Elaine was the building bulldog. She was there when the new owner took over the building in 1979, and she was there when I moved in in 1986. Short, maybe 4'11" max, feisty Italian San Franciscan tough talking woman. The kind that didn't take shit from anyone. I rarely saw her children, they never visited her and they just lived across the bridge in Berkeley. She had mainly one friend, the man she worked for, who would come over to her place and rendezvous for a tryst for years. He was also married, but I mainly thought why her?
You have to know about her. This woman was the manager of the building once upon a time, and even when I was the manager, she would still be driving me nuts trying to be the building bulldog. It was a love-hate relationship, more hate. Not really, but it seemed that every time I tried to be nice to Elaine, she would end up getting upset over something or try to bring me in to a drama and then she would yell, leave and we would not talk for a few months.
Here is a good way to explain what it was like to live with Elaine as a fellow tenant. If I would go dump the garbage, I would leave the door ajar with a rope and hook that is on the door. When I took the garbage to the dumpster, I had to go around a corner. Many times I would come back only to see that the door was closed, and I knew who closed it. I would usually try to ring and see if my wife was home, but if not, I had to ring Elaine's doorbell. Uh oh.
This is usually how it went when I rang her bell: She would poke her head out of the door, since she was on the entry level, she could see who was there. Then she would buzz me in. She would say something like, "did you just leave the door open?" and I would tell her that yes, I was taking out the garbage and left it open. She then would tell me that she didn't see me or anyone and she is alone and it can be dangerous and let me tell you!!!....Whoa, see what I mean? And let me tell you all that where I live is the top of a hill with essentially no crime other than the occasional car break in, because no criminal wants to try that hard climbing up this steep area of San Francisco! Really, totally SF hill.
This kind of relationship went on for many years, with some times better, where we actually had her over for a party, and most, where we barely spoke to her. As the years moved on, though, she had more and more physical problems. Surgery after surgery, to where she was walking with a colostomy bag and starting to act even stranger. Elaine really was alone most of the time. She collected stuffed toys and those supremely irritating singing fish and crap like that. Loved 'em! Probably owned the first fish that sang "take me to the river" and still showed it to me ten years later. Anytime that I tried to be nice to her, however, always turned into a debacle of some sort.
So it was hard to be sympathetic to her, she just was such a pain in the ass. And then I received a phone call from the owner of our building, Bill. He said, "Ken, I have to ask you this, just because she told us and we have to hear you say no." I wondered what the heck and Bill said, "Elaine called and said that she thinks you might have keys to her apartment." I told him that I do not and do not want her keys and why would I." Bill said, "She called us and said that you came in and put bananas in her refrigerator, Ken." Uh oh.
Ever since Elaine had gotten her surgeries, she had rapidly aged. And I had thought that she may need to be assisted more, after interacting with her over the years, I could see that she was even more strange, belligerent and moody than usual. I said to Bill, "Wow, she thinks I came in and put bananas in her fridge? Really, that is just totally out there, Bill." "I know, Ken, but she says she is fine." Well, I knew that she was not, but there isn't too much l could or really wanted to do about it, except that she brought me into it with a wild claim.
This went on for months. The owners would get a call from Elaine that she thought I was coming in and moving things around, leaving food in her fridge, and generally thinking I was coming in and mentally messing with her. I knew that dementia must be setting in. I asked Bill to contact her children and please let them know about what is going on with her. They told me that the children knew and didn't seem too concerned. Good for them, I was the one dealing with this situation that seemed to be getting worse. And I made sure to bring a key when ever I went out of the apartment, even for a minute!
One Sunday, around 10am, I was leaving with Jen and we saw that Elaine did not take her Sunday paper. I usually picked up the papers and put hers in front of her door, she was the only other one in the building to get the paper besides us. Elaine was always home, rarely went out, always got her paper. I looked at Jen and we just figured that she was sleeping in or out somewhere, I certainly did not want to knock, with all the grief she had given me. We left. When we got back at around 3pm, the paper was still there. Shit. I had no choice, since my inner "something is wrong" alarm was going off like crazy, actually all day, but I ignored it until.....
I knocked on the door. "Elaine?", I yelled. "Mumblefllnancntgtpoapp!!", I heard from the other side of the door. I yelled again, "Are you okay?" I hear, quite distinctly at that point, Elaine shout, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" I was in a commercial! No, this was too real. I told her that I would call the manager and the owners. I contacted Frank, and he came over. I left, mission done. I found out later that Elaine, in her paranoia, had so many locks on the door that the owners had to come over and cut through all the locks.
They found Elaine on the floor in her bedroom and she had been there for over 13 hours, evidently falling when going to the bathroom. Bill called me later and told me that I had saved Elaine's life. Really? Her? Well, that was interesting, considering everything. He said again, "Ken, you saved Elaine's life!" Ha! I did. Well, that was very good of me. I really just felt, as corny as it sounds, that it is my civic duty to be aware of my surroundings and take care of my fellow human, no matter how much I couldn't stand them. It's what true spirituality is to me.
Elaine was brought to a hospital. I was told that she was going to be observed and they would decide what to do with her in a week. I told Bill that she should not come back on her own, she can not take care of herself with out assistance, at least someone checking up on her. They said that all they can do is what the doctors say. I know that. And her kids? Where the hell were they? They seemed to like her less than I did. And then, 4 days later, I open the front door to the apartment building, and out pops...Elaine! She was BAAAACK! I stood there, stunned. I actually said, "What are you doing here?" She said that the doctors released her and she is fine. I said to her, "No, you are not!" and went down stairs and called the owners.
"Please, isn't there something we can do?", I pleaded. Nope. I asked about contacting senior services. I decided that I would call them. The response was okay. They came out and checked Elaine and said that they could come out every other day to check on her. She of course said that she was fine. And how could they argue? It was only one time, people fall, she seemed lucid. I knew better. The phone rang. It was Bill, "Ken, guess what? Elaine says that you put bananas in her refrigerator again. Oy.
I was furious. "Bill, it's going to happen again, you know!" And he said there really is nothing they can do. They called the kids. They started to check on her a little, but really obviously did not seem to like her at all. I kind of get it. I always though that Elaine was always more or less a jerk. Her children felt the same, evidently. Nothing was done. So, one Sunday, I was leaving with Jen and we saw the paper out. Deja Vu. This time, I knocked right away. I yelled, "Elaine, are you okay?" and she seemed to yell back, "Yes, don't worry", so I did not. We left.
Ah, but my hearing isn't what it used to be, I guess. We got back again, around 3 and saw the paper still out. Uh oh. I, this time, banged the hell out of the door and heard very weakly, "help, I fell down!"...shitdamn!!!!!!!! Here we go again. I call the owners. Bill answered and said that they were still in Novato, and the manager was on vacation, so could I call 911? The SFFD was here in about 3 minutes. I had just had finished my Neighborhood Emergency Response Training for earthquake preparedness that was taught...by half the people who were walking up to my building! I recognized them all. Very cool. I led them to her door.
They knocked. No answer. They firemen were about to knock the door down, but I told them to come in through my place and they could just break a window instead of a whole door. So, downstairs and through my apartment, bunnies watching in amazement, were four firemen and woman, all people I knew. Now this was very interesting, seeing how they actually do it with the heavy little tool. The window breaks, and the fireman looks at the rest of us and says, "oh, don't like that smell at all..."
He though she may be dead already. I said I don't think so, I had just talked to her a few minutes ago. And as he opened up the door and walked in to her room, he saw Elaine on the floor, she had fallen on her colostomy bag. Ew. But, she was alive. As they attended to her, I told them about how she should not be allowed to live alone, that this happened before. They agreed. They said that she would not be coming back. The last time I saw Elaine, she was being rolled out on a gurney, with a dazed look on her face. When she saw me as she was being wheeled out, she smiled a faint smile and said, "oh, hello!" and I said, "Bye!"
I learned later on that Elaine was going to a home. Her children finally showed up - to empty out her apartment. At least 28 years, she was there, alone. Bill told me that both times he told Elaine that it was me who called, me who saved her life. I don't feel like a hero. All I did was what I was supposed to do, right? I actually had to let it sink in a little, because the person who's life I saved twice was a person I truly could not stand. And I think I passed that test! Many tenants have since been in the apartment. But it will always be "Elaine's Apartment"
Peace,
Ken
