A Final Wave Goodbye

Lionel. When we first saw Lionel we didn't know his name, who he was, what he did or where he came from. All we knew is that he was an elderly man who sat in the lobby of his apartment building and waved to everyone who walked by. His perch was on our way to and from the tube station so we invariably saw and waved to him numerous times during the week. During much of our first year in this apartment he was mobile and would sit in a rather hard chair in his lobby for a few times and hours during the day. His chair broke, it was replaced and then a pillow showed up to make his task a bit more comfortable. One night we saw him making his way back from the Botanist and we liked to imagine that he went there for a nightcap, perhaps scotch, after his busy day of waving. He was always, always very nattily dressed. And not in a staid way, he would wear colorful ties with patterns in pinks, blues, greens, with a sport coat or three piece suit. He was always immaculately turned out for his job of waving to the neighborhood.

I think it was around Christmas last year when he disappeared. He wasn't in his chair, he wasn't waving and the lobby was empty. Finally there was a notice posted in the window saying he fell ill and was recuperating in a hospice and would welcome visitors. After a few weeks he returned. He was now in a wheel chair and obviously had suffered a stroke or something of that sort as he had some paralysis. But he still managed to come down to the lobby every day to wave, and still managed to be dressed to the nines, although sometimes his suits were covered by a large wool blanket. In his wheelchair he sat, slept, waved with one hand and continued his daily routine minus the trips to the Botanist. This continued for the spring and most of the summer. Anytime I didn't see him for a few days I got nervous, but he would most always show up one day, waving to me and to Riley as we passed by.

We returned from a weekend in France a couple weeks ago and he wasn't in the lobby the days after we got back. I got nervous but assumed he'd show up and wave soon. And then sadly, two weeks ago today another notice was posted in the window, this time informing the neighborhood that Lionel Walker Munro had passed away peacefully that morning. And the waves stopped for good. I immediately called Dave and told him and we both expressed our sadness that we'd never see him in his lobby again. Not long after the tributes started. A bunch of flowers in the lobby, then another, then another. At one point there were six or seven bouquets on the floor. An Olympic stuffed lion was also put out. And then the notes started covering the window. Notes from children, adults, shop workers from the area, shop owners, neighbors, strangers, all people who had enjoyed his waves for so long. His family put up a notice expressing their gratitude for all the support and love people were showing. It was and is (the notes are still in the window) such a touching thing to see. London feels so impersonal at times since it is such a huge and anonymous city. Yet here in Sloane Square people were drawn to a man who waved at them, who never talked to them, but who made it his job to connect to the people he saw everyday with a tiny bit of friendliness. Up until this point our area has never felt like a neighborhood since it is so transient and generally unfriendly, yet so many people appreciated what Lionel did and the neighborhood responded. This small area of London got to see him wave everyday and showed their appreciation once it stopped, together, in a neighborhood way.

I still look at the lobby every time I walk by, out of habit. I still don't know much or anything about him, but at least I know his name and can now thank Lionel for his friendly waves. I know I will always remember the man who dressed up to come downstairs to say hi to the people passing by.

Goodbye Lionel and thank you.