Dreaming of the Elephant Man

Last night I dreamed about Joseph Merrick, better known as the Elephant Man. That’s not surprising, considering I watched the movie recently for the first time in years. I once wrote a song for him, “Behind Your Mask,” moved by the story of the gentle soul trapped in a hideous body. He's also the subject of a brilliant Broadway play, a depressing opera and numerous captivating books.

What’s surprising is that my dream was not a nightmare or horror story as one might think. As terrible as Merrick’s deformities were, “so terrible that women and nervous persons fly from the sight of him,” No, I was quite comfortable in his presence. That’s unusual for someone like me, who qualifies as a “nervous person,” easily horrified by the bizarre and abnormal.

Instead, I was one of his nurses at the London Hospital where he had been given refuge and a permanent home after leading a horrific life in a freak show. Of all the people who took care of him, including his friend and benefactor, Frederick Treves, I understood him the most. Although I usually dream in vivid color, this one was in black and white, like the movie.

I sat at Joseph’s bedside, enjoying his company. His deformed mouth made it difficult for him to speak. He could weep but not smile or laugh, yet he spoke freely about his condition and even joked about someday being preserved in a 'huge bottle of alcohol.' (a real quote) His gentle spirit shone through everything he said and did. An air of warm friendship filled the room.

At one point I left the room. When I came back, Merrick was lying on his back, struggling to breathe,(an actual fact) His heavy head made it impossible to lie flat, forcing him to sleep sitting up supported by pillows.

I dreamed another nurse had come in to attend him and didn’t know what to do, so I said urgently, “We’ve got to sit him up!” I leaned in close, wrapped my arm around his deformed back and raised him to a comfortable position. The other nurse put the pillows back in place and when he could speak again, Joseph exclaimed, “Thank you, my friends

Indeed, that was eventually how he died. Either he had fallen backwards or deliberately tried lying flat to sleep as normal people do, but his enormous head crushed his windpipe. The only blessing is that according to Treves, “John”, as he called him, died so peacefully “not even the coverlet was disturbed.” I only pray Treves was right.

Joseph Merrick heroically embraced life as best he could, determined to be a human being, not a monster. He was an avid reader and writer, loved to give and receive gifts and had many friends at the London Hospital. With just his left hand, he worked on delicate cardboard models and proudly gave them to friends, including the esteemed actress, Madge Kendal.

He was visited by high society (a somewhat controversial aspect but thrilling for him nonetheless) including Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandra. Yet amidst all this attention and affection, the cruel irony is that despite his deformities, he was sexually normal. He longed for a woman's love, but it would be forever denied him.

Medical photographs of Merrick were taken for posterity, but the most touching one is of Joseph in a specially tailored suit, his "Sunday best", complete with tie and waistcoat. He sits with dignity, making no attempt to hide his immensely deformed right hand. Especially heartbreaking is the neatly folded handkerchief in his pocket, an accessory of a true gentleman.A forensic reconstruction of his face shows that Joseph would have likely been a handsome man without his terrible deformities.

When I dreamed I helped Merrick sit up to ease his discomfort, it's exactly what I did in real life with my father, who was dying of cancer. I spent two nights caring for him in hospice. Dad was so weak he kept sliding downward in his propped-up hospital bed. My brother and sister-in-law didn’t know how to help him, so I hugged my dad with one arm and gently sat him up. I can still feel the warmth of his frail body. As I smoothed the sheet beneath him, Dad whispered, “You’re the best nurse I ever had.” During his last hours, I sat with him and sang to him, and my voice was the last one he heard before slipping away forever.

Joseph Merrick and my father are gone now, to whatever awaits us after death, free of their burdens. On the surface, a young hideously deformed “freak” of Victorian London would have very little in common with an 83-year-old American man dying of stomach cancer, yet the connection is real. Both needed loving care and the human touch through their last days.

Usually I don’t remember my dreams, but this one is as vivid as when I awoke this morning. It’s part of Joseph Merrick’s legacy that he awakens compassion in us and an awareness of another person’s pain and need. He retained his humanity and dignity, defying all conceivable odds. I think that’s why he still captures our hearts over a century later. May we learn to feel the same about the people around us today.

sources

The True History of the Elephant Man, by Michael Howell and Peter Ford (2003)

The Elephant Man and Other Reminiscences, by Sir Frederick Treves (1927)

The Joseph Carey Merrick Tribute Website) http://www.josephcareymerrick.com/