May 21, 1998
D
Once, maybe.
The former Smith Barney stock analyst's sharp mind and blond, boyish looks could have gone well with monogrammed starched white shirts and Brooks Brothers suspenders.
But not anymore.
Life had other plans for the Wilkes-Barre resident, Bronx, N.Y., native, and graduate of Fordham University, where he was awarded a master's degree in financial management.
I never asked his age but guessed he was in his mid to late 30s.
Lower Manhattan is loaded with countless Leonard look-alikes who sip cocktails in cool bars as they discuss commodities, condos and trips abroad.
Leonard had been to Europe.
Last summer, he stopped me in Midtown Village and told me about spending several weeks traipsing rustic villages and continental cities, looking for family he never found.
Confusing as his story sounded, Leonard persisted in his narrative.
"I have pictures," he said. "Maybe we can get together and I can show them to you."
Stop by the paper, I told him, knowing he would.
Leonard had lots of free time and spent his days on the streets.
If you ever paid attention to him racing along the sidewalks of this city with his head down, you'd have noticed a determined look on his face. Wearing running shoes and clad in shorts in warm weather, Leonard pushed himself with the fire of a sportsman in training.
Calves the size of softballs made him look like a seasoned triathlete.
But, Leonard wasn't in good shape.
At least not mentally.
Unknown to the thousands of people who must have noticed him at some time or another, stress, paranoia and anger surged through his body and mind with all the urgency of a bull market.
I
I'm not sure how he landed in Wilkes-Barre, but the system had hooked him up with a counselor. Although no one is allowed to say how often he went for therapy, he didn't go often enough.
Like many troubled people, he scribbled deranged letters and tried to describe the demons that seethed inside his head.
Leonard called and wrote often.
But, when it came to documenting his personal illness, Leonard had a grand design.
Carrying a camera into supermarkets and drug stores, he shot dozens of pictures of unassuming people who suddenly found themselves in his sights. Untold people must have felt fear after encountering Leonard, who put them in his documentary of dementia without permission or remorse.
Cars also figured into his anxiety, and Leonard took many pictures of license plates.
The pictures proved that people were after him, Leonard said. All they really proved was just how unwell he really was.
Arranged and glued perfectly in a cheap yellow binder, each photo carried beneath it an explanation that Leonard had written. "Seth," a voice that lived in Leonard's head, figured prominently in several descriptions.
Seth could hurt people, he declared.
Leonard was not having fun.
A landlord remembers cleaning up after his former tenant who left an apartment filthy after becoming physically ill.
Recently, when the mental sickness overcame him, Leonard shot himself. Two weeks later, somebody found his remains in another Wilkes-Barre apartment.
Mental illness knows no boundaries.
More community-based clinics, more outreach and more trained social workers might not have saved Leonard, but better mental health care always makes a difference.
Caring is something in which more communities should invest.
Olaf's letter + More Corbett on Len: Guns (line 18), Death for Sale, Canada FAC.
Steve Corbett's column appears on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. Write to him at stevec@leader.net
