One Telephone Many Lives
By Albert B. Kelly
Most people have never
heard of Bernard Mayes. I’d never heard of Bernard Mayes until I happened to be
scanning an old newspaper from October lying around on a table. The newspaper
was yellowed, but it was still readable and the obituary page caught my
attention.
It turns out that Bernard
Mayes was the person responsible for starting the first suicide prevention
hotline in the United States. According to a New York Times October 31st story
by William Yardley, Mayes started his hotline with a single red phone in the
Tenderloin District of San Francisco in 1961.
As I thought about it,
back in 1961 this probably didn’t seem like a big deal. It was one rotary phone
as heavy as bowling ball in some cramped office back during the “Mad Men” era
when people didn’t talk about suicide, let alone call a complete stranger for
help.
At the time, Mayes was a
priest and a correspondent for the BBC. The story doesn’t go into detail, but
apparently Mayes was troubled by the high number of suicides at the time and it
was enough to inspire him to try something.
Given the customs of that
day and the troubling subject of suicide, I would bet more than a few people
thought he was nuts to undertake such a thing. It’s not like today, where
numerous resources and medications exist to help those suffering from
depression.
Back in 1961, my guess is
that the subject of suicide and depression carried a certain stigma and many of
the people suffering back then were looked down on if the thing were known and if
not, they simply suffered in silence.
And the topic of suicide
being what it is, there’s no easing into the subject. Maybe that’s why Bernard
Mayes’ first ads for the hotline on the side of Frisco buses simply read;
“Thinking of ending it all? Call Bruce, PRI-0450, San Francisco Suicide
Prevention”.
“Bruce” was a pseudonym
that Mayes used when he first started out. According to the newspaper article,
the phone rang one time on the first night. Today, the hotline receives upwards
of 200 calls which are handled by 10 paid staff and approximately 100
volunteers.
Today, there are suicide
hotlines nation-wide. To give you a sense of whether or not the undertaking was
worth the effort, San Francisco’s suicide rate is half of what it was when
Mayes started back in 1961.
Bernard Mayes was 85
years-old when he passed away on October 23rd.
In his life he did a lot of things; as a priest, a correspondent at the
BBC, general manager of public television station, board member for National
Public Radio (NPR), and Assistant Dean at the University of Virginia to name a
few.
But perhaps the most
important thing he did was to see a need and then take action to meet it. We’ll
never how many lives he saved directly or indirectly by deciding to set up a
hotline with single red phone under the name “Bruce” in a seedy part of San
Francisco in 1961.
Mayes himself said in a
2012 interview; “I did feel that what was really needed was a compassionate
ear, someone to talk to. It occurred to me that we had to have some kind of
service which would offer unconditional listening and that I would be this
anonymous ear”.
Perhaps the key word there
is “unconditional”. Too many times, we put conditions on our help and kindness.
Often, we want the person on the receiving end to be worthy or to do more or to
be more than they can. It’s hard to be or do anything when you’re desperate and
shredded like cheese.
I share the story of
Bernard Mayes because he withheld judgment and by doing so, he shows me how one
person can make a difference for good. Here in our community, whether through a
house of worship or a program like Code Blue or something else; we can make
people’s lives better.
And when you get right
down to it, when our obituaries get written; it won’t be the money we’ve
earned, the romances we’ve had, the stuff we’ve owned, or the titles we’ve held
that will much matter. It will be what we’ve done to, in, and for the lives of
others. It’s the only residue that remains after we’re gone.