Finding Manny – or – Just Rank and Serial Number Please

Last week started innocuously enough. The sun came up Monday Morning. The world twisted on Wednesday when the body was finally discovered, which led to Friday and a new tattoo.

Just to set the record straight, the tattoo was not inspired nor dedicated to Wednesday’s events. The idea for the tattoo had been in the subconscious for some time. Wednesday was, however, the catalyst that put that particular thought into motion. The tattoo is not integral to the story, other than as a quick side note to say that you never know where you’ll find the inspiration to act, even if it is death.

I really blame Tuesday for last week’s commotion. It was too reassuring, what with its loafers and no socks up on the desk with ankles crossed look as it said to me, ‘Relax. Yeah, you’ve got problems A through X, but right now they’re under control for the most part. You can run on autopilot for a while, let your guard down. Nothing wonky’s going to happen. Just put it in cruise control my brother.’ Which was the worst advice to listen to, but lulled by the prospect of a paint-by-numbers week I followed Tuesday’s advice. Tuesday, that lying sack of shit. It probably already knew that Manny had gone missing the day before and that the search was already on. Probably also knew (based solely on my opinion that Tuesday’s got a touch of precognition) that Wednesday was going to reveal the answer to that mystery. Fucking Tuesday.

The greater New Bedford area has a sizable Portuguese population. Anyone who’s gone to school in the area can easily rattle off a list of a dozen or so classmates surnamed Cabral, Costa, Mello / DeMello, Medeiros, et al. The Silvas, Silveiras, and Silvias have their own section in the phone book. Manny was born and raised in the area, went to high school and college there, moved a few times but always within the area. He worked at our local service center down there for 30 years. Just a coffee shop local kinda guy.

What I’ve been able to cobble together of Manny’s story so far (more on that later) goes like this: On Innocuous Monday Manny called in sick to work. Fucking Tuesday acted like a church mouse. Then came Wednesday.

The local service center got a call from Manny’s brother. He hadn’t heard from Manny in a couple of days, which to him was alarming, and so he called there trying to get in touch with him. They told the brother Manny’d called in sick Monday, which made the brother nervous, which in turn made the service center people nervous. People started making calls, asking friends and neighbors and co-workers, and as the day went on started assuming the worst. By mid-day no one had turned up anything. Until someone noticed his work truck was missing from the lot.

All our work vehicles now have GPS, so with just a few keystrokes they found where his vehicle was. A quick call to the police for an escort, you know, just in case something was in fact wonky, and the local supervisor set out to the location: a small electrical substation. The worst was now assumed, that Manny had had some sort of accident at work and gotten hurt, maybe even killed. The supervisor opened the substation door and there they found Manny, hanging from the rafters.

Turns out Manny had been separated from his wife for a while with a divorce on deck, which seems to be the impetus behind his suicide. There were probably other mitigating factors as well, but now no one will ever know what they were, or what it was that finally gave him the resolve to take his own life. It’s all just speculation from here on out.

Stories like this are always disturbing, even more so when it hits close to home. Having gone through a divorce myself I can fully relate on that level. This is not a memorial for Manny however. I never met the man, and despite my own feelings about suicide, I’m not here to judge him, nor to pay my respects, which I’ve already down in my own fashion. What really bothers me about the whole ordeal, the part I’m really here to take umbrage with, is the complete apathy at work regarding the situation. It’s now been six days since Manny’s body was discovered, and here’s what the company has said to us, its employees, regarding the situation: nothing. Not one word. Not that I expect them (the company) to go about trumpeting the fact that one of their employees killed himself, but for fuck’s sake, where’s the humanity here?

Not one word.

You can say all you want about how it could be a matter of respect in not speaking about it, but here’s the thing: everyone’s talking about it already. Just not in large groups. So what’s the difference then? Why not give us some word as to what actually happened, dispel some of the rumors that are flying around? Tell us something, anything, even if it’s just to say ‘Hey, something horrible happened, but he was a person and we acknowledge that.’ How about even just telling us when and where the memorial service is?

Not one word.

Most of the supervisors here people who’ve worked their way up the ranks, did the job that I do now. They understand the inherent danger of working with high voltage electricity and, more importantly, what it’s like to come to terms with death. The guy worked here for three decades. Doesn’t that mean anything?

And just so you don’t think I’m on a Cold and Impersonal Corporate World rant here, it’s not as if the Local has been any more forthcoming either. I’ve gotten a lot of tight lips and shrugged shoulders down that avenue as well. Either they really don’t know, don’t care to know, or are reluctant to share what they do know.

As adults, we’ve all thought about death, and had dealings with death in one way or another. Why then does this taboo persist that it should go unspoken about and left in a dark closet until we absolutely have to deal with it? Death is not romantic, and is often times ugly. But it has to and should be dealt with, and in an upfront manner. This social stigma which relegates death to confessional-style conversation does no one any good, and that includes children. To me, ignoring death as a part of life not only makes it harder to deal with when the time comes but dulls the appreciation we should all have for life. When did we all become so afraid of being human and dealing with emotion?

After I got home from work last night I found the obituary in an online newspaper. It simply said that Manny had passed away and that the funeral would be private. There was a memorial held last night as well, but I was too far away to make it in time. So as I’ve said I honored Manny in my own way, as a person who struggled with life, as we all do.

Fuck Tuesday right in it’s earhole. I got out there and lived today.