Bill
Gooding: Piss on Pity
In the late 1970s, we opened the first “barrier-free” group home in
Vienna, VA, for 12 individuals with developmental disabilities. Six of them had
resided in state institutions due to lack of accessible housing and community
support. Many local politicians spoke at the grand opening of the home,
including Chuck Robb, who was Lyndon Johnson’s son-in-law and the Lieutenant
Governor for the Commonwealth of Virginia at the time. The home remains open to
this day, a testament that it’s much more difficult to undo a bad model rather
than create a good one.
One of the first residents of the home was a gentleman named Bill
Gooding. Bill used a motorized wheelchair due to cerebral palsy, but he was
sharp as a tack and quick with his tongue. Bill often mocked me, laughingly saying,
“You’re lying right there.” I can recall his chuckle like it was yesterday.
Bill had more spark than an electric scooter, and he commanded respect from
everyone. I slept overnight at the home several nights a week, and after Bill put
me to bed, he would lock up the place.
I was in my 20s and fresh out of graduate school from the University of
Virginia, where I’d been exposed to the teachings of Wolf Wolfensbarger and the
normalization principle. “The normalization principle
means making available to all people with disabilities patterns of life and
conditions of everyday living which are as close as possible to the regular
circumstances and ways of life or society.”
I naïvely
believed then, as I do now, that I could do anything I put my mind to, overcome
any barrier thrown my way. I passionately embraced the idea of supporting
people with developmental disabilities to live “normal,” contributing lives. That
meant, among other things, that I had to spend time on a Saturday night
listening to bluegrass music at O’Carroll’s Bar in Arlington with “residents”
and friends.
O’Carroll’s stayed open until 1995, and I can only hope it became
accessible after the passage of the American’s with Disabilities Act signed
into law by the elder George Bush in July 1990. But in 1978, my friend Frank
Hunter and I had to take Bill to an alleyway to piss, as he would inevitably
need to do after renting some beer at O’Carroll’s. Bill was happy to have
drinking buddies, and despite the indignity of his circumstance, he was a model
of dignity and self-respect.
Bill taught me to literally “piss on pity” and sometimes authority
figures. After about a year and too much pissing on authority, I moved on. Bill
stayed, and we lost touch with one another eventually. I hope he found his own
home, like he always wanted. Rumor had it he got a job as a courier for the
federal government. I wouldn’t put anything past him.
Thank you, Bill, for all the lessons about pity. A definition states
that pity is a cause for regret or disappointment. The only thing pitiful in
Bill’s life was the way society treated him.
Behind this good writer is a great editor; Mark Bloom. Learn more about Mark's talents at
Isn’t it a Pity: by George Harrison
Some things take so long
But how do I explain
When not too many people
Can see we're all the same
But how do I explain
When not too many people
Can see we're all the same
Isn't it a pity
Now, isn't it a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
Now, isn't it a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
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