Years ago, I lived beside a pessimistic 70-year-old Irish man named Steve who told me he hadn’t had any friends since quitting his factory job 20 years earlier. The bowling league, pub visits and poker games had all withered. Steve sat on his porch all day.
Across the street was 70-year-old Werner. Weather permitting, Werner sat on a battered recliner he’d set up on his lawn. The two men stared at one another but rarely talked. When Steve collapsed on his porch, Werner watched as the ambulance crew tried to revive him. I went to Steve’s funeral, a subdued event (there were just four of us, including a priest who hadn’t met him), and thought about the nature of male relationships.
Steve and Werner are a handy metaphor for the kind of isolation that COVID-19 has visited upon many of us, an isolation that still lingers. Though we men were heading in that direction anyway: the
