BrothersJudd Blog: HE SERVED US, BUT DID WE SERVE HIM?:

August 24, 2011

HE SERVED US, BUT DID WE SERVE HIM?:

He served 10 presidents, but died alone in squalor: What happened to Theodoric C. James? (Christian Davenport, August 13, 2011, Washington Post)

Education was always important to the James family. Theo James's grandfather is thought to have been the first African American doctor in Columbus, Miss., and his home is featured as an attraction on the city's conventions and visitors Web site. James's father, a brick mason, attended boarding school and Tuskegee University, according to Avee James, his sister-in-law.

When Theo James was a senior in high school, his family sent him to live with his aunt in the District, where they thought he could get a better education at Western High School -- now the Duke Ellington School of the Arts. After graduation, he attended Howard University, and in the early 1960s he started working part-time for the White House, filing documents. In 1970, he gained admission to Howard's medical school but attended for one year, deciding that his grandfather's profession was not for him. Instead, he took a full-time job with the White House in the Office of Records Management.

He worked his way up to the classification section, which handles "the more-important documents at the White House -- all the things the president sees, with some exceptions," said Phil Droege, the office's director.

That meant that during his career, James likely had an inner look at some of the most important moments in history: the civil rights movement, Watergate, Vietnam, Iran-Contra, the Sept. 11 attacks.

"Whenever we had new people or interns, everybody is busy here, but he would take the time to have a chat with them and tell them the history of this place," said Droege, who worked with James for 19 years. "He lived a good chunk of it."

James, known to close friends as "Sonny," was quiet and dignified. "Whether he was speaking to the president of the United States or the cleaning lady, he treated them with the same amount of respect and interest," Droege said.

He was so self-effacing that some of his neighbors had no idea that they were living near a man who worked in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, had met every president since Kennedy and had pored over some of the most sensitive material of their administrations. "He never talked about his job," said Bernadette Sykes, who for nearly 20 years lived two doors away from him.

Instead, he talked about philosophy and justice, current events and history. "It was never about what the weather was like," she said. "It was serious, and it would go on for half an hour."

James never married or, as far as Dobbins could tell, dated. A slight, skinny man and an early riser, he visited rare-book stores and collected books and magazines. He had little furniture, and the only television he owned was an old black-and-white set Dobbins gave him 25 years ago. Occasionally, he smoked a pipe while sitting on his porch.

In 2006, he was making $62,566 a year and would have built up a solid pension. He gave generously to Catholic Charities.

Evenings after work, he would sweep and rake in front of his home at 1208 Madison St. and then continue on, cleaning up the rest of the block. "We would tell the kids not to litter because Theo would have to clean it up," said Peggy Kennedy, another neighbor. "And then suddenly, he stopped. It was like he was a different person."

He started to withdraw at work, too, and reluctantly retired in 2009.

"It may have been that he realized he was having problems that were going to make it difficult for him to continue working at the White House," Droege said.

After retirement, he cut himself off from almost everyone. He stopped the long sidewalk chats with Sykes. He lost touch with his co-workers. He stopped calling Mississippi to speak with his brother and his two nephews and niece, even as his brother's chronic anemia worsened. His family wrote him letters, begging him to come home, where they could look after him. But he demurred.

They wanted to come to Washington to get him, said Avee James, the sister-in-law. But they had three children to worry about, their means were limited and James's brother was in and out of the hospital. They were in almost daily contact with Dobbins and repeatedly calling the same city agencies that Dobbins had been trying.

"They said they couldn't do anything unless he agreed to it," Avee James recalled. "They said they couldn't force him."