My week begins with Bruce, the director of the Walnut Street Center, explaining that the center's funding comes from the Massachusetts Department of Mental Retardation (DMR). Through various job centers and other programs, the DMR assists over 30,000 mentally disabled individuals in Massachusetts. At the Walnut Street Center, individuals are coached and mentored by the staff of job coaches to work productively, and to socialize with each other. Individuals have opportunities to work at sites outside of the center as well. The eventual goal is to have the individuals working in the community, without job coaches, integrated into society. "Without centers like this," Bruce explains, "mentally handicapped children eventually age out of state funded schools, and live at home with their parents, without opportunities to work or interact with others". He pauses and looks out the window of his office. "And that isn't right", he adds.

Seventy individuals are employed by the center, and are assisted by seven job coaches. Job coaches work with the individuals both at the Center and at other locations. Work at the center consists mainly of envelope stuffing for clients such as political campaigns, non-profit organizations and charities. Envelope stuffing is broken down into smaller tasks, like folding, counting, collating, mailing list matching, envelope labeling, letter inserting and envelope sealing. The job coaches arrive at the center long before the individuals arrive, meeting in the morning to decide what jobs can be assigned to which individuals. Individuals are paid for each batch of work that they complete; some are able to keep their own tally, others require the help of the job coaches.

The first of the individuals arrive, and I try not to stare. They range in age from 25 to 75. All have some mix of learning disabilities, physical disabilities, mental retardation and mental illness. The ones afflicted with Down Syndrome have the typical stockiness and facial characteristics. Others appear "normal". People come in, talk with each other - and themselves - and sit down at their desks. Someone comes up to me and shakes my hand. She introduces herself as Maria, and asks if I'm new here. I explain that I'm here to watch them work. The center consists of a large open room, where people share desks and table space. The work is familiar to most of the individuals; they seem to be able to work on their own. Helen and Jan, two of the job coaches, walk up and down the aisles distributing work and collecting finished batches. They also update tally sheets to record who completed what batch of work.

Some individuals have job assignments outside of the center. On Tuesday, I follow Maureen, one of the job coaches, as she takes Cheryl, Pat, Connie and Cledwyn to Tufts University, where the center has arranged for them to water plants on campus. When we arrive at the Tufts campus, they immediately disperse to do their jobs. The highlight of this outing is lunch at the mall. "Watering the plants is an excuse to go out to lunch", Maureen explains to me as we enter the food court. I stand behind Connie in line at McDonalds. Connie is barely tall enough to be seen over the counter. Typically, people with Down Syndrome rarely reach adult height, and rarely do they develop beyond the mental ability of an eight-year-old. Nevertheless, I watch as she orders her lunch and pays for it herself.

During lunch, I chat with Maureen. I find out that she's been working at the center for over 10 years. When I comment that 10 years is a long time, she replies that it gets to be a habit. She quickly corrects herself that maybe habit isn't quite the right word. Our group is a-whirl with chatter and motion. Pat gets up to go to a nearby pet store to look at parakeets. I find out from Cheryl that she and Connie have known each other from school. Connie confides in me that she has a friend also named Tom. "I met him in Chelsea" she explains. Pat returns from the pet store, and describes the parakeets. She recounts how she used to own a parakeet long ago. All this while, Maureen has been sitting opposite me, silent. "We should get going", she announces. She needs to get the van back to the center. There's another group going to a church in Cambridge to help fold pamphlets and mop floors.

As we get up to leave the food court, an old man from a nearby table beckons me over. He leans to me and says that he's glad that I do what I do. "That has got to be the toughest job in the world. You can't pay me enough to do what you do", he says. I don't tell him that this isn't what I do, that he should be addressing Maureen. A week ago I would have agreed with him. Today, I'm not so sure. Not knowing how to respond, I nod and catch up to the group.

Back at the center, work continues. Kathy, one of the individuals, enthusiastically insists on showing me the C fold, one of two ways a letter can be folded. "Tom, pay attention, pay attention", she chides me when I look down to adjust my camera. "Are you looking, Tom? You take the bottom of the sheet and bring it up to the line 'in the year 2001'". Kathy's job coach taught her to fold this batch of letters to this particular sentence, one third of the way down from the top of the sheet. "Then you fold the top down over it. Did you see that Tom? Do you know how it's done, Tom?" I quickly nod, less so to reassure her that I understand, more so that she will continue to work and not be distracted by me. She continues to narrate, nonetheless, as I watch her work. Some individuals can finish 1,000 pieces of mail a day. A stack of neatly folded letters grows on the desk before her.

Another job placement that the center has arranged is for Cindy to work part time as a phone receptionist at the Massachusetts DMR. Cindy's job is to assist with filing and data entry, and to answer phones. She usually transfers calls to the appropriate office. Today, Maureen is trying to train Cindy to keep cool during a hostile call. Cindy has in the past reacted inappropriately to irate callers, so Maureen practices calls with Cindy. As I watch Maureen coach Cindy through the calls, I think back to what that man said to me at the mall. Why are people so uncomfortable with the mentally handicapped? What are we afraid of?

Bill and Dan have outside part-time job placements as well. Bill works at Best Buy, and Dan works at Borders. Peggy works with Bill, while Maureen coaches Dan. On Thursday, I follow Peggy through Best Buy into their stock room. I see Bill, working with a bar code scanner, labeling new merchandise. He looks up and seems surprised to see me. He proceeds to scan and label videotapes. Bill needs some occasional coaching from Peggy about how to label correctly. "Do you know Bill can't tell time?", Peggy tells me. "I've tried to teach him, but he just can't do it." Bill works mornings at Best Buy and afternoons at the workshop, so Peggy will have to tell Bill when it is time to leave.

I leave Best Buy to go to Borders to see Maureen and Dan. Dan is in the stock room, preparing unsold magazines and newspapers for return to the publishers while Maureen supervises. I ask Maureen about how she got involved with the mentally handicapped. She tells me that she was a psychology major in college and that her advisor had suggested that she pursue this line of work because she was a "patient person".

I tell Maureen what had happened to me at lunch on Tuesday, about how someone told me how they could never do this work. She shakes her head. "I hear that a lot from people. I'm no saint. I mean, I'm a patient person, and I'm glad I'm not disabled. But they're just people, just like you and me. We're the same, and equal. Anyone can do this, you just need to have patience, and empathy." We look over at Dan stacking newspaper, ignoring us. "There's nothing tragic about them," she says quietly. "People imagine a big difference between themselves and the individuals. They're just like anyone else. Everyone has different skills, skin color, and problems. People just don't want to look at someone who's different. They want to shut them in the dark. We're not above them. Education doesn't matter. A degree doesn't matter. It doesn't put you above anyone else. We're on the same level."

Maureen pauses, and seems exhausted from her outpouring. "I can't see myself working in a hospital, you know, with brain cancer patients", she says. "But this, this is easy. It's like play time to me." She steps towards Dan, and helps him sort newspapers. She has just summarized to me 10 years of emotions, loyalty, feelings developed while working with the mentally handicapped, in 10 minutes. I continue to watch her work side by side with Dan.

After an afternoon spent observing Dan and Maureen, I start walking back to the center. There is a bus that runs from the mall to the workshop, but I don't wait for it. As I walk by the bus stop, I see Bill, waiting for the bus. He's surprised to see me, but this time, there's more recognition. I stop to chat, and to take the bus back with him. He shows me his paycheck from Best Buy that he received today. He tells me he's going to cash it and get his hair cut this weekend. The bus soon arrives and I'm lost in thought as we ride back to the Center. I watch Bill sitting across from me. On the one hand, here's someone who can't tell time, and needs supervision for a fairly simple labeling task. Yet, here he is, able to get around town on his own, blending in with everyone else on the bus.

Are we afraid when we look at someone who's mentally handicapped? Are we scared of who they are, of their imperfections? Are we afraid of our own frailties? Of our own weaknesses and shortcomings? Do we see our own limitations, and dreams laid bare? Are we afraid that we may one day fail to live up to somebody else's standards, and be rejected, relegated, and shunned? Do we secretly hope that we will be supported, and loved even for our failures, our own handicaps? A week at the Walnut Street Center has shown me that handicapped people ask only what we all want for ourselves, to be respected, accepted, and loved.

Tom Louie
tom.louie@earthlink.net
May 15, 2002