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Steve Corbett
Thursday, February 03, 2000 Page: 3A
This region’s most prolific writer died last week.
In his role as an obscure commentator on the human condition, James Taylor
probably penned more words of observation than anyone in the Wyoming Valley.
Taylor, 72, was serving county prison time when he died of cancer after a
three-week stay at Wilkes-Barre General Hospital.
In many ways, the Korean War veteran died a political prisoner.
Held captive by a hard system that treats the mentally ill like criminals,
Taylor’s tortured existence highlights our descent as a caring community.
Taylor was a criminal, of course.
But just a minor one.
Mostly, Taylor was a sick, lonely man.
I first met him more than a decade ago after he had been hand-delivering
daily letters to this newspaper for about 10 years. The letters were too
confused to publish and wound up in the garbage.
I was impressed.
Anyone who spends the time to put pen to paper in an attempt to sort out
the madness deserves some attention.
But sometimes insanity wins.
In long, rambling essays that chronicled the life and times of this quiet,
singular man, “JT” reached out.
Not many responded
But few offered to help.
Thinking I was doing something right, the column I wrote about him
backfired. Instead of helping, my words seemed to compound his delusions.
Over the years, JT must have made 10,000 copies of that column. Adding his
own irrational notations, he distributed the sheets far and wide.
JT stuck them under windshield wipers or through the open windows of cars.
He mailed them to the governor and the president. He handed them out on the
street. Eventually he delivered them to the homes of people who work at this
newspaper.
I explained to JT that people who didn’t know him could easily
misunderstand his urge to express himself.
I told him I respected his creativity but that sometimes we writers are
misread. Sometimes we’re viewed as a pretty scary bunch, I said.
JT smiled and unintentionally kept scaring people.
He started showing up in the newspaper lobby.
At some point, JT went to jail because he refused to stay away.
Then, hundreds, maybe thousands, of letters arrived. Every envelope went
into the garbage.
Jailers would release JT and I’d welcome him on the corner with a handshake
and a smile. Stay out of the Times Leader, I’d say. I’m serious, I’d say.
JT would smile and head for the lobby.
And back behind bars he’d go.
Ex-convicts sometimes stopped me on the street to talk about JT and express
concern that he needed community mental health counseling instead of a cold,
bare cell.
Off and on, JT served about three years because of his obsession to
trespass.
Now his words have stopped.
I wish I could have done more. I wish my newspaper could have done
something. I wish somebody could have helped.
JT didn’t ask to get mentally ill.
All the words in the world won’t change that sorry fact of life.
Call Corbett at 829-7215 or e-mail stevec@leader.net.