaged in a cogent manner and spoke to the residents as adults. She really knew her business and ended up earning an accommodation for saving a client’s life, Peter Hanson.
Peter, Harold and Eugene were the residents. Peter had Down’s Syndrome, seemed innocent, he would bring pictures of his family and he would point to heaven to let everyone know where they were.
The second shift/house was a little more active, it was four males with three head injury clients. My first shift there was from 12 AM to 8A. For some reason one of the residents wanted to hear John Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads” all night long, so I heard it all night long and it launched me into anxiety attacks.
The next shift there, a violent resident had a night long temper tantrum. The sight of screaming at the top of his lungs and breaking things still stays with me. The supervisor and the program assistant were useless, no doubt were amused but that’s the way it was then.
It didn’t get much better. After a shift at the house, I was having mini-strokes as I drove home. For those who haven’t done that, I don’t recommend it. I took a few days off and I was back at it. Maybe the job was trying to tell me something, but the good outweighed the bad.
If there were any clients I had an affinity with, it was the clients that society deemed “normal” before they had their accident or altering event. More often than not they are actively aware of how they were treated before and after. They could articulate that feeling too, in words, gestures or an expression. Most of them still had their past hobbies and pursuits. People may change, their brains and bodies may change but the core of who they are remains.
For whatever reason, the boss not only didn’t like Nina, he hated her, he hated me too. Unlike other houses, we had no van, and if we had to borrow one, it was from the house next door. The house next door was in better shape, it was newer and more work went into it.
This wasn’t Southfork but the dichotomy of the houses were exacerbated on a daily basis. It made me feel like the clients (mostly black) were less than and the workers there were less than too.
As a supervisor, Nina was brilliant; she always cooked dinner, and she gave me a lot of work, but good work. I respected her. I got to see the different personalities.
I was always amazed at how Geoff would have his cars and dolls, Louis would have the bare walls, and James Cerrone seemed to have an oasis, his personal effects, which included his radio to listen to the game and church services, clocks, and a porcelain figurine of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus.
My uncle passed away and I didn’t go to the funeral, I stayed at Arcadia. Nina saw I was sad and told me I could leave, I didn’t — I felt comfortable there and continued to do my shift.
I had a co-worker there, Betty and her role was to simply give meds. Her work style was best described as “relaxed.” At the beginning I scoffed at it — but it’s exactly how a person should work. The clients should be around a calm atmosphere.
Of course this atmosphere didn’t last. The boss wouldn’t leave Nina alone and she’s resigned. I was devastated. The clients felt especially bad and I never really saw them love a supervisor like that again.
In a short amount of time I was paired with a co-worker named Pam. Pam wasn’t like Nina. She could be short, direct but had a good sense of humor.
Everything was going well until she went away for CNA classes and was doing shifts next door. I had nothing to do with that one way or the other, I just wanted a safe and quiet working atmosphere.
After a few days of curt statements, she finally blew up at me for my work, if not my entire existence. Admittedly I wasn’t feeling my best, but the fight got very loud as the maintenance man was there eavesdropping from any accessible space.
The fight lasted for a while and in between the clients being picked up and dropped off at the house. I was a bit depressed, thinking about my uncle, how the house wasn’t the same and the heaviness of the day got to me so I went to my safe space, James’s room. I was in front of the mirror and started to tear up and James softly smiled and said, “Don’t cry.”
Although I didn’t always do smart things, I spoke up for myself and said I didn’t want to work with her. Pam’s dream shift next door lasted all of two weeks due to a small fire at another house.
All and all I had no regrets working there and I had a nice moment with the clients. I remembered I was driving another van and playing yacht rock during an outing and we all seemed so content.
Not surprisingly my time wasn’t long in the house. Another supervisor came in and wanted to work with all women. That was as good an exit ramp as any, I had to leave.
The next house was Davis. I worked the most with Karen. We had birthdays close to one another, so we were on a similar wavelength. I liked the way she was with the clients, it’s what I aspired to. Harold, Eugene, Tom and Calvin were there. I always got a lot of laughs with Harold and Calvin. Tom seemed to simply enjoy my company. Later Geoff was there too.
At the same time, I was working at Davis, I ran into Mr. Cerrone at a doctor’s office. I can see him with his relaxed and crooked stride and wide smile, “Come back, come back…” he said in a hushed, confident tone….
I didn’t know how to come back. The only thing I didn’t like at Davis was the old van. The van was a 15-passenger behemoth. I didn’t like the looks of it on day one. There wasn’t much instruction but Karen told me to take “wide turns.”
A non-magic bus. This isn’t the actual bus, but it’s similar. I hate this bus too.
The good thing is that I rarely drove it, my partner did the driving while I either stayed silent, cracked jokes or commiserated. The staff gave me good natured ribbing about it, I laughed too as long as I didn’t have to drive it.
This particular house had tacit rules. Resident Tim had his own apartment next door and we were to respect his autonomy. That said we are always to respect Calvin’s dignity which is why I hated to see him being let out of the center, not in the best shape.
After a few years, Davis got a new supervisor, she wanted the day hours so I was sent to another house for a good amount of the summer. The house was Wrightson, Steve was a head injury patient, Sam was a paraplegic and Drew had bitten someone’s ear in a fight. I treated them all with respect.
The supervisor was a very nice guy. This was the time of the 2008 election and I remember him saying he felt like Obama, you know, a new guy with responsibilities. He asked me to work with him on the 2–10 shift. I didn’t answer. At the back of my mind I knew he’d be needled out of the job and he was, I was back at Davis before I knew it.I stayed at Davis for a few years. It was largely uneventful except for the times I had to send the entire 12 hours shifts alone with the residents. I was thankful when Karen helped out.
Karen left to work in another position in the company and I was left there. There wasn’t many people to work with, the shift wouldn’t be as fun or done as well without her. I was again looking for another opportunity.
The die was partially cast when I had to take time off to be with my mother in the hospital and the supervisor offered no consolation and just worried about the hours. This was a long way from being with Nina.
By this point I had been employed at the Chesapeake Center for three years. They kept their staff up to code, we took classes ranging from learning about blood borne pathogens, CPR to conflict resolutions to self-defense. Little did I know how hands on some of the shifts would be.
Despite the highs and lows, I was probably burned out shortly after I left Davis. I went to work at a house called “The Main House.” This used to be a house specifically for head injury clients. In the ‘80s I’d see clients who had “escaped” walking the roads to and from Kirkham Service Center. After quite a few years, the house was back in business as a group home.
I was taken with the size of the Main House. A house is only as good as the people you work with and at the beginning, it was fun. The shift was reminiscent of my first regular one, with good reason, Barbara and Eleanor were there as well as James Cerrone.
Mr. Cerrone didn’t quite have the oasis he had at his other house, but this was one was comfortable as well.
The early shifts here were a lot of fun. It was a house full of camaraderie, I did the 4 to 8 shift, which means I could help with the harder tasks and still have time to look after my grandfather who had dementia.
There was a lot of work and hard work but I didn’t mind. The only downside? I went through five supervisors in a short time. And of course the most were essentially nice people. The employee retention wasn’t getting any better and it was sad to see staff leaving as the clients got attached to them.
Most of the residents that I knew were essentially the same. Eleanor and Barbara still didn’t get along. Barbara and James were still attached to the hip. Peter was there but he was different.
It was a bit surreal to see Peter, a person at one of my first houses — become so high strung and violent, but that’s what exactly happened. Turns out this isn’t uncommon to see in people with Down’s syndrome. This is how it’s explained in literature courtesy of The Arc…
As adults with Down syndrome grow older, there is an increased risk of experiencing certain common mental health disorders like depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and behavioral disturbances. A sudden or abrupt change in mood or behavior patterns warrants further investigation.
Peter had all of that. And what was worse is that I couldn’t practicate any of the lessons I learned in the classes, in the field or in life. He was just that mercurial and just that frightening.
My new supervisor wasn’t making things any easier. Beverly had been in the house a lot as relief work, she had been there for years and was in the day program. Out of all of the workers that she worked beside in the Main House, she lasted, they didn’t. To put it mildly, things had changed at the Main House, for me, some of the workers and the residents too.
Although I had been there for 4 years, I felt fully like beleaguered staff. I was made fun of and chastised in front of other workers and the residents. Just a few months earlier it was so different. Many other people who did shifts at this time went through the same thing, out of the workplace clique and nothing they ever did was right.
I saw the first once comfortable house fill up with more clients and less room. By this point I was talked into a 2–10 shift so I was there to pick up the clients and at home a little later than I wanted. I was familiar with two of the new residents. Steve and Sam. These guys had their own bachelor style house on the edge of town. I had worked with them during my break from Davis.
Sam was the more hands on client. During his first night there, the supervisor brought in four staff to give his shower. That was a waste of time, I shooed them away and did it myself. There was no need for a big production plus I had done it before and wanted to do it alone with comments or criticism.
The same schism that existed at the old house existed here, but this time it was confined to the upper and lower levels of the house. The upstairs had two young male clients in their 20s. David and Cody, both seemed able-bodied, I never actually knew why either of them were there.
They were looked after by a younger counselor, one who got the breaks and esteem I never quite got. His shift was easy, he took them around in the company car and for a variety of post-teenaged activities. A young woman helped with the shift. Since neither of the men were bed bound, there was much less work than I did, more time for play and I was steaming.In turn I was working my fingers to the bones, sometimes doing 3 to 4 showers and doing dishes, cleaning up in the kitchen and just feeling in the way. Somehow in hindsight it reminds me of those lyrics from James Taylor’s “Fading Away.”
And here I thought I was a thinking man
But I’m a shrinking man, I’m sinking man
I’m fading, fading away
I began to disappear more and more with each shift. I had become a peon and I didn’t know it. When this happens, you lose the clients on top of everything else.
To make matters worse, James Cerrone had died at the center’s day program. I wanted to go to the service but my supervisor had to have someone stay behind. Me. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. James Cerrone made a mark on my life however, I have the radio he listened to the games on, his favorite sweat jacket and a blanket.
Peter wasn’t getting any better and during an afternoon/nighttime meltdown he kicked me where I wish he hadn’t. The pain was intense and lingered for years. Oddly enough I thought Peter would be better off living alone. I was one of the ones who advocated for it. Unlike others, I wasn’t entertained by his violence and I wanted some of the older clients to spend their golden years in peace. It’s the least we could do.
I spent the time looking for the relationship I had with Mr. Cerrone. It was a fool’s errand. With a lot of the other older clients, I found a bit of racism. A frankly bizarre resident Mr. Williams was new, he’d wear cowboy attire and would walk around with a toy gun. I got used to it. I took a few days off and when I came back, the supervisor and a worker told me that Williams called me the “N word.” That led me to questions, least of which was why are they talking about me when I’m not there?
In a way I feel like this reversal of fortune was my fault. I couldn’t tell if I played into being a semi-lovable foul up. The clients inadvertently called me the perfect name for it, “Mason.” By a certain point I was burnt out to cinders, and in a way “Mason”’ stayed on years after Jason checked out.
By this point the job was really working on “my stuff.” I was always wary of that bus. It was at Davis and it somehow ended up at the Main House. Why I didn’t know. I wasn’t in the best shape the day I arrived and as it turned out, since new staff was there. I had to drive the bus. Great.
The trip to the center was fine. The only problem? Parking. After the clients were all let in, I had to find a place to park and I grazed the mirror of another car. The owner saw it, it wiped off but the damage was done — although I didn’t know it. Barbara was crying on the bus as someone was laying me out. I never felt so small , but that 15 passenger bus was big.
Since the mark on the passenger mirror wiped off and didn’t make the car disintegrate, I thought I was in the clear. But it seems like Beverly wouldn’t let it go. A fellow worker let me know that she kept talking about it like it was a national tragedy. I kept it in mind.
I didn’t have to retain it for too long however. I went to the house for my shift and HR was there along with my supervisor. The words were a blur but I was let go. I think they still wanted to talk but I wanted to get home.
Although I was glad to be away from the job, I didn’t quite realize that I wouldn’t see the clients anymore. I still did see a few thought out the years and often not how I wanted. I saw David a lot, he had jobs in the area. Barbara died in 2018, she knew my name but she was a little different as I went to touch her, she had always been affectionate towards me. Geoff, Eleanor and Tim all died close to one another.
When baseball players go into the Hall of Fame, they often have a choice of what jersey to wear, what team held the biggest hold on their heart. Metaphorically speaking In those terms, I’d probably go in with a Davis hat and an Arcadia uniform. The friendships I made there and the lives that touched me continue to inspire. Despite the sad times, it was time well-spent.
Jason Elias is a music journalist and a pop culture historian
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