the melancholic life of fred morris

To my loving family.

publishing

Table of contents

Prologue

Exodus

Courage

Pack your Bags

Choo Choo

Denver

Check-in

God

Day One

In Search

Are You Sick?

Chance

Hope

Return

Home

Date

Plunge Into Darkness

Epilogue

8

10

14

18

26

30

36

40

44

48

56

60

66

74

80

84

90

92

He who saves a life is considered as if he who saved the whole world.

–Talmudic Tenet

7 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Prologue

Prologue

In 1903, The White Plague had devoured America

and taken some 150,000 lives annually. Tuberculosis

had raped America of it’s health and had caused

needless loss of many lives. Denver became a prime

spot for people infected by the disease to find relief,

it’s fresh air and sunshine had proven to relieve some

of the symptoms of Tuberculosis. A group of idealistic

Jewish a in Denver decided to attempt to remedy

the situation, they had purchased twenty acres of

land one mile west of Denver. With the guidance and

leadership of Drs. C.D. Spivak and Philip Hilkowitz,

JCRS was formed. The word spread quick throughout

the country and many people came fleeting to JCRS

for salvation.

Mr. Fred Morris entered the main gates of JCRS in the

spring of 1906.

9 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Exodus

The world is a cruel place, we’re brought up to

think that it isn’t—that there is justice, there is

peace, and thtere is reason. But if we took one step

back, and looked at the canvas that is our lives, we

would soon realize that it’s like building a deck of

cards to just

down. I used to think that

I would live a long life, one with vigilance and love

and wondrous things that filled this world, but alas,

it’s as if the grim reaper had pointed randomly upon

an audience and picked me.

Exodus

fall

it

watch

all

10 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris

I feel nothing, I have felt nothing for a while now.

I stare into the sapphire sky, still, silent. Every so

often a breeze would hit the side of my face, and

for just a second, I believe I still exist. I can feel

my own heartbeat, every single one. It’s funny, how

majestic and beautiful this world can be, and for us

to be the observers of it’s majesty, it’s a privilege.

One that many don’t notice or understand.

I can feel the coarse sand underneath me; the tiny

grass blades that poke through the holes of the

fabric of my clothing, it all used to irritate me, but

that feeling has long since dissipated. If you were

to ask me how long I have been lying here, my

best guess would have to be at least a day, I have

seen the sun rise and set only once, or did it? My

stomach had been aching for days trying to thread

through this forest, trying to find some sense of

salvation, but to no avail. Pure luck has brought

me back to this clearing in the middle of nowhere.

Trees surround me from every angle, and all I’m left

with is a clear view of the sky.

11 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Exodus

The feeling of dread somehow seems to heighten

as I know that soon I will leave behind the sight of

this endless sky. Infinite possibilities, infinite dreams

and stars. As a kid you think you live forever; you

think exactly what the sky stands for, and to have

those hopes stripped from you, like a mother

losing her child, you start truly appreciating the life

you were meant to live.

Every breath used to hurt, but it seems that I’ve felt

so much pain for so long, I’ve passed the threshold

of feeling pain. It just seems like every breath I

take becomes shorter and shoter and shtr. for an

unexplained reason, but I know it will come to an

end, I think they all somehow knew too.

As my sight slowly blurs , all I see is a strange

looking metal bird streaking through the sky, quite a

funny thought - a huge metal bird flying, that would

be the day. I remember a time when I thought about

dying that way too, that I would never leave this

earth, that I would be sick of it. I got sick though,

and it all started back home in Des Moines, Iowa.

blurs

13 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Courage

I love this attic, the rustic smell of old books seem

to fill the air as I push through the little hole in the

ground. A cloud of dust fills the air and you’re left

with a heavy sense of nostalgia. As I take my first steps

onto the platform, the floor creeks a little, reminding

me of just how old this attic is.

In a little corner of the room I see my old toy chest.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen that thing, I remember

the hours of fun I used to have imagining my own

little world of horses, trains and princes. How my

mother would break the spell and say “that’s enough

now Fred.” and as simple as that I’m snapped back

into reality. I guess you could say the same about this

disease, a harsh, snap! back to reality that I feel

abrasive about. You never consider dying, and to be

quite honest I’m not ready to even contemplate it. But

I don’t have a choice, death has knocked on my door

and I have look at it right in it’s eyes and consider

my mortality.

Courage


“FRED.” I hear from downstairs - it was probably

mother calling me for supper. But I shrug it off as

though I didn’t hear her. I opened my toy chest,

hoping I’ll find some hidden treasure that’s been there

for years. I sift through all the blocks, strings and and

train tracks to see a little shiny sphere on the bottom

of the box. I make an effort for it and pull it out with a

infant like excitement that I haven’t experienced in a

while.

“SUPPER’S READY” my mother shouts again, but I’m

so fixated on the sphere now that I pretended not to

hear her again.

It’s covered in a layer of dust, it’s cold with a little

silver metal stand I’m assuming holds it up, I clear a

little section of it with my thumb and I see a tiny metal

structure in the sphere. I use the edge of my shirt to

clean the rest of it off. It was a snow globe, and in

the middle of it, the monument that captured the

fascination of the world - the Eiffel tower. I remember

this snow globe now, when I was but a boy my

father gave this to me. I fondly remember the voice

of my father. His rough, low voice when he handed

15 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Courage

the globe to me. He told me the story of the Tower,

how it defied the possibilities of it’s time, and rose

from the ground, pushing the limits of engineering

and revolutionizing the field. All that, while falling

under the doubtful eye of the French. I didn’t quite

understand what he was saying back then but now I

think the tower stands for something amazing, I think

it stands for resilience, persistence and courage.

I need to be courageous, I need to fight this.

“FRED, SUPPER, NOW.” my mother

shouts again, I grabbed the snow globe and left the

attic, leaving behind a slew of memories, sealing the

little door in the ground, shutting out my past.

17 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Pack Your Bags

Pack your Bags

I placed the globe snugly in my traveling bag, before

I rushed down for supper. My mother hates it when

i’m late for supper. I entered the dining room that

my mother has so tastefully decorated. The walls are

layered with a sheet of wallpaper that gives one the

sense of luxury, a luscious oriental pattern repeats

itself throughout the dining room. The room is also

filled with various furniture that reflected our wealthy

lifestyle, along with a grim mood that filled the room.

I pulled out a chair from the table, it was tall,

reminding me of the Dining room of Castles I used

to read in story books. My mother used to read my

plenty of storybooks as a child, just thinking about

those solemn nights of when mother would pull out

The Arabian Nights and my imagination would whisk

me away on a magical journey filled with adventure.

Her voice would calmly narrate the story as my

eyelids grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep.


My mother, Annabelle Morris sits directly opposite me

on the other side of the table. On my left, my younger

brother Enis, at the tender age of nine. Ever since he

found out I’m sick, it’s as if I’ve lost a sibling, he has

never treated me the same after he found that this

disease could be potentially fatal. Finally, but certainly

not the least, my father, George Morris, that sits on the

other end of the table. Everyone looked at me as I sat

down, as though something was up.

“Son, how are you feeling today.” my father asked me

in a commanding voice. My father had just returned

from work at the Montefiore Lodge, of which he

retains a seat in the board of trustees. “I’m fine.” I

replied, but as I said it, I could feel my lungs tighten

and making it hard for me to breathe. I remained

silent, trying not to remind them of my horrific fate.

The room was silent as my family joint hands and

said grace. We started eating the food my mother

prepared, food that filled your soul and inspired

your tastebuds.

19 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Pack Your Bags

“Are you ready?” My father asked.

“Almost” I replied.

“Well, you better have everything ready, you’re

leaving next week, and I don’t want you forgetting

anything.”

“I really don’t want to go, father.”

“Well you don’t have a choice, Dr. Spivak is the best

in the country, and the Lodge has already received a

confirmation letter from JCRS.”

I hung my head in silence.

19


I looked at him with dread in my eyes, knowing there

wasn’t an argument here, I was to do what he wanted

or pay the consequences. I decide to just keep my

silence. The room was solemn as we slowly ate our

food, and as the realization that there might be an

empty seat at the table soon hung lowly over the

heads of family. This wasn’t a disease that just affected

me, it was something that affected everyone in my

family. I am now to travel to Colorado and find a cure

for this wretched thing, father says it’s the best thing

to do. I have known so many people who died of

this disease. First, they feel their completely fine and

simply have a tougher time breathing, but it slowly

deteriorates, it consumes you; it devours you.

It’s when you know you’re on the cusp of death, that life becomes,

relevant.

25 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Choo Choo

Choo Choo

Noise fills the musty old train station, as I stand before

it’s entrance, I see people hugging their families

and bidding their goodbyes. I turn to look at mine,

everyone was there, my mother, father and Enis too.

We stood separated, I by myself, and my parents with

Enis in-between them staring at me, and me at them.

We looked at each other as though it might be last

time we would see each other, for after I leave, there’s

no telling if I’m coming back.

I could see my mother and her eyes filling up with

tears. Her heart must be slowly falling into pieces, one

by one, tiny, brittle pieces of her heart fill the cavity

of her chest. My father tries to put on a brave front,

but I can see him cracking under the pressure, he too

knows that this might be the last time he gets to see

his boy. Enis, little Enis just has his hands over his

eyes, bawling, probably over the thought of losing me.


I looked at them and the bad memories that we’ve

had just slowly faded away, and all that was left, all

I could imagine are the vividly beautiful moments

we’ve had in the past. Like on our annual spring

picnics that brought so much love and joy to our

family. Me and Enis would always get into tussles

about trivial things and frustrate father indefinitely, but

deep down we knew we all loved each other, and this

moment right now becomes testament to that. I can’t

help but smile as my mind fills with memories.

“Son, be safe” said my Dad as he tries to hold back

his tears and gives me a hearty handshake. “We will

miss you very much.” I looked at him, and for once

in my life, I was no longer a boy in his eyes, I was

a man. Mum just gave me her full embrace, she put

her arms around my neck and buried her sobs on my

chest. I hugged her back, and that was all that needed

to be said.

I took one more look at them, “Goodbye, I love you

all” I said as I picked up my bag, ticket in hand, and

they escorted me to the train.

27 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Choo Choo

I watched through the window as my parents and

Enis slowly fade away into the horizon, I hear one

last thing Enis shouts at me. “Have fun on the Choo

Choo!” he says, It was faint, but I got every word.

“Choo Choo” is what Enis calls my favourite toy train

that I gave to him when he turned six. Tears stream

down my cheek as I watch my family waved

Goodbye

29 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Denver

Denver

“Are you Fred?” she asked, then stood there and

looked at me with a curious face. I was silent, I didn’t

know what to say. “Hi, I’m Fred.” I had been given

instructions by my father to wait outside Union Station

in Denver. It had a huge sign on the front facade

of the building spelling out the words “UNION

STATION” and underneath it “Travel by Train.” I had

been the only one standing out in the chilly colorado

wind that day.

“So, you are Fred” she says, and looks at me once

again. “Hi, my name is Daphne, I’m the Secretary

at JCRS, I’m here to pick you up.” It wasn’t my first

instinct to follow strangers but it seemed that she

was the person I was supposed to meet. “Here come

with me, she says.” she brings me to her auto-mobile

not far from the station. “Get in.” she said and I did

exactly that.


“Welcome to Denver” Daphne said to me “Have you

been here before?” I turned to her as she got into the

auto-mobile and shook my head from side to side.

She looked at me and said “you don’t talk much

huh?” I simply nodded in agreement, and she started

to drive away. I didn’t know what to say, I did not feel

like expressing myself, the idea of never seeing my

family again lingers in the back of my mind. I’m also

extremely perplexed simply by the idea of being in a

completely different place.

As we drove through the streets of Denver, the sight

of the buildings intimidate me in an awe-inspiring

manner. Compared to Des Moines, Denver had

structure, it had tall buildings owned by huge

conglomerates, it was an actual living, breathing, city.

I’ve never been to one, but simply the idea that now

I will be in such a place was enthralling, exciting and

invigorating, the possibilities are endless.

It was silent as we slowly pulled into a small driveway

that lead to a compound. “Welcome to JCRS”

Suddenly the excitement I had about Denver came

to a crashing halt. I know the majority time here

31 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Denver

wouldn’t be enjoyed to it’s extent, this will be my

home now. This stale, silent, miniature community in

the middle of nowhere is where i will take solace.

I guess.

The moment you realize,this moment might be your last, you ask youself…

do I really want to be here?

35 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Check In

Check In

I stare upon the looming structure in front of me,

small, but looming, bag in one hand my heart in the

other. What if this was it, what if they couldn’t help

me. The building looked sturdy, made of out red bricks

and cream accents, stood squarely in the center at

one end of compound. It must be the main building.

“If you would follow me Mr. Morris.” Daphne said

to me as she caught up and swung her hand down

towards my bag and said, “let me get that for you.”

I nodded and handed the bag over as she placed

her hand on the door and we walked in. “This is the

registrar building as you may see, Dr. Spivak’s office

is right there.” She pointed at a door on her right. She

stood behind a shabby looking desk which I assumed

to be her work table.

“May I have papers please?” She sat down and stared

at me. “Sure” I said as I tried to snap out of my own

head. I ruffled into my bag and pulled out several


pieces of paper and handed them to her. “Have a

seat” she said.

I turned to find a row of wooden chairs aligned to the

wall next to a plant. There was a small table with a

couple of newspapers set in front of the row of chairs.

I took a seat and picked one up.

“These papers are old” I said, as I looked upon date

of the paper, April 18th, 1906, was printed on the top

right of the paper. On the top, in big bold letters it

read The Rocky Mountain News, and below that an

alarming, grim title twisted the sinews of my heart.

“EARTHQUAKE DEVASTATES SAN FRANCISCO.” it read

from one end of the paper to the other, below it a

subhead “suspected 250,000 perished.” My heart

jerked a little as I couldn’t believe the title, it sank a

thousand miles as my jaw remained wide open. I was

perplexed.

Once again, I shook my head and snapped out of

my own thoughts. “Daphne, is this real?” I asked

with a rock stuck in my throat. “Yes it is, and it’s

the only old newspaper there, we get fresh ones

37 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Check In

in the box outside.” she replied calmly. “Forget

about the newspaper, this earthquake, did it really

happen?” she looked at me curiously and said

“You didn’t know about it? It was quite the news.” I

guess I haven’t heard because I’ve been trapped in a

depressive, vicious cycle that is this disease. I have

spent countless days at home hacking out a lung, I’m

sure father knew, He’s the one that typically runs to

the lodge for work and to the town to drink. I can’t

believe he didn’t tell me about something like this.

“I didn’t.” I diverted my stare away from Daphne and

continued to read the paper.

I kept reading the paper, line for line, and nothing

registered. All I could think about was Auntie Nimes

and her little house in San Francisco. The anxiety

inside me slowly grew as I walked down each

sentence of the paper, I couldn’t manifest another

thought.

39 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris God

God

I’ve always been brought up with faith. My mum

taught me growing up that God is good, God is great,

and he’s responsible for every thing that is in this

world, and everything that will be.

Today I met my tent-buddy Maurice, it’s weird that I

have to share a room now, or rather a tent, I’ve never

had to share one before. It sits surely in the middle

of two other tents, they resemble houses with roofs,

but much smaller. Daphne had got me settled into

one the 14 tents out here, and I guess I might be stuck

here for a little while. I looked through the window

as I lay reclined on the bed with nothing but a pillow

supporting my head. I saw the stars and I thought

about the world, and it’s one creator, God.

My question about God is that, if he is that good

and that great, does that mean he’s incapable of

the horrible things that also happen to us? If it isn’t

him that’s doing any of it, does that mean things just


happen coincidentally? Maybe, but I believe God is

responsible for everything, I believe that if there is

a being out there that can be benevolent, kind and

endearing and make anything happen at his at a will,

that being is also capable of being everything that’s

bad, horrible or terrifying. The problem with us is that

we only the see the good, we praise a God that has

been responsible for more than just making us happy,

we praise one that strips that happiness away from us.

The Earthquake at San Francisco has been in the back

of my mind every since I checked into JCRS. I keep

hoping deep inside me that Auntie Nimes is okay. I

remember summers as a kid spent frolicking in wide

open fields, and everytime I looked back, it was Mum

and Auntie Nimes smiling at me watching me run.

Those summer she’s spent visiting us only make it

harder to think about losing her. Although she hasn’t

in our lives as of late, I do hope that God could spare

a single soul and let her be fine, let her be well.

250,000 is not a minute amount. It shouldn’t, and

couldn’t be ignored at all. That level of a devastation

leaves a man with a terminal illness with only one

41 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris God

belief. Life is unfair, that there is no God because

there is no judgement. Of the 250,000, how many

do you think deserved death? How many deserve the

painful sensation of being crushed by concrete from

above? Of being stuck under rocks awaiting death —

How many?

My faith in this world and my own life is slowly

deteriorating, and the future just seems

farther

and

Farther

away.

43 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Day One

Day One

I chased myself around the sidewalk and tried to stop

him from taking it away. He had the snow globe in

hand and every bit of hope attached to it. I ran and

ran and ran...

I feel a warmth hit the side of my face, and my dream

had let itself go. My eyes blurred as I tried slowly

opening them. The faint image of a night table starts

to form as I see another sleeping figure groaning on

the other bed - It was Maurice. My vision started to

clear as I looked outside at the bright morning sky,

it’s beauty unparalleled to anything I’ve seen before.

The long stretch of orange through the ethereal

morning sky. I inhaled and felt the breezy draft enter

my body and invigorate me with energy. I felt like I

could breathe again, having a night to rest freed my

mind of the burdens of the world, and I could finally

appreciate the wonderful freshness of the air here.

I sat up and placed my feet on the concrete floor. It


was cold, and icy, I quickly put on my slippers. The

outside attracted me, I stood up, grabbed my coat and

walked to the door. A wonderful aroma of banana

bread hit my senses. It was a woman with a basket

handing out banana bread to the individual tents. She

came towards me as I looked curious standing outside

in pajama bottoms, slippers and a coat.

“Hi, names’ Beth, would you like some banana

bread?” she was blonde with glass blue eyes, a

feminine nose and a perfect half-moon smile. She

wore thin coat and a loose skirt along with boots. “I

work at the local bakery nearby and I bring bread to

the Sanatorium every other day, you’re new aren’t

you?” Beth said glancing at me. I looked at her and

I couldn’t say a word, once again, flabbergasted by

my own awkwardness. “Hi..hh..hi.” I tried to say but

couldn’t help stuttering. “Mmmy..mm my nnn..name’s

FFFFred” I gave up trying. “Hi, FFFFred nice to meet

you. Once again, would you like bread?” She ignored

my awkwardness and persisted on giving me bread.

“Suurre..” I embarrassingly replied. She took my hand

and placed a loaf of banana bread in it, I looked at

her and smiled, she looked back and walked away.

45 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Day One

“Beth, huh?” I looked at her as she waved goodbye

leaving a generously sweet smile behind, the sweet

aroma of freshly baked bread lingered in the path she

walked and all I’m left with is a perfect memory of a

perfect morning and a perfect encounter.

The afternoon came swiftly and I explored the

grounds. I met many people with different stories

about tuberculosis and how they eventually came

here. I pitied them, I understood their story, for once

in my life I feel kinship with people other than my

family. Sharing a disease, although tragic and horrible,

seems to invoke a sense of camaraderie that you don’t

get otherwise. Something about dying and watching

your clock tick that makes you cherish the people that

understand the situation you’re in. Your mortality is

in jeopardy.

47 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris In Search

In Search

It’s been a week since my last encounter with the

beautiful banana bread girl. Beth was her name, she

hasn’t been back since. Days here in the Sanatorium

have been somewhat positive, the attention I get from

the staff is wonderful, and Dr. Spivak seems very

sincere in helping me through this disease. He said

I was in the early ages but it’s spreading rapidly. But

I feel it, death slowly claiming my body, the chest

pains have only been getting worse and just the other

night I had coughed up some blood, I didn’t tell them

though, I’m scared.

Last week when I met Beth it was a sigh of relief. After

such a long time, only grim thoughts have filled my

head, along with the heads of the people around me.

The disease seems to be the only thing people really

care about. Tuberculosis has already claimed millions

of lives, and here we are standing in the face of

adversity, on a cliff watching the horizon, the blazing

sun that might soon consume us all. Understanding


that you might just die before your time puts your life

into perspective - what’s worth it and what’s not.

Today has been a bright summer morning as I ponder

about my encounter. I hold the snow globe in my

hand and imagined what it would be like to see Paris

one day. Rendez-vouz a Paris isn’t that what they say?

Meet with me in Paris at the Eiffel tower and we’ll

paint the town red. The romantic notion has captured

the hearts of many and inspired passionate love.

The idea of waiting for someone, wondering if they

might come, some might call it false hope or wishful

thinking, but love inspires me, it lives within me and

the essence of me. But not just romantically, the love

for my family. my friends, my comrades I cherish

immensely, and maybe one day if I survive this

disease I might find the one that is meant to be with

me for the rest of my life.

I need to find her, or at least not miss her. She had

been by once this week but I missed her, but when

I woke there was still a loaf of banana bread on my

desk. It was as if Cinderella had left her shoe at the

ball, and I needed to return it to her - though, the loaf

49 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris In Search

has long since hit the bottom of my belly. I opened

the door and walked to the main building where there

is a cafeteria, I might be able to get some information

from someone there, or maybe even Daphne

“Hi, Fred Morris’ the name, can I get some help?”

It seems that Daphne isn’t working today. It was a

brunette this time, she looked similar to Daphne but

more plump and angry. “What?” She said in a grunt,

“What do you want”, I was a little intimidated as I

tried to ask her about Beth. “There’s a girl that delivers

bread here some mornings, do you know when she

comes around?” I asked with a withdrawn tone, afraid

she might pounce on me at any moment. “What’s it

to ya” she said, once again in a peculiar grunting tone

- something you wouldn’t expect out of a woman.

“You know you’re a patient, you’re not meant to see or

cohort with faculty, be on your way.” she said, trying

to scurry me away. I wasn’t going without a fight, I

placed my fight palm on her shabby little desk and

looked her in the eye “now miss, I’m sorry to say that

I think you’re being rude, but you’re being rude. I just

want to know when I can talk to her, we’re...friends,

nothing more, I’m not some stalker. On top of that,


she doesn’t even really work here” I said as I stared

into her beady brown eyes. She looked at me with

a stern look “Sundays and Wednesdays she usually

shows up, now get out of my face.” I turned around

immediately and marched out the door, trying to

conceal my joy. But as I walked away I coughed and

tried to seal it with my mouth, I held up my hand and

looked at it, it was blood.

Isn’t it weird? Being so goddamn close to death,but still so captivated

with Love.

55 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Are You Sick?r

I woke up at 5 am on the next Sunday after talking

to Tabatha - the plumpy receptionist that I had a coo

with the week prior, turns out her name was Tabatha.

I had been so obsessed about today that I’ve merely

sat around and looked at my snow globe the past day

or two. I want to meet this woman, and have at least

a chance to say hi before I get denied that chance by

fate. So there I sat up on my bed and looked out the

window, simultaneously looking at the clock waiting

for the hint of her appearance.

It was about 10 o’clock when I smelled a fragrance

that resounded so deeply in my soul, it was indication

that she was here. The waft of unmistakably flavorful

banana bread seeped through the cracks of the

windows right into my nostrils. I jumped out of bed,

grabbed my shirt, put on my slippers and ran for the

door. I stopped, and composed myself realizing I

would look much too eager if I walked out in a haste,

Are You Sick?


she might question my intentions. I turned the knob

on the door calmly and took my first step outside.

Sure enough she was there, an etherial beauty that

seemed slightly surreal. Spring had come into full

bloom as bright Colorado sun shined through the

locks of her silky hair.

“Beth.” I said, trying as though to make it look

like a coincidence,

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“FFFred! Hi! How’ve you been?” She

remembered me, she changed the direction she was

walking me and walked towards me.

“Hi, we didn‘t really get to talk last time you

came around.”

“So you’re sick right?” She asked, abruptly.

I just looked at her with a curious face, wondering

why she would ask a question like that, I was a little

irked but she continued and said. “Well, you’re at

a Sanatorium, everyone here is sick the question is

what do you have?” She paused and tried to explain

why she asked me if I was sick. “I’m sure a lot of the

57 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Are You Sick?

people here have tuberculosis, that’s what the old lady

in the tent next to yours tells me sometimes. So you

have tuberculosis right?”

I looked at her and sighed, I couldn’t tell if she was

exposing me for my secrets or just attempting to know

me better. “Well, yea...” I said, as my tone slowly

drifted off into nothingness.

“Don’t be grim! I’ve seen tons of people walk out of

here just fine.” She said “I’m sure you will be too.” she

tried to impart some confidence in me, I looked her

and smiled, I felt a connection with someone I haven’t

had for a while. There was a moment of silence until

she pulled out a piece of paper and a tiny little pencil

as she wrote something down on it. She handed the

piece of paper to me. “Here, meet me tomorrow at 3

p.m. at the mug on the side of Colfax just down Pierce,

you can’t miss it.” she twirled around as she had

before, and once again she left me with the lingering

smell of aromatic and wholesome bakery and a

yearning in my heart.

59 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Chance

Chance

Days are getting warmer, but my health isn’t getting

any better. Last night I was so bothered, sleeping

became an impossibility. I’ve been hacking up blood

every so often and they nurses finally know. I’ve been

getting much more attention that I’ve bargained for,

Dr. Spivak tells me that the disease has persisted and

now more than anytime is my only chance to live.

I woke up and my vision was blurry, I didn’t know

where I was. “Mr. Morris? Mr. Morris? Are you

awake?” I heard a feminine voice say. “Fred, are you

awake?” my vision started to clear as my hearing

returned to me, and all at once it seemed like the

world went from pause to play in a few moments.

I gasped for air and looked at a lady with a white

nurse cap on, she looked panicked, as though

something was happening. “Mr. Maurice, could you

please oversee Mr. Morris until I get back? I’ll be

calling Dr. Spivak now.” She said in a commanding


voice. Joseph Maurice came running to my bedside

with a cup of water. “How are you friend?” he said

in a soft tone, as though he seemed somewhat

concerned for me. Angie, the Nurse walked out.

“You’ve been out like a light for days now.” I was

on the bed in my tent and the last thing I remember

happening was the sensation of falling and that was it.

I groaned and squeezed my eyes together, I felt groggy

and unwell, as if my whole body was aching and

breathing became a chore.

“Good morning Mr. Morris.” A man’s voice comes

shooting through the front door. “Happy to see you

finally awake.” Dr. Spivak walked in with a long white

lab coat along with a warm smile. He walked towards

me and started telling me what happened. “It seems

that your Tuberculosis has spread to your medullae,

the nerve on the back of your neck that controls

balance.” He paused and my heart skipped a beat. “It

seems you fell on hard rocks when the infection set in,

and suffered an internal hemorrhage, you’ve been past

out every since.” Dr. Spivak looked at me and waited

for a response, but got none.

61 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Chance

He walked out eventually with Angie and I was left

with Joseph in the room. I could hardly move, I laid

in bed with a pillow elevating my head, thinking

about life and how it might end soon. I turned over to

Joseph, who was reading a book.

“Do you think I’ll survive?” I said.

“You know Terrance from tent behind ours?

He just died today.” Joseph said.

“What?” Once again, I wondered why would

someone say something like that.

“Yep. he just died, and can’t you see that

you’re still lucky to be here?” Joseph said in a low,

serious tone, and I understood what he meant.

“I’m still here...” I said to myself, and I looked

out the window. Wondering if the beginning of the

end might soon arrive.

How was Beth? I didn’t know either, she must

probably be mad at me for not showing up. I don’t

know what to do. It’s as if I took a leap of faith and

as I tried to jump a bullet knocks me out of the sky. I

don’t know what to do with my life.

I’m still here,I’m still here…

65 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Hope

Hope

Angie had been by a few times today and had brought

me a stack of letters and placed them on my desk.

I’ve been feeling better lately, walking has become

a possibility again as the infection to my nerves

subsided with the aide of modern medicine. Although

I haven’t seen Beth for a week or so, since last week.

I waited last Sunday, all morning too, but to no avail,

Beth didn’t show.

It was the night time, the silence was still, the moon

was high in the sky and the stars sprinkled the black

canvas and illuminated the night. I was just thinking

about my father’s letter today. “Dear son” it started

with those words, I read the entire letter and I couldn’t

help but read it in a way that my father would have.

In the letter, he told me the family was well but we

weren’t doing so well financially. He mentioned that

he might soon withdraw from the board of trustees as

the Montefiore Lodge was suffering immensely

and required some financial aid from the members.


Father was expected to a pay a sum he doubts he can

scrape together. Reading the letter line for line just

made me grow more worried about my mother

and Enis.

I picked up the letter from my father on my night table

and started to read again. Everytime my father had

mentioned Enis or mother in the letter I could imagine

their smiles on a summer day, and thinking about how

happy they are and how I cannot let that go.

FWHATP, a rock hit my window.

FWHATPit happened again. I raised

my head from the letter to see what was going on, and

a dark silhouette stood behind the fence that my tent

was facing. It was a girl. Once again I slipped into

my slippers and put on a shirt as I walked out into the

mid-summer night. I walked towards the silhouette

in a curious but cautious manner. “Who is it?” I said

as I tried to approach it, “Me, silly.” a voice pierced

through the warm summer-night air.


It was Beth, glassy blue eyes, silky blonde hair and

all. She was behind the fence hurling rocks at my

window. “What are you doing here? you’re not

allowed here.” I said with a soft voice. The darkness

of the night covered my tracks, and it seems the

groundskeeper hasn’t been doing her rounds tonight.

“I’ve come to see you, FFFFred, I heard about what

happened to you, Tabatha told me the sad news.” she

said with a whiff of spunk. “I’m sorry, but look on the

bright side, you’re alive!”

“I may be alive” I said. “But I barely feel like living.”

my head was held down as I talked to her through the

chain link fence. “Here, come this way” she said as

she led me down the chain link fence. “Come through

here” she said. There was a small, narrow hole in the

chain link fence that lead to the outside. It had been

in a dark corner of a compound behind a tree, but it

seems Beth knew about it. “I found this the other day.”

she said with a grin on her face.

“I shouldn’t be doing this” I thought to myself,

but Beth’s grin had convinced me otherwise, her

sweetness had captured my heart and warmed it from


the icy cold depths it had been residing it. “Where

have you been?” I asked “No one has seen you

around.”

“That’s not true,” she replied, as we stood

awkwardly on the outside of the Sanatorium, near the

fence. “Tabatha saw me at The Mug the other day.”

“Tabatha? that mean witch?” I replied with a

small chuckle.

“Yes, Tabatha, she’s just misunderstood, she’s

actually quite nice.” she said. “I’ve been quite busy,

grim times are amongst us.”

“How is it grim for you?”

“My mother is sick, the doctors say it isn’t

looking good, and my father can’t run a bakery by

himself.” she uttered “She has been sick for about

years now, and soon she says she wants to go home

to die.” I looked into her eyes and I could tell that

she was close to tears. It seems that our unfortunate

fates have forced us to stare into the face of death and

wonder if life is a possibility.

I looked at her and said. “I know how you feel, but


you know what gives me hope?” I said. “Give me

one second, I’ll show you what gives me hope.” I ran

back to my tent and retrieved the snow globe from my

back pack, I sneaked quietly but surely back to Beth.

Maurice was snoring up a storm as I entered and left

the tent.

“Here” I handed the snow globe to her. “I’ve never

shown anyone this before, but I’d like to show it to

you.” she took the sphere from my hand, looked at it

for moment and shook it. “It’s beautiful.” she said, our

eyes locked for a second, “What does it mean?” she

said. My charming side took over, a part of me that

I’ve hardly seen in the past. “It stands for Romance,

spirit and Hope. Paris, the city of love. My dad gave

me that when I was younger, and told me stories

of the majestic Eiffel tower.” A veil of silence fell as

she simply stared into the snow globe as I’ve had

before. “Rendez-vouz a Paris. that’s what they say,

Lets meet in Paris.” We locked eyes once again, and

the intensity grew ten folds. I skipped a thought as I

pulled her in close, and in a moment we were locked

in a passionate hug, burning with desire and love and

understanding.


“Will you meet with me in Paris?” I said, as her eyes

locked in with mine. Our fatal attraction had worked

it’s magic. “Maybe one day.” she said.

We sat together and talked for hours about love, life

and the universe. We sat under the tree next to the

hole in the fence and watch as the stars reminded us

of the majesty of the world and our purpose in it. We

shared our secrets and told our stories, and as our

conversation ran deep into the night we parted ways.

“Take this snow globe.” I said “May it represent Hope

to you.” I handed her the sphere as she walked into

the dark, mysterious night.

73 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Return

Return

It’s been several months now since I’ve seen Beth,

mid October to be exact, the last I heard from her was

from a note on my desk along with a loaf of bread one

afternoon. She had been by that morning but once

again I found myself recuperating. She had left the

state and went back to Virginia to respect her mothers

wishes of dying back home. But somehow, knowing

that we spent that one night together fills my heart

with enough warmth to comfort myself, and hope that

she is fine.

My health has been getting much better, ever since

that encounter with Beth something shifted inside me.

It might have just been the way I looked at the world

or simply knowing there’s someone out there that

could love me, or at least maybe. The chest pains have

lighthen up and Dr. Spivak says that the Tuberculosis

might have already receeded from my nerve endings.

I’ve thought about Beth every night and can’t wait for


the day that she returns, I’m sure I’ll see her through

that fence again, one day.

I picked up the newspaper today, and spent much

of my time reading it at my desk in my little tent. It

seems that the world today is much more violent than

the world we used to know. On September 22nd,

1906 a racial riot took place in Atlanta, killing 27

people. Why does race have to be such a big deal?

Why do we scrutinize and hate without giving them a

chance? My faith in the human race dissolves slowly

as I think of the horrible things humans are capable

of doing. We can’t even treat our fellow men with

respect, people that live in the same country; that live

on the same food; that bleed if we poke them as if

we poked poked ourselves. I think that the world is in

a state of pain and suffering, and some one, anyone

needs to stand up and make a change.

Dr. Spivak had walked in as I finished read the

newspaper. “Mr. Morris.” He said “I have good news,

your father has requested your discharged and return

to Des Moines. I told him that you have been doing

just fine, though it was rocky at the start. It seems

75 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Return

here that the tuberculosis seems to be under control.

As long as you take your medicines you should be

fine to leave JCRS.” My eyes opened wide, and I

couldn’t help but jump out of my chair with joy. I

shook Dr. Spivak’s hand “thank you, thank you.” I

said, repeatedly, with tears flowing down my cheeks.

I can’t believe that I might stand a chance against this

horrible disease. My life may go back to normal.

“Though, I would like you to take one for physical

examination before you leave, we’ll send you the

results in the mail as soon as we have it, but for now,

your father urgently requests your return.” Dr. Spivak

said as he walked out and i’m left a grin on my face.

And I wave goodbye to Denver;I waved goodbye to…

79 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Home

Home

It had been a long, lonesome ride on the train as I

thought about my return to Iowa. Would everything

go back to normal now? Would life really revert back

to the way it was before? I looked at the mountains in

the distance slowly faded into the past. Tree by tree

I was getting closer to seeing my family once again.

I closed my eyes as I slowly drifted off to a solemn

dream.

Before I knew it I was back at the Union Station in

Des Moines. I walked out the front door and the first

face I see is Dad with a big grin and eyes wide open.

He was wearing a long coat with a black fedora, I ran

into his arms immediately. “I missed you Dad” I said

as he embraced his boy in his arms. I could tell he

was relieved that I came home fine. I looked at him,

he put his arms around my shoulder and said “lets go

home son.” We drove home in our Columbia Electric

Roundabout which my dad bought a few years ago

for the sake of a fad. “It commands respect” my father


said, assuming respect came packaged along with

with a fancy new electric vehicle. I think otherwise.

“Son, I need to talk to you about something” he said

in a fatherly voice. “The family has been struggling

with money lately, the lodge is suffering and we’re not

doing too well.” a depressive tone followed the stream

of his voice. “I need you to do something.” We stared

at each other for a second, he looked at me from the

corner of his eye. “I need you to marry a girl.” he said,

without any hesitation. “There’s a girl named Victoria,

her father owns a winery not too far from here, her

father is also part of the board of trustees, and I think

you guys might get along.”

“Marriage?” I said, with a slightly aggressive tone.

“I’m not ready for marriage, and that doesn’t even

include the fact that she might not be the one I want

to love for the rest of my life.” I couldn’t believe his

pertinence. “You haven’t even met her” he said, trying

to argue his case.

I shook my head from side to side and looked out on

the wide open pastures slightly outside of De Moines,

81 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Home

it looked calm and solemn, a heavy mood came over

us as silence became the main theme of the car ride

once again.

When we got back home, I took took my bags and got

out of the car trying not to look at my Dad. “You owe

the family this.” he said, I furiously ignored him and

rampaged through the door.

“And son, this is the only hope, you need to do this.”

he said as his slowly faded into the background.

83 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Date

Date

Her face is intolerable, rough and full of freckles and

sores. She’s quite plump along with a huge nose that

doesn’t fit her face. She resembled something like a

disfigured raccoon. Victoria wasn’t a sight to behold,

in fact she was a sight that I really did not enjoy

looking at. It didn’t compare to a Summers day nor

a rose, in fact she could be quite scary in the right

light. Her attitude was horrendous, she wouldn’t

take no for an answer and was very rude when I

suggested something, she would put it down and then

decline it. She was very frazzled, always constantly

moving, touching things (even things I don’t find quite

appropriate.) I didn’t like her, at all.

She returned from the toilet as I sat at the table trying

to finish my food before she came back. “My dear,

you eat really slow” she said with a snarky voice. “I’m

already done and you’re still halfway there.” I looked

at her in disbelief.


The dinner ended soon enough, and I had sent her

home in our Columbia Electric Runabout and saw

her off. She tried to kiss me but I dodged it within a

moments notice. “I’m not ready yet” I said as I hastily

drove away. She looked dumbfounded and confused

as I tried to run from the Harpy.

“Father, I’m not marrying that Witch.” I said “I don’t

like her, not one bit.” he was pouring some whisky

into a glass as I complained with utter passion. “She’s

cruel, ugly and unkind, I cannot spend my life with

such a woman.”

He looked at me with glass in hand. “Son, I’ve pulled

all my strings to save your life, you respect what I’ve

done for you and do this for the family, otherwise we

will be financially screwed and we would have to

sell the house.” I looked at him, and I knew I couldn’t

convince him that this wasn’t for me. I ran up to my

room in disbelief, what do I do, I can’t do anything.

Victoria would only bring me dark days in the future

and I’m not ready for that. I sat on my bed and

pondered the idea of giving away my life to such a

female. On my table lied a couple of letters addressed

85 The Melacholic Life of Fred Morris Date

to me, I went and shuffled through the stack and

found an envelope from JCRS - it must be my results.

I opened it carefully, intense and unconfidently, as I

know that I might not be as well as I thought when I

left. The coughs have been coming back and as every

passes, it gets increasingly harder to breathe. I pulled

out the piece of paper and my eyes grew wide open.

Dear Mr. Morris,

I’m sorry to report that the pulmonary

tuberculosis has become active again and has

occupied a large portion of your right lung. We advise

that you obtain help immediately or return to JCRS for

emergency care.

Secretary.

I must have stared at the piece of paper for half an

hour. I stared and it and there lied my future: death. I


sat and contemplated for a little while, I looked at the

piece of paper as tears started to collect on the bottom

of my eyelids. My face was motionless, stunned in

disbelief of the misfortunate fate that I had come

across.

I don’t want to live anymore, I’m not going to live. I

can’t go through the pain like this, I can’t go back to

the hospital and dread those lonely days once again.

I cannot marry Victoria and her prissy attitude, I can’t

do this.


Plunge Into Darkness

I packed my bag, one by one I placed my valuables in

it. “Only the necessities!” I said, but I ignored myself

and packed some sentiments along with my clothes. I

threw in a few more things and strapped it around my

shoulders and looked into my dresser mirror.

“This is it Fred.” I said, staring at myself, piercing into

my own soul. I’m half the man I used to be, all that

stood before me was a shell of man, empty, sorrowed,

hurt. I took deep breath, and I placed my foot outside

my bedside window and I was on the roof, I stared

upon the dark horizon, nothing but a stretch of stars in

the deep black sky.

I jumped to the ground with a series of boxes and

barrel’s father had placed in the backyard. I looked

into the darkness, I stared it right and deep, and I

began to run, and run and plunge into darkness…


The iron-gray haired woman stood on the edge of

second floor of the Eiffel tower. As she looked upon

the city she saw the endless possibilities that lied

in nooks and crannies of the most romantic city

on earth. The boulevards were filled with people,

bustling, noisy. The tender Paris winds grazes her

face as it reminds her for a second of the old love she

once had. She holds up a snow globe next to her face

and peers through it’s shiny surface. “Rendez-vouz a

Paris.” she said, she closed her eyes and gasped for

one final breathe of air, as her soul found peace...

ColophonTitle: The Melancholic life of Fred MorrisDesigner: ©2012 Ian Tan

CreditsFred Morris#216

Documents and Photography Courtesy of:JCRS Collection, Beck ArchivesSpecial Collection,Penrose Library andCenter for Judaic Studies,University of Denver

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PaperSpring Hill 24lb Text Weight Natural White

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