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B movie Poster

The theatrics of a 'B' movie can be likened to Alzheimer's patients.

Ken and I are from the era of double features, short subjects, news reels and cartoons: the old Hollywood when studios had the last say about which mega star was contracted for the lead role in the latest “Big” movie.  Other hopefuls were sent down to the “B” studios.   Those were the days of block-buster pictures with Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn, or John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara, and the low budgets with – who remembers.

Not only were the unknown actors soon forgotten (unless they became STARS), but so were the “B” movies.  However, a few of the ploys in the plot, seen time and time again, were snickeringly remembered.   Actually, a few have become legendary. The one I recall most vividly, used by the good guys as well as the bad guys, was a scene where a captured person stood with his hands high above his head facing in the direction of a door – opened or closed – it didn’t matter.  The guy holding the gun was in charge, and could either shoot his captive (bad guy), or handcuff him and cart him off to jail (good guy) depending on the script.

Sometimes, though, just as the final chip was down the captive would say something like, “Look out behind you!”  and the gun holder would glance behind him – just long enough for the captive to reach forward grab the gun and take charge.  Or, there was someone actually there to relieve the gun from the gun holder. The scene was used so often in “B” movies it became laughable.  That must be the part Ken remembers.

Dear Ben is so faithful in his caregiving duties, and Ken is usually so unappreciative. “Ben is your friend,” I croon as the three of us head for the shower.  “Him? He doesn’t know anything,” Ken replies.  “And you, you don’t know anything either.”

Before long Ken will slip into the imagined scene.  He looks at Ben and threatens, “You’ll get yours.  Just wait till my friends get here.”  Then he calls out through the open door.  “Get him guys,” or, looking at Ben, “Watch out behind you.”  I can’t help but giggle a little, telling Ken that people don’t fall for that line any more, but I know in his limited mind it makes sense to him. He can also take on a military roll: standing near attention he glowers at Ben and says, “You are dismissed.”  Never an officer I ask myself, “Where’s that coming from?” Probably some old movie he had seen before he met me.  Other times he’ll look directly at me, nod his head toward Ben and say, “Call the police.”

Or he can be very angry with me wondering who I am and why I keep bouncing in and out of his mind, he’ll request, “Hand me that ax, I’m going to whack off her foot.”  “Ouch!” I tell him.  “That’s not very nice of you to say things like that.”  Puzzled he responds, “What did I say?”  Like pushing the wrong button on my hand-held calculator all kinds of jumbled and incorrect numbers appear on the screen.  His mind seems to break down information and then scrambles it, sending thoughts and words in every which direction.

Ken’s Alzheimer’s is now very advanced, but I can sometimes read him through his eyes or changes in his facial expressions.  He can also be very cunning – liked a frightened, trapped animal.  So he doesn’t hurt any of us during clean up and shower time, his hands are temporarily restrained, but it is amazing how quickly he can “throw” an elbow into Ben’s or my ribs, get a knee high enough to make a definite impression in someone’s groin area, or bring up a foot for a well-placed kick.  Whether it’s a calculated plan or an instinctive defense I’ll probably never know.  “Whaaaaattttt?” he questions when caught in the act, followed by “I didn’t do anything.”  “You punched Ben with your elbow,” I tell him.  “I didn’t do that,” he insists, his eyes looking innocent.

Yet, there are times when Ben is helping him and he’ll take on a new roll and say, “I appreciate everything you do for me.  Thank you.”  That could be from any of Jimmy Stewart’s movies. Ben responds with a smile and says, “You are welcome, Sir.”  Good manners don’t last long.  Other times when Ben turns his back Ken will scrunch up his nose and stick out his tongue.  I’m surprised he doesn’t give him a loud, spit-filled raspberry to go with it.  Instead he’ll look over at me and wink as if he knew exactly what he was doing.  With Ken’s threats coming from the “B” movies, the niceties spoken by STARS such as Cary Grant, and  those naughty mannerisms are probably coming from his watching too many “Our Gang” comedies when he was a kid.  That favorite was later adapted to TV and became a beloved half hour for our kids after being edited and relabeled as “The Little Rascals.”

Of course we don’t know how much memory Alzheimer’s is covering when we observe parts and pieces of the past sneaking out through the tangles and plaques covering his brain.  It’s all such a puzzle with impossible pieces to fit together, but moments like this can make an interesting and funny happening.  That’s why we take comfort in learning to laugh at some of Alzheimer’s silly situations — so much better to laugh than cry.

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