DTCW 39 Rho Hal Hom

7/30/2019 DTCW 39 Rho Hal Hom

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A A S S c c i i e e n n t t i i s s t t L L o o o o k k s s a a t t R R o o m m a a n n t t i i c c L L o o v v e e a a n n d d C C a a l l l l s s I I t t L L i i m m e e r r e e n n c c e e : :

To the far left under a soft light is the image of Rhoda Halsey in a wheelchair. She speaks her notes.

Ella Williams, Rhoda’s roommate, speaks from her bed.

To the right, Mary and Ann stand beside a bed off center to the right, with the foot at an angle. The bed

contains Rhoda’s belongings.

Except when Rhoda is speaking, the lights are on Mary and Ann. The two older women, Ella, the

roommate, and Rhoda, remain on stage throughout, as do Mary and Ann. When she is not speaking, Rhoda Halsey sits motionless, head bowed, in her wheelchair. Ella sometimes struggles against her

protective restrains. At other times, she is still, like Rhoda. Ann and Mary enter the room from Ella’s side carrying two obviously empty suitcases. A nurse’s aide is stuffing clothes from the bed into a large

plastic bag. At first, Mary and Ann’s attention is drawn to Ella, who speaks first.

ELLA

My husband is coming to get me today. I will wear my pretty blue dress, the one I wore back then.

Where did we go? I’m coming, dear. (To an imaginary person:) Don’t push me. Don’t do it. Where is

that woman? I didn’t have anything to eat today. Where’s my blue dress? Where’s my green one? Comeon let’s go.

AIDE

(Continuing to put articles of clothing from the drawers of a dresser onto the bed .) Don’t mind Ella.

She’s okay. Sometimes she doesn’t know where she is and at other times she seems almost normal,

mostly when Rhoda was with her. Ella’s been more difficult to manage today than usual. We do our best.

MARY

( Politely to Ella, ignoring the aide at first .) Hello, Mrs. Williams, how are you today? (To aide:) What

are you doing? Are you throwing those things out?

AIDE

Oh no, it’s just that we have to clear the room and I didn’t know you’d be here. We always use these bags.

ANNGarbage bags?

MARY

We came to get Mrs. Halsey’s things. Didn’t they tell you?

AIDE

(Taking items of clothing from the bag and laying them on the bed .) Sorry, I was just told we need theroom and to get it ready. If you’re going to use those suitcases maybe you won’t need the bags.

ANN No, we won’t need the trash bags for my grandmother’s things.

MaryI don’t remember you. Are you new here?



T T h h e e C C o o l l l l e e c c t t e e d d W W o o r r k k s s o o f f D D o o r r o o t t h h y y T T e e n n n n o o v v

AIDEI’ve been at Living Manor for two months, but I was in Section C until a week ago.

MARYDid you take care of my mother?

AIDERhoda? I mean Mrs. Halsey? Yes, a few times. ( Pause) Do you need help?

MARY No, don’t worry about us. We’ll manage.

AIDE

Okay then, I’ll come back later. (She remains in the room doing various tasks or caring for Ella .)

ELLA

( As if to Mary:) I heard that. I know who you are. (Shifting focus as if to someone in the room:) Who are

they? When Harold comes, he’ll show you a thing or two. All of you. ( Pointing at Mary first, then at Ann:) That’s where Rhoda lives, lived, lives, lived. (To the aide:) Can you take me . . .

AIDE

In a few minutes, Ella. I’m going to help another resident but I’ll be right back. There’s an activity this

afternoon. (To Mary and Ann:) Just ignore her. (Starts to leave then stops to adjust Ella’s bedclothes).

ELLA. . . to the bathroom.

AIDE

You just went, Ella. I’ll take you again in a little while.

ANN

(To Mary:) What are we going to do with these things?

MARY

Let’s leave most of her clothing here. Maybe other residents can use her housecoats and slippers. Thereisn’t much really. I think what we decide to take will fit in the two suitcases.

AIDE

(With some impatience:) I don’t want to rush you, but we have someone waiting for the room.

MARY

Some of this is garbage. Some are things we can’t use. Can the nursing home use her clothes for other residents?

AIDE( Hurriedly) We’d appreciate it if you’d take as much as you can, but, yes, we can use the clothes if you

don’t want them. And the bedroom slippers. But don’t feel obliged. (She leaves.)




ANN

( Looking at some slippers) I remember when we gave her these. She seemed appreciative but I don’tthink they’ve ever been worn. How long was she at Living Manor?

MARYLet’s see. You were still in college. I guess it must have been seven years. This really isn’t much

accumulation for that long a period. ( Pause as they each gather items and place them in two large

suitcases brought for the purpose.)

ANN

Look here, mother, it’s her writing.

RHODA

MARY

Let’s see. ( Reading ) Here I am in Living Manor …

(The lights turn to Rhoda Halsey at stage right. Mary’s voice fades as Rhoda takes over. Ann and Mary

sit on the bed looking as if reading the notes whenever Rhoda speaks.)

RHODA… Living Manor is where I live. The final repository of the aged and infirm and I am both of those by

God. Life is here. Living is not here. Life stops here. Dying is … next door this week, across the hall lastweek. Maybe someone from the long lost world outside these doors will come again to call. Maybe

tomorrow. I never know. Maybe I don’t always remember if they’re coming or whether they came.

Sometimes when they come they bring offerings – little nice things like candy and wool sweaters. And

after they go I regard the gifts. Then I eat one of the candies greedily. I fold the new sweater and stuff itinto the drawer. Or if my arm is having a hurting day I ask the one who comes in with my dinner tray to please to do it for me. Sometimes she will. Only two hours until dinner. I pick up another candy, but I

put it down and think about how nice it was to see them. I want the candy to last.

MARYI wish I could have come more often. There were always so many things to do. It was hard to get away. I

came as much as I could.

ANN

I know, Mom. You did the best you could. ( Pause) You did more than anyone else.

At Christmas and on my birthday, they bring presents.

MARY

On Mother’s Day, too. We tried to make it nice for her.

RHODASometimes when my arm is okay I wheel myself down the long hall and peer into the other residents’

rooms as I go. Very slowly. In each room there is a woman sitting in a chair or lying on a bed. Or two

women. They are never talking. The television is always on but they don’t seem to be watching. Theaides turn them on so they can follow the soap operas as they go from room to room. Sometimes I see a

younger, temporary person in for rehabilitation. They watch. Or read. But most don’t. I used to.




MARY

After she broke her hip, she needed more care than we could give. We thought at first she would behome in a few weeks. But then she had that heart attack and her arthritis became so bad that she couldn’t

walk. . . I was at work all day. I took her out every week, at first. Then, when Bill got sick, I couldn’t do

it alone. Sometimes I tried. It just got too hard. She never complained, just seemed glad to see uswhenever we did come.

RHODAI used to play Bridge. But there’s no one here to play with. I don’t like Bingo. I don’t like to cut out

paper hats. I don’t like to make cardboard Easter bunnies. Maybe it’s okay for the ones who can’t

concentrate, but it drives me up a wall. Funny expression. Wish I could climb a wall.

I like it a little better when Mister Mac comes in and plays songs I used to know. Some sing along, some

hum. I think of the parties we had. Frank loved those old songs. He couldn’t sing but he sang real loud.

Usually, the nursing home volunteers play hymns. I didn’t mind that at first, but we’ve sung “The OldRugged Cross” and “Onward Christian Soldiers” ten thousand times.

ANN

Didn’t Uncle Bill bring her a tape recorder with some songs on it?

MARYWell, actually, he said he would, but I don’t think he got to it. It was around the time he was involved

with that bankruptcy scare.

RHODAThey put me here in Living Manor to protect me. It would do me good, they said. “Living Manor”indeed! What manner of living is this? My youngest daughter, Mary, lives here in this town. She comes

as much as she can. She’s busy with a job and a sick husband. And little Ann . . . Little Ann is big Ann

now. Little Ann and Frank are both gone. Frank died and Little Ann became Big Ann and moved to the

city.

Some of us are aware of how it really is here. The Poor Ones are not. That’s what I call them. The Poor

Ones. Some are rich, were rich, anyway, have rich families. But here they are the poorest of the poor.Alzheimer’s kills the mind. Being here kills the mind. It robs mental capacities. They tell the same

things over and over. And every day as long as they’re here they want to go home. We all want to go

home. Some of us know all the time that there is no more home. Some of us only know it some of thetime. Some never know. The lucky Poor Ones.

When they visit, I try to act in the same old way, but I don’t think I succeed. They try to look cheerful

and interested but they don’t succeed either. I try to think of interesting things to say but that distracted

look they get means they aren’t really here even when they are sitting in my room. They don’t hear.They don’t listen to an old woman anymore. The wall of age and disfigurement has risen between us.

They’re on the other side. They no longer listen.

Even so, I like it when they come. They put a small dent in the grinding monotony. I wish I felt I could

make it pleasant for them so that they’d want to come back, but I don’t know how to do that here in this place of sickness and dying. If I sound too grateful or try to get them to delay their departure, I’ll make

them feel guilty for not coming more frequently. It’s hard for them. It would have been hard for me.

This is not a pleasant place to visit despite the “cheerful” paintings on the walls and candelabra in thedining room.




The Poor Ones smell. I’m afraid I smell, too. Someone took my perfume long ago. How could theylisten to an old woman’s prattle?

ANNDid we listen? Mom, she’s right. She knew. I didn’t always listen. I was afraid she knew, but I didn’t

know what to do. She wanted to tell me everything about how it used to be. I wish I could have listened.

MARY

Don’t blame yourself. You had your life to live. It was hard. She did repeat, you know. I know she

didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t want to embarrass her by saying anything.

RHODA

About talking. The aides try. Some try more than others. Some try to be cheerful. They had to get their

work done in time. Ten minutes to bathe before breakfast. They don’t have time to do a good job.Sometimes the water is cold. I tried to imagine I am a baby being bathed by my mother, but the touch is

brusque even when the tone of voice says she’s trying to be what I need as much as I’m trying to be

what she needs to get finished in time. It’s hard work. I know that. It’s hard to do me. I try my best to

cooperate. It’s been diapers for quite a while now. They come in the night to see if I need to be changed.How much harder it must be to bathe and diaper a poor screaming, struggling Poor One.

ANN

I didn’t know.

MARY Neither did I. I guess she didn’t want to tell us. I guess she wanted us to think of her the way she was.

ANN

When I was a child, grandma seemed like a glamorous person, always dressed in those beautifully

tailored suits she used to wear and always coming from or going to an important meeting or to her classes. Teachers are pretty important people to children.

MARYSo are parents. When Uncle Bill and I were very little, Mother was always at home in the daytime but

she was going to school at night so I remember her already sitting at her desk in the morning when we

left for school. She didn’t start teaching until we were in middle school.

ANN

And she carried on until I was in high school. I remember the big retirement party they gave her.

MARYYes, she was admired. One of her former students called a few years ago and wanted to visit. I don’t

know what happened. Mother didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

RHODA

I can imagine the training the staff must receive. You can tell what it was from they way they act. Theytalk down. Some try very hard not to. I imagine the instructor saying, “Residents deserve to be treated

with respect. This, after all, is their home, and you must do your utmost at all times to remember that

and to make them comfortable in this home.”




They act like that’s what they were told in class and they do try. It comes out as baby talk. They shout as

if they think you can’t hear. What they are doing is trying to reach across the chasm that separates us . . .We both try in our way. But there is no bridge.

MARYShe once said to me that she really didn’t like a 20-year old calling her “Rhoda.” She was always called

Ms. Halsey by her students. But with time customs change.

RHODA

In the beginning I tried to complain, to explain in as dignified a manner as possible about certain

problems, about privacy, about wanting to watch certain programs on TV, about getting prompt help in a bathroom emergency. Once I raised my voice. I think I may have shouted.

After that one episode, things changed. I had acquired the reputation of being “combative.” I tried to

apologize and told them I had asked repeatedly for help. They were busy. “As soon as I can, Rhoda. Ididn’t forget you dear,” as the aide breezed by. It was after I fell and hurt my hip. The tape on my

bandage was binding painfully.

ELLA. . . to the bathroom . . .

MARY

Mother wasn’t one to raise her voice. A few years ago there was a meeting. They called it a “care plan”

meeting. The social worker said something I didn’t understand. She used that word. I said it was

impossible, that that was not like my mother. My mother would not complain without good reason andshe certainly wasn’t combative! The head nurse said that families would be surprised at the “acting out”that goes on, that they often see quite a different person. Even the worst of them will sometimes act nice

in front of family. I said that if she had had the supervision she needed she would not have fallen. They

said she had a right to fall.

ANN

A right to fall?

MARY (musing )

Maybe she tried to tell me . . . I don’t know. I guess she knew that. I never had Mother’s gumption. I

guess I just thought they knew what they were doing. They always said she was doing fine. except whenthere was some medical problem. (Suddenly sobbing ) They meant she had a right not to be placed in

restraint.

I see now what I didn’t understand then, or couldn’t let myself believe.

It’s Catch-22. The patient has a right, but the staff is insufficient.

RHODA

What’s the worst thing about it? Is it the lack of privacy? At any moment of day or night someone might

come in. What makes it most like a jail? I think it’s the roommate. Almost any roommate. (Aside fromLillian, of course.)

It’s the total isolation. It’s having no one anymore, no one but these words on paper. No one to talk to.




About talking. I tried when I first came, but it’s a giant pyramid, a ladder of castes. You can’t talk across

castes. The Poor Ones below can’t hear. The aides just above are rushed, overworked, and wish theycould be home with their children. Their interests are in another type of existence. When I was me, some

of them might have been my students. Now the student washes my privates and helps me into my chair.

I am not a teacher to her. I am a duty to perform. Part of that duty is to act cheerful and positive. Theyall do their best within their varying abilities, but life is hard for them. Surely they must sometimes envy

we who are able to sit all day and be done to instead of doing. Martha has children at home who need

her care. Louise has two jobs. How wonderful they are to try to treat us as human when their own livesleave so little room for joy and hope. We operate in the same space in different worlds not touching, not

daring to touch for the wounds that would open. We speak and cooperate to get the job done, but we live

apart.

I only wish I could close the door against roommates and watch what I want to watch on TV. I’ve had

dozens, all different. The best roommates were too ill to do more than lie on their bed. They didn’t care

what I watched. If they were really sick, the aides came in often and I got better care for a while. But theroommates never lasted long. It wasn’t that I disliked them as people. Some, maybe, but not most. It was

just that they were always there and I could always feel their wishes and dislikes. And I felt so exposed

to them and at the same time hidden. Except of course for the time with Lillian . . .

MARY

I really didn’t know. The nurses seemed so friendly and interested. I didn’t have a lot to do with many of the various roommates. I tried to be friendly and include them in our conversation. If I brought food, I

always brought some for Mother’s roommate. The staff seemed helpful and caring.

ANNWhile you were around.

RHODA

The meals? Nutritious boredom. The others, the Poor Ones, the dribblers, the ones with the bibs that get

fed like babies, they get everything cut up fine and liquidy. Luckily I can still get the food to my ownmouth with my own hands and with my own knife and fork. Sometimes Poor Ones leave the dining

room hungry because no one is able to take the time to help them.

The “silverware” here is crude. That’s a laugh. It’s not silver. I remember how Frank and I chose our

flatware pattern after much discussion and deliberation. We used it for dinner parties.

But count your blessings. The Poor Ones sit in wheelchairs all day long. The Poorest of the Poor arestrapped in and call all day but who comes and whether they come depends on factors beyond their calling.One of my temporary roommates sat in her urine for six hours because she didn’t know how to call forhelp.

Some of the other Poor Ones get wheeled into the “recreation” room and sit all day before a TV set they

don’t see and don’t understand. I used to watch sometimes but not anymore. Everything in the tube is so

remote it has become meaningless. It is a world to which we Residents of Living Manor no longer belong, no longer understand.

Sam Holden died this morning. Sam never talked to the Poor Ones. He didn’t even talk to me.Sometimes he’d yell at the aides as if he were the boss and they were workers under him. I heard the

aides say he had been rich and important until they moved him in here. I asked about him but it’s a




funny thing. It’s not funny. It’s a big part of the desolation of being a resident here, a patient, a thing to

be dressed and repositioned and check your vitals, Deary, says a cheery voice in the morning. They talk the same way to everyone. Everyone is deary or honey.

Or suddenly someone you never saw before, someone a half century – or more – younger than you, iscalling you by your first name. That’s part of new ways, I guess. Maybe it isn’t meant to be

disrespectful. It’s all first names. “Hello, Rhoda, I’m Joan.”

But one day the big one came in, the one with skinny heels and jewelry and a spotless suit, the one who

shook hands but you knew she’d wash hers first chance she got afterward. The big boss. They don’t call

her by her first name.

She doesn’t say “Hello, Rhoda, I’m Mary.” She just says, “Hello, Rhoda, how are you today? Is

everything all right? You’re looking very nice today.” Then she’s off to the next one. I don’t think she

can tell the difference between a Poor One and someone like me. Maybe she doesn’t want to tell thedifference. Maybe there is no difference to her. That’s what I wanted to say. Even if you’re not a poor,

screaming, clothes-removing one, even if you know where you are and who you are, at least who you

were, you can’t hold a conversation. They breeze through, the important ones with the skinny heels.

They’re like a person running for public office. Big smile, but you know you’re nothing. If you talk,

they get glazed over. You learn to say, “Fine, thank you.” You learn to play the role of a Poor One evenif really, secretly, you’re not. Not yet.

I think Sam was afraid of sinking to our depths. I think he preferred to die. Usually you don’t see these

things, but I caught a glimpse as they wheeled him out on a stretcher all covered.

Two hours later, Joe moved into Sam’s room. It was as if there had never been a Sam. I had also seen

Sam the day he came. Three sons in expensive business suits. “So long, Dad.” I never saw them again.

But getting back to how you can’t talk with them. Getting back to the pyramid. The big one is at the topand under her are the ones in the offices and the RNs. Under that come people with special jobs like

housekeeping and kitchen. Then the nurse’s aides who do all the tending, the feeding and bathing and

changing and bringing water and lifting people twice their size into the chair, and wheeling us to activityor to the dining room. Residents like me who don’t give them any trouble come next. At the bottom are

the Poor Ones.

ELLA

(Who had been quiet up to now begins to sing to the tune of “I Remember You” ) I remember Sam. He

liked green eggs and ham, oh yes, he did, that pig, that pigetty, pigetty pig. I loved him so. ( She stops

abruptly and closes her eyes as if sleeping .)

RHODA

At first I kept track of days. I thought I would be leaving. You can’t believe that this is it. That takes along time to dawn. It’s when I go home. Then, later, it’s if I go home. Then one day . . . .

ANNI thought grandma was a great reader. Didn’t she have any books? Wouldn’t that have helped?




MARY

She was. At first she did read. Uncle Bill used to send books from New York. Then one day I came inand found all her books packed in a box. She asked me to take them away. She couldn’t read anymore.

Cataracts. She had tried but it had got harder and harder and she just wasn’t up to it anymore. There was

no point in having them take up space. For a while she wrote letters.

ANN

What about tape recordings? Couldn’t she have listened to books?

MARY

Uncle Bill sent Shakespeare and some music tapes. But her roommate at that time was a TV soap operaaddict. The tape recorder couldn’t compete.

RHODA

They feel like they’re doing a good thing for us when they bring dogs and cats in for us to stroke. Whatwould be better is if they’d leave the animals here so we could really get friendly. I remember my sweet

cat, Bertha. Bertha would sleep next to me on the chaise in the patio where we would be surrounded by

plants and the sounds of birds. Neither of us moved for the longest time. Peace.

Here it’s not peace. There is always sound. Poor Ones wailing down the hall, muffled TVs, the clattering

of medication trays, or laughter late at night from the nurse’s station. The only sound you seldom hear isthat of residents talking to one another.

ANN

I remember Bertha. We gave her away.

MARY

To the A.S.P.A.

ANNOh Mom!

MARYShe lost control. The house began to smell. There was nothing else to do.

ANNDid you tell her?

MARY

We said Bertha got sick.

RHODA

Can’t wait for lunch. Every day I eat food I never ate in life. I’m getting smaller. “Rhoda, we got to putsome fat on you. You’re getting thin as a bone.” Give me something that tastes good and I’ll eat it.

ANNGrandma was comical, told funny stories. I didn’t realize until later that she had made them up.




MARY

Remember that book she wrote “to cheer herself up,” she said, after grandpa died? Nursery schools arestill buying it. A check came last week.

ANNCandy Dandy, Dandy Annie and the Buttressed and Benighted Blue Beastie! My four-year-olds used to

adore it. Oh, Mom, (weeping) Grandma was my idol. She was special.

MARY

She loved you.

ANN

Then why didn’t I come to see her? Why didn’t I know what was happening to her?

MARYDarling, you were away. You were busy. You lived in another city. You were having trouble with your

relationship with Harry. We don’t always realize what’s important at the time it happens. I didn’t.

RHODABefore, when I was me, I’d watch TV for occasional distraction. I thought the talk shows were

interesting sometimes, but it was PBS documentaries that I really liked. Not the roommate, exceptLillian.

MARY

One year she spent a lot of time out of her room. The next year she had Lillian.

ANN

I remember Lillian. She had also been a teacher. What happened? You never told me. I once asked

grandma and she started to cry so I didn’t pursue it.

MARY

It’s just as well you didn’t.

ANN

What happened?

MARY

They were talking one night from their beds. Lillian suddenly stopped. She had died in the middle their

conversation.

ANNOh my God! Did grandma know?

MARY

Not at first. I think she must have gone on talking for a while and then she thought Lillian had gotten

annoyed with her and that was why she stopped talking. It may have been hours before someone came inwith breakfast. Apparently Mother was quite upset. They gave her some sort of tranquilizer and called

me to come in. I don’t know what really happened. All I know is what they told me. I never discussed it

with Uncle Bill or anyone. It was just too terrible. Maybe that was what Mother never got over. Therewas a change in her. From their dates I’d say these notes were written after Lillian.




ANNANNTragic, Mom. Oh, Mom, tragic.Tragic, Mom. Oh, Mom, tragic.

MARYMARYYes. Is that all she wrote?Yes. Is that all she wrote?

ELLAELLAWhen you have to go the bathroom . . . .When you have to go the bathroom . . . .

ANNANNThere’s just a little more.There’s just a little more.

RHODARHODA

They didn’t come again today. I remember. Out there are many distractions, many calls on time, muchto do and much to think of. Not like here. What is today? One day blends into the next. Dates mean

nothing anymore. There’s nothing to do, no one to care for. Some of the women clutch dolls. I

understand that. I would like to have one but I don’t dare ask. They wouldn’t understand. My reputation

around here is bad enough. They get back at you when you need to go to the bathroom. Jenny criedwhen Miriam stole her doll. They didn’t understand that, either. One did. But she’s gone.

They didn’t come again today. I remember. Out there are many distractions, many calls on time, muchto do and much to think of. Not like here. What is today? One day blends into the next. Dates mean

nothing anymore. There’s nothing to do, no one to care for. Some of the women clutch dolls. I

understand that. I would like to have one but I don’t dare ask. They wouldn’t understand. My reputation

around here is bad enough. They get back at you when you need to go to the bathroom. Jenny criedwhen Miriam stole her doll. They didn’t understand that, either. One did. But she’s gone.

AIDEAIDE

( Entering suddenly) I hate to rush you, but we really need this room.( Entering suddenly) I hate to rush you, but we really need this room.

ANNANNIt’s okay. We’re finished. Aren’t we, Mom?It’s okay. We’re finished. Aren’t we, Mom?

MARYMARY

Yes. We’re all though here. They can have the room. Goodbye, Mrs. Williams.Yes. We’re all though here. They can have the room. Goodbye, Mrs. Williams.

ANNANN

Goodbye, Mrs. Williams. ( Mary and Ann leave carrying the suitcases.)Goodbye, Mrs. Williams. ( Mary and Ann leave carrying the suitcases.)

ELLAELLA

(The spotlight turns to Ella who speaks almost inaudibly as the door closes behind Ann and Mary .)

Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. (The lights dim and the curtain falls.)

(The spotlight turns to Ella who speaks almost inaudibly as the door closes behind Ann and Mary .)

Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. (The lights dim and the curtain falls.)

The end. The end.

Copyright © 1995 Dorothy Tennov • All Rights Reserved Copyright © 1995 Dorothy Tennov • All Rights Reserved

F lowers by Dorothy Tennov

October 10,2000




“Rhoda Halsey at Home” was written to stimulate thought and discussion. Please read it. Use it inclasses, perform it for relevant audiences, and, above all, contemplate the social, political, and economic

issues it raises through its portrayal of experience of a mentally and socially competent person in a long

time care facility. I read the first draft at the bedside of a hospitalized patient. Rhoda spoke for the world

his illness had forced him to inhabit.

Rhoda Halsey at Home was inspired by an article in Time magazine in which the voice of a nursing

home resident very like Rhoda in many ways — physically disabled, alone in her mental competence — was transmitted through her son.

Rhoda Halsey at Home, directed by Ferdi Perrone of the Second Street Players of Milton, Delaware, was performed several times in 1995 for audiences of nursing students, hospital and nursing home personnel,

and members of the community. The production was cited as an “outstanding new work” at theDelaware Theater Association’s 53

rdAnnual State Play Festival. Jean Savoy, who played Rhoda, was

cited for her “outstanding performance in a featured role.”

The implications are hard to take. It is more comfortable to ignore them until the ability to speak we may

once have had is gone. The experience of the mentally incapable, the “Poor Ones”, as Rhoda called

them, those who seem to exist only from moment to moment and whose complaints were inchoate, may

consist only as scattered images of the larger context of their lives. It doesn’t mean they do not feel thecoolness of the bath water or the coldness of a touch.

Dorothy TennovCopyright © 1999 Dorothy Tennov

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