Dear Editor,
My name is William M. Hopkins. I am a retired professor of psychology at State University of New York, College at Cortland. A friend of mine died in Belize, and I want to recognize him. I wonder if you might consider running the note I have written on his behalf.
I volunteered for the NaRCIE (National Resource Center for Inclusive Education). I have made eight visits to Belize since January, 2005. I usually stay about three to five weeks, working on programs and projects for primary-school children with special needs.
It was on my first visit, when I stayed for a few days at the Chateau Caribbean, that I met Harry. He was sitting outside the Chateau, on the ledge of the walkway going to the entrance, and he greeted me with, “Welcome to Belize.”
I introduced myself, but Harry did not tell me his name until later, not until I asked. I told him why I was in Belize, and he immediately told me of people who would be helpful to my mission. Then Harry began demonstrating his intellectual prowess.
He recited a passage from Thomas Paine and asked me if I knew the author. Luck was with me, and I got it right. But that was pretty much the end of my being able to match Harry’s knowledge. He asked me to name any country and he would tell me the current leader.
We did this for about 10 countries. Then he asked me to name U.S. states and he would tell me the capital. And we did this, again, for about 10 demonstrations. He then recited parts of the Bible.
Stunned, I asked Harry how he knew so much. He said he read. He read The Economist, National Geographic, Reader’s Digest, some other periodicals and of course, The Bible.
Harry was a homeless man. When we met, he slept under the bandstand in the park near the Chateau. He usually had a head of white wool upon his head. He had one tooth, revealed frequently by his smile.
Harry was always most gracious each morning when we met on my first visit. Then and on subsequent visits, he would greet me in the morning, sitting at his station outside the Chateau, and ask about my wife, daughter and son, and fill me with more information than I could absorb. We would always wax philosophical at some point in our 15-minute conversations.
Harry was perhaps the brightest man I’ve ever known. He was one of the most distinguished men I have ever known. Yet, Harry was homeless.
Harry taught me much in our short time together. He taught me humanity, dignity, what intelligence might mean, friendship, kindness, and generosity of spirit. He also taught me a little about The Bible.
On my most recent visit, May, 2008, I looked for Harry. I knew he had moved from his usual “home,” to a location across from Mirab, near the Chateau. His emphysema and other physical problems had restricted his mobility. I parked my rented car near his new location, in front of Mirab. On the ledge of the store were some taxi drivers, who asked if I needed a taxi. No, I said, I was looking for someone.
“You’re looking for Harry; aren’t you?” one of the men said. “He died. We know he was a friend of yours, and that you tried to be good to him.”
My face and my wet eyes revealed my sorrow. Another man said, “We can’t even tell you when he died or where he is buried. One of his relatives asked about him recently, and we couldn’t tell him, either. He had the same reaction you did.”
It is not right that anyone passes without some recognition of their presence and influence, and this brief note is to recognize this great man in my life – and I imagine, in the lives of others. Harry had many friends. I just could not leave Belize this time without saying, “Goodbye, Harry. Thank you for being my friend. You enriched my life and made me a better man. I know you are no longer homeless. My God protect you in your new home.”
Your Friend,
Bill Hopkins