In February, I attended a performance of the New Haven Symphony Orchestra at Yale's Woolsey Hall (above). Woosley Hall is a beautiful venue with an amazing painted ceiling, an amazing pipe organ, an amazing rotunda. (It also happens to house one of Yale's dining halls, which looks exactly like Hogwarts' dining hall. But I digress.)
It also has several beautiful but heavy entrance doors around the curved facade. In mild weather these are often propped open. But, as you may recall, this past winter in Connecticut wasn't what you would call "mild". I had met friends for a pre-concert dinner and we rushed inside together, entering a warm lobby full or people dressed in layers. We began unwrapping our scarves from around our faces and unbuttoning our heavy winter coats, glad to be indoors.
I turned and faced the entrance doors to watch for another friend. And I saw that, like us, people were rushing into the warmth as fast as they could and as far away from the doors as possible, letting them slam behind them. Then I noticed a tiny, elderly man in a long black coat with snow on his shoulders. He was struggling to hold open one of the thick, heavy wood and metal doors, (seriously, they're like a bank vault). It was obvious he was on the losing end of the struggle. I dashed back to the doorway and held the door open by leaning into it and letting him pass. He declined and I saw that behind him was his posse - they had just disembarked from a bus from an assisted living center and were waiting for this one poor guy, I think they called him "Muscles", to hold the door open for all of them. There was about a half dozen in their group, of an average age of 85, and almost every one had a walker, a cane, or two, or a wheelchair that had been tilted into a wheelie and rolled up the shallow steps. No one in the group was moving fast. But all around them were young people and older people, walking straight and upright and fast into the doors (including the one I was holding), flowing around them like a stream around a rock.
All of this happened in a matter of a minute, of course. But it left an impression on me. I had a short but illustrious career as a companion to an elderly client in a nursing facility when I needed a second job a couple of years ago. The few hours a week I spent in that facility gave me empathy and insight into the life of the elderly that I never had before. I learned how difficult it is maneuver a walker or a wheelchair for a nurse, let alone the patient. I learned that patience is a virtue because few of us move as fast when we are that old, by choice or not. I learned that it was easy to pass over an older person as slow and in the way, forgetting that - if you are lucky - you will be there someday. I have done it, many of you have, too.
So I got out of the way, held the door, and stuck an arm out to stop the flow of the stream. The stream diverted to another door without hesitation. I stood in the wind and swirling snowflakes against the door as "Muscles", leading his wife by the arm, and his posse moved into the rotunda. Another man pushed a woman's wheelchair, others moved walkers over the door sill. They each thanked me as they passed. My response was no problem, happy to do it, but my teeth were chattering so I'm not sure how it came out.
About 30 seconds later we were all inside and I rejoined my friends, three gentleman who said "where did you go?"
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