A Beautiful Fractured Mind

Early in our Manhattan days my wife and I marveled at the Central Park Skate Dancers. Each weekend afternoon from spring to fall an eclectic group cordons off a paved skating circle near the bandstand and dances to the rhythms delivered by a DJ from among their ranks.

It was - likely still is - a lovely representation of humanity: Black, white, old, young, gay, straight, variously gendered and clothed from drab to preppy to athletic to funky.  The many regulars included Bladie, who arrived on a tricked-out oversized bicycle with streamers, pompoms and a very loud horn to announce his arrival.  Bladie, a Black man of indeterminate age, wore bloomer pants and garish colors, a combination of James Brown and Grandma from the Big Apple circus.  

We gave nicknames to some of the regulars. Among the nicknamed was “Water Bottle Man,” an unlikely skate dancer - a tall, bespectacled, older man of uncommon grace who circled the rink with as many as three Nalgene- type water bottles balanced one atop the other on his head. 

On a Saturday afternoon in early summer I was skating my own loops on Central Park Drive when I happened upon Water Bottle Man headed to the skate dance. We skated in tandem for a while and I told him how much my wife and I enjoyed the dancers, he prominent among them. He introduced himself. “Bob.” I also shared that I had a loose idea of writing a whimsical book about what seemed a marvelous mix of folks from obviously different backgrounds, finding joy and commonality in gliding and twirling like one undulating organism. He liked the idea, but added that the core group was somewhat protective and I would need their assent to conduct interviews in order to confirm my sense of strong bonds formed across very diverse boundaries. We agreed to meet up at the dance circle after he’d run the idea by a few other skaters. 

I offered to send him a few columns I’d written so that he might trust my writing and my take on the world. He/they “approved” the concept, which never came to fruition, as my writing appetite often exceeds my actual capacity. 

And that begins a remarkable personal story.  Our chance encounter soon developed into a friendship. Despite his eccentric weekend performing, he was rather ordinary - or so it seemed.  He was very bright and engaging. We shared interests in music and politics among other things. When he learned that I was the head of the highly progressive Calhoun School, he asked if we might tour the school and have lunch.  We did. 

As we walked through the school I introduced him to various folks including our Upper School Director. Later in the afternoon, after Bob and I parted ways, the Upper School Director stopped me and asked/proclaimed, “Was that Robert Oxnam???.” I knew him as Bob, but answered, “Yes, why do you ask?” She was an avid Chinese scholar and knew Robert Oxnam as a leading international authority and author on Chinese history and culture. He had long been President of the highly prestigious Asia Society. His prominence and comprehensive knowledge were such that he led learning tours of China for Warren Buffet, Bill Gates and others. 

And he was, to her utter astonishment, a leading authority on skating with water bottles on his head. It is as unlikely a pair of attributes as I’ve ever known.

Our friendship persisted and we met three or four times a year at the same Thai restaurant near the school. When he learned that I was a violinist, he confessed to being a very enthusiastic amateur ‘cellist, or very amateur enthusiastic ‘cellist, he might say. Music became a particularly special connection.

At one of our lunches, he said, “I have something to tell you and something to give you. I wanted you to know before it becomes public.”  He handed me a small book titled, “A Fractured Mind: My Life With Multiple Personality Disorder,” with a warm note to me on the title page. The book was his first public acknowledgement of a lifelong struggle with dissociative identity disorder ((DID). DID is more commonly known as multiple personality disorder, To call this news and the book flabbergasting would be understated. Shortly after the book release, he was featured on 60 Minutes on CBS.

Multiple personality/DID is viewed skeptically by many people, so it was revelatory to find a case study of a man who had little to gain and, arguably, much to lose. He knew it would change his life and he largely withdrew from his prominent roles. But he wanted the world to listen and learn about a misunderstood and complex psychological phenomenon.

The revelation had no impact on our deepening, albeit occasional, friendship. He and his equally distinguished wife, Vishakha Desai, came to several chamber music performances in which I played, including a final celebratory program in my last year which featured several extraordinary young musicians who attended Calhoun and with whom I had the undeserved honor to play.

My wife and I saw Robert and Vishakha once more before we left New York, at an exhibit of his new passion, sculpture created from pieces of driftwood found on the beaches of Long Island Sound during his long, solitary walks.

Robert died on April 18. His obituary was on page one of the online New York Times. I encourage you to read it and, if so inclined, his remarkable book. My eyes rather surprisingly welled up when I read of his death even though we’d had no further contact and I hadn’t thought of hm often. What the obituary fails to capture was his extraordinary warmth and affection.

I found an old email address for Vishakha and sent a very brief note of condolence, expecting neither certain delivery nor response.

She wrote back quickly, to my surprise. “I know you had a special bond with Robert.” I did indeed.

The celebration of his life will be on the evening of September 9 at the Asia Society.  I hope some skate dancers attend. He’d like that.