Suicide at Bethesda

It was still, early, an August morning before any of the dados heat came on. Outside, quiet, people in small groups. Police vans and official city cars from the morgue never bode well. Inside, Bill Kaiser and myself, needing, we donor know why, to stand vigil but not able to look on the scene, hear the medical examiner, Mr Spruill, "He probably walked down the corridor from his bedroom and tied the cord around the banister first, then his neck. He climbed over the railing then lowered himself. As the cord cut off circulation in carotids ...unconscious in seconds ...death in minutes ." Only after long examination; police, police lieutenant, assistant medical examiner, was judgment made and Wilzon's body brought down to rest: "Unassisted suicide."

I think of the blessing, the hope, and the belief sung at the beginnings of this Bethesda House at Bainbridge almost 10 years ago. Father Domenic sang "This is holy ground ....", a parade through the newly renovated building and in every corner of it the hymn, This is Holy Ground. And I think of all the care, and worry and dedication of Sister Angela, over these past seven years for the men, that has sanctified the place, made a friendly dwelling for men that had had none. And her hours with Wilzon these past few days comforting, assuring him, but never thinking this.
What happened in the fire tower this morning was not holy. I will not be able to pass through that space without this sad memory:this is not holy ground.

Wilzon Lescay, a lovely man. He had been exiled from his homeland Cuba during the Mariel Boat Lift, years ago in an international dispute between United States and Castro. Mentally ill, no English, separated from any family and friends, cut off from some chance of a career as radio announcer, he graced Bethesda with his friendship these past five years. Wilzon worked on the Spirit of Philadelphia, in the kitchen, mostly washing dishes, pots, sometimes busing tables. Struck me that he was the spirit of Philadelphia - our best spirit - "... brotherly love", "...give me your poor...yearning to be free", our immigrant hopefulness made real. He was laid off after three years; daily job searching - nothing. A week before his death he was told at Welfare application,"No assistance for aliens. New Pennsylvania law."

TonyMedwid writes in this newsletter of our sense that friendship is the real possibility here for us. Wilzon had good friends here, the respect of all the men he lived with, the company of many. John Bey and Sister Angela, faithful in friendship to Wilzon past any duty's call. There are sadnesses past our understanding, past friendships' possibilities. Beyond any shelter o ²of each other's arm, maybe a larger embrace. Beyond my ability to see this fire tower as sad and profane, some hope a sanctuary created otherwise and elsewhere for Wilzon.

Joe Ferry, Bethesda