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Robert Emil Mahn was born on April 28, 1950. He was almost 30 when he died. Within the span of his short life, he positively and dramatically influenced the lives of more people, directly and indirectly, than most of us could ever hope to accomplish in a lifetime of biblical proportion. He was never aware of this power. It brought him no material gain, nor even physical comfort, especially in the final years of his life, when he suffered much, quietly and without question. God had chosen him for this purpose. His middle name was the given name of our father’s father. We called him “Bobby.” Although I was four years his senior, I didn’t know how special he was until I was 8 or 9 years old. We lived adjacent to the elementary school I attended. Our fenced-in backyard bordered a playground. Bobby was within the yard, running to feel the rush of the wind on his face, which he loved to do. A handful of older school kids were standing at the fence, seeking to taunt him, though Bobby was not responsive. I didn’t know why they were doing that and approached them. Bobby loved everybody and always grinned in genuine joy when in the presence of others. His unabashed happiness seemed to scare them. They called him a name, which, of course, he didn’t understand, nor did I at that time. “Hey, retard!” one shouted. “That’s my brother,” I told him, proudly, and perhaps with a challenge, for the mocking ceased and the boys went away. But I asked my parents that evening what the word meant. That’s when I learned that Bobby was different. He became even more special to me then, but I was too young to know how to express my feelings. I did not know what this meant and how his life would be limited. Now I realize how expansive and meaningful was his existence. It was wonderful, simple, and pure enjoyment to play with Bobby, and a great delight to watch him in the presence of my father. I’ve never seen more love than reflected in their eyes when in the presence of the other. My father was a quiet man, a Vanderbilt-graduate engineer, and a highly-decorated veteran of World War II, who had infinite patience and understanding with this most beloved child, the least able of his seven offspring. At that time, in the 1950’s, there were no special places for children like Bobby, who was severely retarded, incapable of speech, and unable to care for his physical needs. The public schools wouldn’t take him and had no staff trained to handle such a child. My parents, aided by a caring local physician, made contact with several other Chattanooga-area parents of children that were then termed, ‘mentally retarded.’ Together, they formed a private, non-profit organization that started the Orange Grove Center on East Main Street. My mother was a member of the Board of Directors for several years, then served as receptionist at the successor facility near Memorial Hospital in Chattanooga. The Orange Grove Center has maintained a nationally-recognized program for meeting the needs of this special population, both children and adults. My Dad was a founding member of a statewide association, the Parent Guardian Association, which encouraged then-Governor Frank Clement, a national progressive in the care of the disabled, and his successor, Buford Ellington, to reform the ‘insane asylums’ and recognize the special needs of these children and adults. This would not have occurred but for Bobby and many others like him, who had similar affect on their families and friends. Geneticists say that the ‘special needs’ child has a defect in the number of chromosomes, possessing one more than ‘normal’ humans. In recent years, I’ve come to believe children such as Bobby were the Adam and Eve in Eden. They had total purity and innocence. They had a limitless love that was unconditional, given to any living thing, and a boundless appreciation for color and the rich textures of creation. They were God’s chosen ones. Satan did not come as a snake, in my view, but as a mutation. The real genetic defect came in the birth of ‘normal’ children. Cain was the first to manifest the defect of normality, expressing it in murderous violence against his brother. He became the father of war and hatred and jealousy and all the other cardinal sins that have riven our world, plagued humanity, and threatened all of God’s creation. Now, the most threatened among us are those such as Bobby. They are hunted in the womb. They are more feared by mothers than terrorists. Their birth is deemed a threat and an unspeakable burden to their families. When Bobby lived, I could touch the face of God. I understand now why my father felt and showed so much love when he held Bobby in his arms. Though we now live in what is called the most advanced age in human history, I still wonder how far from Eden have we fallen?
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