It was a raw rainy kind of Saturday afternoon in the early spring of 1976 in Wakefield Rhode Island when I first met Mark Walstead.
I enjoyed going to Harold’s Book Store, a store in town for used books. Harold had converted an old three story house on Main Street into his used-book store. On that Saturday I had gone up to the second floor where the military history book section was located. I loved reading military history; and, by that time in my life, I had acquired a nice collection of military history books.
As I was looking through the titles, a rather large man entered the room. He too started looking through the books. He probably was a little taller than six feet, a little overweight and looked like he was a bum off the street. His hair was long and bushy, his clothes were in very bad shape and badly stained, and his coat was torn in some spots. He looked like he had not shaven in several days. As I looked through the books, he came closer to where I was standing. I asked him if he liked military history. Without looking at me he said that he loved military history and that he had read many books on the subject.
I told him that I was in the military and had enjoyed reading military history most of my life. He asked what books I had read, and I mentioned some of the titles that came to mind. He said he had read the same books. I was a bit surprised by that, and I was not sure if I believed him. As we moved through the stacks of books, he started to become physically agitated and said that he planned to kill himself.
I looked at him, and his eyes told me he was serious. I asked why would he do that, and he said he was depressed about his life and had nothing to really live for. I asked him if he had eaten lunch; and, when he said no, I asked if he would like to go to lunch with me.
Mark did not have a car. He had walked to Harold’s Book Store from his small apartment in an old tenement house up the street. As he got into my car, I thought to myself I had better be careful, because he was a big guy, and I had no idea what he might do. As we drove away from town up Kenyon Avenue, I stopped at my house and told my wife I met a guy who needed help and that I was going to take him to lunch. My wife understood and simply said to be careful and get back as soon as I could.
I took Mark to a little restaurant in the next little town of Wickford RI. We ordered a lunch, and he ate a large amount of food as we sat there not saying too much of anything. He did tell me that he had been a college professor of physics before he had a heart attack and lost his job. He said that he sold used books at the Wickford flea market. He said he loved books and had a collection of old books.
As we sat there, he seemed to calm down, and I relaxed. The waitress brought me the bill which I was getting ready to pay when suddenly Mark stood up and in a very loud voice started to rave about how badly he had been treated and how evil people were. He could not be quieted down by me, so I put a $20 bill on the table and pushed, shoved him toward the door. He cooperated in leaving the restaurant. Once outside he settled down and became quiet.
I asked what had caused the outburst, and he mumbled something about not being understood or appreciated and how unfair that he lost his teaching job. He got back in the car with me, and I said I would be happy to take him to his home. He told me about his apartment on Main Street, and I drove him home.
He never commented on his lunch nor did he say much as I drove him home. As I dropped him off I asked if he was going to be ok. He said he’d be ok. I said that if he wanted to he could stop by my house up on Kenyon Avenue and visit some time. It would be about a mile walk for him. He did not say if he would come by, he just turned and walked toward his apartment.
When I got back home, I told my wife Jean about the incident and my impressions of Mark. At that time I was in the last year of a three year ROTC instructor assignment at the University of Rhode Island. My wife and I had four children, three boys and a girl ranging in ages from 10 to 5 years old.
Several days after that first meeting, as we were finishing dinner, one of the children noticed that someone was standing at the front door. The top half of the door was glass, and I could see someone standing there. He had not knocked nor had he rang the doorbell.
It was Mark. When I opened the door I greeted him and asked if he would like to come in for a visit. He said he would like that, so I brought him in. As we came in I asked if he had eaten supper yet, and he said no. He came into the kitchen where we had a small dinette table and just sat down. My wife asked if she could fix him a plate of food, and he said yes. The children went into the other rooms and stayed out of the kitchen. Mark ate like he had been very hungry, and he did not say anything while he ate. I just sat there with him, and Jean busied herself cleaning up the kitchen.
After he ate I asked if he knew how to play chess. He smiled and said he did and that he loved the game. I asked if he would like to play a game before he left to go home, and he eagerly accepted the invitation. The two of us went into the dining room where I set up the chess board on the table. I said I was going to have a small glass of brandy and asked if he would like one also. He thought that would be nice.
For the next hour or so, he and I played chess, drank some brandy and talked. I quickly became aware that he was brilliant. There did not seem to be a subject I could bring up that he did not know a great deal about. I had been a helicopter pilot for two tours in Vietnam, and I had recently completed a master’s degree in Sociology at URI. Mark was fully conversant in any subject I brought up from flying, to the Vietnam War, Sociology and military history. He could almost quote chapter and verse from the many books he had read on each subject.
Over the coming weeks and months, we never knew when Mark would show up, but the routine was always the same. He stood at the front door until someone noticed him, and he was invited in. He would go directly to the kitchen table and sit down. Jean would prepare a meal from whatever she had available. I would sit with him waiting for him to finish, then we would go into the dining room to play chess.
Mark often carried a stack of loose papers with him; and, from time to time during the chess game or in the middle of a conversation, he would simply stop and start writing furiously on his papers. It was always some elaborate mathematical formulations as he muttered to himself. He did not explain it to me; and, when he finished writing, he went back to the chess game or continued the conversation.
Over the months I learned that Mark had a PhD in Physics, and he was always working on what he called his “Mini-body” theory, a unified theory of time-space integration. It was expressed in mathematical formulas that I did not understand. He never tried to simplify it for me; he just moved on whenever that subject came up. I also learned that he had written a significant amount of fiction and had produced a draft trilogy fiction work that was part science fiction, mysticism, and military and political history. The manuscript was typed in single space; and, as far as I know, there was only one copy. Mark left the manuscript with me one day and allowed me to read it.
His main character was a warrior named Hakon who evolves in the trilogy from a warrior soldier to a great king. The books take you through Hakon’s many adventures and his intellectual, spiritual, and emotional growth. Early in the journey Hakon joins with his great mentor and adviser Bonnet. Throughout the story the intellectual, emotional and spiritual growth of Hakon is developed. The character of Bonnet also grows into a more “street savvy” man who finally finds his own growth in a relationship with a woman, something he had never experienced before.
The story had many links to historical events and a fair amount of mysticism, science fiction, and magic. I enjoyed reading the draft manuscript which was long and a bit difficult to follow with the many characters being developed in the story line. While I thought of Mark as one of the most brilliant men I had ever met, his writing of fiction could have benefited from a good editor.
Over the months Mark became very comfortable with me. He seemed to have real difficulty relating to other people, especially women. He was a man in his early 50’s when I met him, but there was no evidence that he had been married or even had female friends or acquaintances. I learned that he had a sister living in Seattle Washington, but he indicated that there was no real relationship with her. I did not pry into his past or private life. Mostly I listened to whatever he was willing to reveal about himself.
In the late summer of 1977, I entered the Naval War College as an Army major. I had been selected to attend the Naval War College in Newport Rhode Island in lieu of attending the Army Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth Kansas. I was very pleased because it meant that we could continue to live in our Wakefield home for another year, and I could commute to Newport daily.
The academic curriculum was based on a three semester schedule. The first semester was “Strategy and Policy”; the second semester was “Naval Operations,” and the third semester was “Decision Process” which was like an executive version of the Harvard MBA program. The course work was very rigorous requiring extensive reading and the submission of many papers not to mention examinations and seminar work. At the beginning of the program, each student was given a rather complete library of more than fifty books and numerous professional papers to be read throughout our course work.
Throughout my year at the War College, I remained friends with Mark. He became a regular visitor to our home, and he became more comfortable with all of us. My wife Jean commented that through most of our relationship Mark never spoke directly to her; she believed he might be socially impaired to some degree. I believe Mark was a savant in some aspects of his personality.
No matter what area I was studying at the War College, Mark could engage me with great depth of knowledge and provide critique to my ideas and thinking. I was continually amazed at the level of detail he could pull up with precise references and quotes from a wide array of books.
At some point he allowed me into his apartment briefly, and I was a bit shocked at what I saw. The several rooms were all filled with books which were stacked floor to ceiling and so numerous it was difficult to move around in the room. Everything was disheveled without any clear evidence of how he lived in the space he had. He told me that the books he had there were mostly his collection of rare books which he did not want to sell. He earned a meager living by selling books at the Flea Market in Wickford where he had a little stall along with other vendors.
Mark’s personal hygiene always seemed poor, and his clothing always looked tattered and stained. His shoes had holes in them, and there were usually food stains on his shirts and jackets.
At some point in the late fall of 1977, Jean and I decided we would try to help Mark with his appearance. I went with him, and we purchased some new clothing to include shirts, pants, suit coat, underwear, ties and shoes. He seemed very pleased; and thereafter, he wore his new clothes, cleaned himself up with a haircut and started shaving on a regular basis. Our chess games became a time of deep conversation and often laughter. Sometimes the glass of brandy would expand to a glass of bourbon or even some wine. I think during this time the children were more aware of his presence in our house, and Jean was more included in the conversations.
Jean and I agreed that whenever Mark showed up we would make every effort to accommodate his visit even if it meant cancelling some plans. We also agreed that if we were gone and there was a babysitter with the children, she was not to let Mark in. That never became a problem.
Mark joined us for a family visit on Christmas day 1977 at one of Jean’s sisters who lived in Lincoln RI. Originally, we had invited Mark to join us for Christmas, and he agreed. When Jean’s sister and her husband invited us to their home and graciously included Mark in the invitation, we decided not to tell Mark until Christmas day, out of concern that he would decide not to come. Mark arrived on time, dressed for the occasion, and carrying gifts for Jean and me. Mark gave Jean the 1904 White House Cookbook, and I received a large book on the South African Boar War. Both books were wrapped in newspaper. Jean and I were immensely pleased with the gifts.
At the home of Jean’s sister, we were joined for the day’s festivities by three of Jean’s aunts. Two of them had been Catholic nuns for most of their lives; and, after leaving the religious order, they became elementary school teachers. The third aunt was never married. One of the aunts, Florence, was a jovial fun-loving person who had been a Catholic nun for more than 30 years. Florence, sometimes referred to affectionately as “Flossie,” loved to play games and involve everyone in whatever event she was doing. After dinner we were all sitting in the living room, and Florence decided to liven up the group by blowing up some balloons and getting the children and the men to bounce on the balloons on the floor until they popped. The children immediately got into it with most of the adults holding back. Mark, sitting quietly in a chair, became a target for Florence and a challenge for her to get him out of the chair and bouncing on balloons with the children. She was aggressive and insistent, and I was a bit concerned with how Mark would respond. To everyone’s amazement, he got out of the chair, and with much noise and laughter started bouncing on the balloons breaking them with great delight. It was the first time I had seen him laughing heartily and enjoying himself so much.
After the day’s events were over, we headed home with our four children and Mark. At this point, Mark seemed completely comfortable with all of us including the children. As we drove along, Mark started telling silly little stories to the children which brought squeals of laughter from the children. After each little story the children would ask Mark if the story was true; and, with great flair, he would say, “Absolutely! And if it wasn’t, it should have been.” Later in the trip, Mark started to recite poetry. We were all amazed as he went on for long periods reciting various poems from memory. Some were famous, but some we had never heard before. He was totally relishing the attention he was getting from all of us. Jean and I both believed that that event was a major turning point for Mark in his personal growth and in his relationship with us. His visits to our home became pleasant visits with easy conversations and occasional laughter.
Toward the end of my War College experience, the College put on a social event called the “Gayeties” in which the students put on small plays and spoofed the faculty in humor and sometimes biting sarcasm. The event, an evening event held in a large auditorium at the College, was a “must attend” for all the students. Acceptable dress was suit and tie.
Jean had a commitment that night and was unable to go with me. Furthermore, her commitment required her to take our car which left me with our brand new 28 foot SouthWind Class A motorhome which we had just purchased. I was on orders for an assignment to Alaska, and we thought it would be a great way to see the country and to drive the Alcan Highway to Alaska.
As I was preparing to leave in the motorhome, Mark showed up at our front door. Jean was heading out and, of course, with me gone and the children with a babysitter, there was no way he could stay at the house. I explained to him that I had to go to an important social event at the War College and would not be able to stay. He looked at me with a very disappointed look. I thought about it for a minute and said that I was taking the motorhome and that if he wanted to come along, he could just stay in the motorhome while I was at the event, and we would just drive back afterwards. He got a big smile on his face and said he would love to come along so he climbed into the big captain’s passenger chair, and we headed out. He was delighted to be in the vehicle and would bounce up and down a little in the big chair saying what an amazing machine and what fun it was to be riding in it.
I explained to him that the event was a dress-up affair, and everyone had to have a ticket to get in. He said that was fine, and he would just wait for me to come back. He was not dressed up at all and looked more like a street person than he usually looked. When we arrived, I said I would get back when I could. As I went into the large reception area outside the auditorium, I was thinking maybe I could ask if there were any remaining tickets, knowing that it was sold out and I would be told none were available. That would suit me fine and kind of soothe my conscience about leaving Mark out in the motorhome.
As I approached the ticket desk with my ticket in hand, I casually asked if there were any tickets still available. The lady at the desk looked down saying “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any left.” Happy me. Then she moved a piece of paper; and, with a big smile, said “yes, there is one left.” I was a bit shocked, but I had been called - so to speak - on my little conscience-soothing mental game. I bought the ticket and thanked her.
I went back out to the motorhome and told Mark I had an extra ticket if he wanted to join me. He immediately bounded out of the seat with a big smile and said “yes.” So we headed back to the auditorium for the event. Because we were coming in a little late, I was hoping we could simply slide into a back row and then leave before it was over without being noticed by any of my friends or any of the faculty who knew me.
All went well, and Mark laughed heartily at the humor of the show; I relaxed and also enjoyed it. Suddenly, the lights came on, and intermission was announced with an invitation for all to gather in the large foyer area for a reception with light food and drinks. I was shocked. I quickly got up and exited the theater leaving Mark somewhere behind me but definitely not with me. I was embarrassed to be seen with my friend. I was afraid of what my friends would think of me with this unkempt, disheveled looking man.
As the crowd poured out of the auditorium, I moved to a far corner of the room and grabbed a little food and a glass of wine. There was loud conversation and laughter, and I lost track of where Mark had gone. After a while I started drifting through the crowd looking to see if I could find Mark, hopefully just before we had to go back in. As I moved through the folks standing around, I noticed in the corner of the room there was a rather large crowd of folks standing in a circle with more people joining them. I recognized some of our top faculty members; and, as I got closer to the group, I recognized Mark standing in the middle of the group with a drink in his hand laughing and answering questions as fast as the faculty members could fire them at him. He was completely in his intellectual element, and I realized that he probably knew more than any one standing around him and could certainly answer any question thrown at him.
After about fifteen minutes, the lights flashed and people started moving back to the auditorium. I saw several professors going up to shake Mark’s hand and thanking him for the lively discussion. I went back to my seat, and Mark joined me shortly saying what a grand time he was having and what interesting people he had met.
As it became clear the event was ending, I told Mark we had to leave because we had to get back to let the babysitter go home. He was fine with that, so we left. On the ride back, he thanked me any number of times for bringing him along and getting a ticket for him. He was unaware that I was chiding myself for being so ashamed of how he looked that I was embarrassed to be with him.
We got back to Wakefield, and I dropped him off in front of his apartment building. Later that night I told Jean the story and told her how bad I felt that I was so embarrassed by how Mark looked I had rejected him as my friend at the event. It was an interesting life lesson for me.
As the College year ended and I graduated, we were in full effort to prepare to move. Mark was in a much better place in so many ways. He said he wanted to get back to teaching even if it was as a part-time adjunct. Jean and I decided that there was no chance for him without a car and more professional clothes, so we gave him funds to get a used car and more clothes, which he appreciated and thanked us for. It was a sad time leaving him with all kinds of promises to stay in touch. He announced that he had secured a part-time teaching position with the University of Massachusetts extension in New Bedford. We were happy and thankful to see him get back on his feet again. We promised to stay in touch. He said he might try to reach his sister in Seattle Washington. We thought that was a great idea. He also had a friend at the Wickford Flea Market on whom he could rely. We left Rhode Island in July 1978, and my orders were changed to an assignment in Hawaii.
Before Christmas that year, Jean bought a coffee mug with the name Mark on it in Hawaiian and mailed it to the address we had for him. A month later it was returned as undeliverable. The following summer we made a trip back to RI for a family wedding. While there, I went to the Wickford Flea Market and found the man who had known Mark and worked in the stall right beside the one Mark had occupied. He told me that Mark had died of a heart attack probably on Halloween, and his body had not been discovered for a week. Mark’s sister was notified and apparently she came out to dispose of Mark’s belongings. The friend told me that she had all his books taken to the trash, and any writings he had done were all lost. I was heartsick.
Throughout our life since that time Jean and I along with our children have remembered Mark and told the stories we remembered. I was thankful to know him. He taught me a lot, and I will never forget him. He probably was the most intelligent person I have ever known. It is a shame that his writings were all lost. His trilogy about Hakon exists only in my memory now.