One recent dark evening, I was helping a friend move some items and returned to their rental after dark. My friend had not been a tenant long and was reasonably unfamiliar with the neighbors.
As we pulled into the driveway, I noted a Dickensian character standing in the driveway across the street. Despite the temperate paradise weather, she was bundled in the kind of coat most Floridians don’t even own. She wore a large, brimmed hat with a band and flowers.
She was surrounded by luggage, which had seen better days. She stared expectedly up the street, momentarily brightening at our approaching headlights, and then deflating as we pulled into the park. After unloading, my attention returned to this out-of-place observer.
Before leaving, I approached to ask if she was OK. She explained, in a sonorous British accent, that her husband was on his way to pick her up. She gestured to the home behind her, explaining that it had been theirs, but that they had moved out some time ago.
I asked where he was coming from, and she conversantly referenced a town not too distant. She made comments about traffic and challenges, and seemed oriented to the neighborhood and the potential delays one might encounter traveling there.
Somewhere in the course of the discussion, she began mentioning “him,” “them,“ “that man” (gesturing at the house), and representing confusion. What I believed to be logical inquiries were met with disjointed and scattered responses. I have spent much of my life focused on credibility and consistency, and this conversation was setting off alarms.
My friend denied knowing her or any of the neighbors. It was late in the evening. Windows were mostly dark. I was frankly at a loss to know what existed with this intriguing lady with a deep British accent.
Whether from some deep default or bias, or through rational logic, I concluded that the best place to start was 911. My call was not well received, as the operator failed to perceive any urgency, let alone "emergency,” in the described circumstances. But for my complex, confused, and persistent inquiry, I suspect there would’ve been no response.
I spent another 10 minutes chatting about an amazing variety of topics with this lady until a county deputy arrived quietly. His demeanor began accusatory. His initial focus was on me and the tenant I was visiting. Despite the cell phone evidence that I was the 911 caller, the deputy was (over) diligent in reassuring himself. I posed no threat.
Over the years, I’ve heard of very few stories of inappropriate displays of the “Judge card.“ I have come to the conclusion that there is simply no appropriate moment for throwing that card, even if you think it might help. Humorously, my failure in that regard once led to criticism from a chief circuit judge, but that’s another long story.
In short, I might likely have saved some time with that identification and this deputy, and I have reflected upon that often since. Nonetheless, no one was in acute distress, and he eventually turned his attention to the confused pedestrian. His training was apparent, as he strove to effectively establish details. Despite that, he met with as little success as I had.
As the conversation progressed, an SUV parked in a driveway several doors down. All the passengers entered the home, but the driver walked down the street inquiring about the deputy’s presence. He immediately recognized the lady and, without hesitation, began comforting and guiding her conversation.
The facts bore little resemblance to what she had related to us. With this neighbor's help, we learned that she lived in that house, that the “strange man“ was her husband of several decades, and that although she was often confused, she had never exhibited such a significant departure from reality.
The neighbor was sufficiently familiar to have contact information for a family member, and instigated a call as the ever-diligent deputy insisted on walking her into the home "for her safety." I really suspected this was as much to perform a welfare check on the Husband (who was found asleep, reclining in front of the television).
My friend and I went back to our prior project, wrapping up, and I prepared to depart. I gleaned a great deal from the encounter, and have struggled since with how little I previously perceived.
How many in our neighborhoods are struggling with periodic confusion that may one day be such a radical break? Do all of them have even one trusted neighbor who can be counted upon as an accurate historian and reference? Do all of them have someone like that close who can call a family member? Do they have a family member who can and will be present in a 30-minute response?
As important as these points may be, when the call comes in, will their local public officials respond patiently and carefully, or will they choose to argue about their definition of “emergency,“ as they did with me?
Despite news of decreasing life expectancy, there are many Americans living well beyond their memories. Much of that presents little real concern. The impacts manifest as lost or misplaced cell phones, keys, and the like. Inconvenient, but manageable.
Some, however, will struggle with far greater challenges. Instead of losing their keys, they will forget their purpose. In a perfect world, someone would notice the precursor and make predictions or take precautions. But in the real world, would predicting the moment of such a break be possible?
Months later, I returned to the same neighborhood. I noticed a "for sale" sign outside that home. The nice lady with the British accent and “that man“ obviously moved on to a different accommodation.
As I write this post, I ponder whether I could respond better next time. It occurs to me that may depend on many variables: my information, the dispatcher, the responder, or even the degree of distress of the person standing in the driveway.
There are many variables. The probability is that we will each encounter such situations. It’s worth thinking about. How do we react? Who do we contact? What information do we convey? Consider it before you find yourself there, in the dark, with someone who needs help, whether in your broad life journey, the workplace, or otherwise.
