FROM THE FIRST day on the job, he felt the stark contrast between the giddy, thriving abundance of life that he experienced on his farm and the confined, institutionalized absence of life that he encountered every time he went to work. What he saw gnawed at him. The nurses said he would get used to it, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t want to go along with what he saw. Some years would pass before he could fully articulate why, but in his bones he recognized that the conditions at Chase Memorial Nursing Home fundamentally contradicted his ideal of self-sufficiency.
Thomas believed that a good life was one of maximum independence. But that was precisely what the people in the home were denied. He got to know the nursing home residents. They had been teachers, shopkeepers, housewives, and factory workers, just like people he’d known growing up. He was sure something better must be possible for them. So, acting on little more than instinct, he decided to try to put some life into the nursing home the way that he had done in his own home—by literally putting life into it. If he could introduce plants, animals, and children into the lives of the residents—fill the nursing home with them—what would happen?
He went to Chase’s management. He proposed that they could fund his idea by applying for a small New York State grant that was available for innovations. Roger Halbert, the administrator who’d hired Thomas, liked the idea in principle. He was happy to try something new. During twenty years at Chase, he had ensured that the facility had an excellent reputation, and it had steadily expanded the range of activities available to the residents. Thomas’s new idea seemed in line with past improvements. So the leadership team sat down together to write the application for the innovation funding. Thomas, however, seemed to have something in mind that was more extensive than Halbert had quite fathomed.
Thomas laid out the thinking behind his proposal. The aim, he said, was to attack what he termed the Three Plagues of nursing home existence: boredom, loneliness, and helplessness. To attack the Three Plagues they needed to bring in some life. They’d put green plants in every room. They’d tear up the lawn and create a vegetable and flower garden. And they’d bring in animals.
So far this sounded okay. An animal could sometimes be tricky because of health and safety issues. But nursing home regulations in New York permitted one dog or one cat. Halbert told Thomas that they’d tried a dog two or three times in the past without success. The animals had the wrong personality, and there were difficulties arranging for proper care. But he was willing to try again.
So Thomas said, “Let’s try two dogs.”
Halbert said, “The code doesn’t allow that.”
Thomas said, “Let’s just put it down on paper.”
There was silence for a moment. Even this small step pushed up against the values at the heart not just of nursing home regulations but also of what nursing homes believed they principally exist for—the health and safety of elders. Halbert had a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea. When I spoke to him not long ago, he still recalled the scene vividly.
The director of nursing, Lois Greising, was sitting in the room, the activities leader, and the social worker.… And I can see the three of them sitting there, looking at each other, rolling their eyes, saying, “This is going to be interesting.”
I said, “All right, I’ll put it down.” I was beginning to think, “I’m not really into this as much as you are, but I’ll put two dogs down.”
He said, “Now, what about cats?”
I said, “What about cats?” I said, “We’ve got two dogs down on the paper.”
He said, “Some people aren’t dog lovers. They like cats.”
I said, “You want dogs AND cats?”
He said, “Let’s put it down for discussion purposes.”
I said, “Okay. I’ll put a cat down.”
“No, no, no. We’re two floors. How about two cats on both floors?”
I said, “We want to propose to the health department two dogs and four cats?”
He said, “Yes, just put it down.”
I said, “All right, I’ll put it down. I think we’re getting off base here. This is not going to fly with them.”
He said, “One more thing. What about birds?”
I said that the code says clearly, “No birds allowed in nursing homes.”
He said, “But what about birds?”
I said, “What about birds?”
He said, “Just picture—look out your window right here. Picture that we’re in January or February. We have three feet of snow outside. What sounds do you hear in the nursing home?”
I said, “Well, you hear some residents moaning. You possibly hear some laughter. You hear televisions on in different areas, maybe a little more than we’d like them to be.” I said, “You’ll hear an announcement over the PA system.”
“What other sounds are you hearing?”
I said, “Well, you’re hearing staff interacting with each other and with residents.”
He said, “Yeah, but what are those sounds that are sounds of life—of positive life?”
“You’re talking birdsong.”
“Yes!”
I said, “How many birds are you talking to create this birdsong?”
He said, “Let’s put one hundred.”
“ONE HUNDRED BIRDS? IN THIS PLACE?” I said, “You’ve got to be out of your mind! Have you ever lived in a house that has two dogs and four cats and one hundred birds?”
And he said, “No, but wouldn’t it be worth trying?”