A plea for my friend Albert John

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found.
Was blind, but now I see.

My heart aches today for Albert John.

That’s him in today’s photo. His picture also appeared on the front page of Thursday’s Chronicle, as reporter Mike Bates told the sad tale of Brentwood Retirement Community being shuttered, the staff let go, and feeble residents shoved to the street.

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OK, maybe not that dramatic. But, damn, it’s close. 

Our story begins a few weeks back. I met Albert John through mutual friends who suggested he could use someone to talk with.

I hadn’t been through the Brentwood development in years. The retirement center is tucked into the rear, and it’s an oldie: First a nursing home in 1983, then the assisted living facility in 1995. A tightly clustered set of small apartments in its own community.

I met Albert John in the Commons Building library. We talked, sorta getting a glimpse of one another. We agreed to meet the following week.

Then, calamity struck. The owners walked in one day, called everyone together, and said they were closing the place and residents had 45 days to find a new home. Or somewhere to live. Just not there.

Man, I cannot stand it when the vulnerable come under attack. Closing down this facility with miniscule notice is cruel and unnecessary. I’m not saying business people shouldn’t make money. I’m saying there’s a right way and a wrong way, and this company chose the wrong way.

So, about Albert John.

Our conversations were in confidence, so I won’t reveal much. He’s enjoyed great love and suffered painful tragedy. He has no kin. He's traveled frequently. He's experienced deep loneliness.

He said to me the other day, “That feeling of being in a strange motel room in a city where you know no one, and not a single soul on the other side that door cares if you’re alive or dead.”

He was in desperation three months ago when a kind woman told him about Brentwood. It fit his needs perfectly.

Albert John (that’s how he introduced himself to me — I didn’t know his last name until reading the Chronicle story) turned 74 on Oct 10 (the day after I turned 66). He’s charming and the ladies enjoy his company.

He plays a sweet-sounding autoharp. Albert John would sit in the Brentwood dining room on Saturdays, playing the autoharp and singing his own songs. Folksy gospel — he had my interest right away. (I’ll post a video if I can get it off my phone.)

After the eviction notice, Albert John signed up with a Tampa retirement center, scheduled to leave on Thursday.

On Wednesday, I picked him up for lunch (Olive Garden, where he sweet-talked the server), and then to the New Just Wright Citrus World Headquarters on the shores of Big Lake Henderson, where we sat on the porch to hear his sweet autoharp, and he listened with eyes closed as I played “Amazing Grace” on the harmonica.

We talked, read the Bible, and prayed. I don’t recall ever connecting with another human being in such a short time.

On the way back to Brentwood we stopped at Target for a few things. Heading out, Albert John ran into a woman he recognized. She was there with her daughter and called him by name right away. They chatted for a few friendly minutes and we went on our way.

I figured they’d met sometime at Brentwood. Nope. They knew one another from a Lecanto church 15 YEARS AGO. What were the odds that Albert John, who’s roamed from town to town all his life, would run into an old friend at a Citrus County Target?

We talked Thursday morning before he left. He was very excited and nervous. The next call wasn’t so good. He arrived at the new place in Tampa and it left a lot to be desired. Sounds more like a hospital than semi-independent living. My friend sounded so lost and frightened on the phone.

I want to rescue him. I haven’t a clue how to do that. But I know this community and its capabilities. It’s built to help a guy like Albert John.

(By the way, I haven’t forgotten about the others at Brentwood. I’m sending this blog link to the Tampa TV stations, and I encourage you to do the same thing. People should know when a corporation dumps old folks out of their assisted-living homes.)

If we’re fortunate, God brings an Albert John into our lives. A simple, sweet, loving soul whose light brightens the room. Does that light belong in a dingy Tampa facility? I don’t know. Not my call.

But I know where it’s shining brightly now. And that’s why I ask you, my friends, to put our thinking caps on, and see what we can do.

Let’s bring Albert John home.

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