Above: This photograph, probably one of the last taken, dates from 1888, when Joseph Merrick still had about two years to live.
When I look at this photograph of Joseph Merrick, I start to cry. It is because of what I see.
I see a man afflicted so horribly that he could not possibly have ever lived any kind of life that anyone could call normal. Or happy. Or one filled with loving friends and family members to consistently, or even occasionally, affirm the priceless value of his being. I see a man who could not enjoy even simple pleasures such as taking a walk on a nice day. A man who did not court a lovely young lady, marry, and have children to call him “Daddy.” A young man named Joseph who heard himself introduced as “The Elephant Man! Part Human, Part Elephant!” and then heard with his own ears the shrieks and screams of women, gasps, and scorning remarks made by those who viewed him on display as a freak.
They viewed him...
...but they didn't see him.
I see in this photograph a man who is humble in spirit. A man with eyes as gentle as dove's eyes. A man of such courage as it could never be explained. A man deserving of more love than many people I have encountered. I see a man who so endured, when others, including I, would have fainted for much lesser ills. I notice that Joseph's left arm, which was normal, mystifyingly untouched by his illness, has become less fleshy - it appears so scrawny and withered and aged compared to how it appeared just a couple of years prior. I see a Joseph who will be leaving this realm not too far from the time this photograph was taken.
I see a man.
I see a boy.
I see Joseph.
