The Objectification of Leonard Bell — Part 1

One man’s descent into a coat rack and other household items

I visit the Bell residence on a balmy Tuesday afternoon in the beach town of Sarasota, Florida. A quiet bungalow at the end of the street, the house may have looked entirely ordinary — if not for Leonard sitting in the garden. Today, I assume, Leonard is a lawn gnome.

I wait several minutes for Leonard to break his statuesque pose. And when he doesn’t I ring the doorbell.

“I take it you saw Leonard. I told him it’s too hot for this,” says Sandra Bell in the doorway. “It’s the middle of Summer LEONARD!”

Sandra takes me inside to the sunroom. Filled with tropical plants, it feels a bit like a tucked-away paradise.

“You can’t grow these up north. You just can’t,” says Sandra, “I mean you can try but good luck.”

Then I ask about Leonard.

Sandra explains, as of late, Leonard’s been impersonating objects in and around the house. It started out with smaller items like keys and buttons and has moved onto lawn art, appliances and furniture.

Most recently, Sandra tells me Leonard has been:

• A coat rack
• A lamp post
• A recycling bin
• A garage door

“I’m not entirely sure what he’s doing in the lawn.”

The door to the backyard opens and enters George Salzach, a man in his mid-40s who looks like he’s been working on the lawn all morning.

“You must be the reporter,” George states, “Sorry, I’ve got to get some water then I’ll sit down with you all.”

George leaves to the kitchen, tripping over the sliding door track.

“He’s been working on our yard,” says Sandra, “he has so many ideas.”

I ask Sandra how long Leonard has been impersonating inanimate objects.

“It’s hard to say, but I noticed it really getting bad when summer started. Maybe it’s the humidity.”

George enters with his Tervis-Tumbler full of ice cubes and a drop of water. He sits next to Sandra and swigs.

“I think it’s depression,” says George as he crunches on an ice cube, “it’s like he becomes these things when he’s feeling–”

George puts his hand over his mouth in pain.

“Sorry,” he says, “sensitive gums.”

George never finishes his thought. Instead, he looks around proudly as if he had made a full, intelligent statement. Sandra jumps in:

“I scheduled us to see a therapist but on the drive there Leonard became a scent diffuser — the kind that attaches to the air vent. Needless to say, we never made it out of the car. And they still charged me for the visit.”

I ask when had George started coming around to help with the yard.

“It was the beginning of the summer. I just got back into town and was breaking into the landscaping game. Honestly, it’s money money money. You can charge whatever you want — these people have no idea. I mean, not Sandra though, she gets a deal.”

I ask what Leonard was like before becoming objects.

“He was always a pushover. Like a tall weed, easily blown aside,” says Sandra.

“Wow, nice metaphor,” says George.

I want to point out it’s actually a simile, but manage to stop myself.

Leonard enters the house and into the sunroom. He stands next to the plants and extends his arms. It seems Leonard is now a potted palm.

“Hey, Leonard,” says Sandra, “do you need some water? You look warm.”

“Maybe we should water him? Is that what he would want?”

“No George, we’re not watering him. Unless, Leonard, do you want to be watered?”

We all wait several minutes for a reply.

Finally, Sandra asks me to come back again — but before noon next time.

“For whatever reason, he’s more himself in the mornings.”

Then, George spills water down his shirt and Sandra dabs it with a tissue.

“I should come over in the morning sometime,” says George, “meet the real Leonard.”

And maybe it was just in my head, but Leonard, as the potted palm, seemed to wilt ever so slightly toward the speckled sunroom floor.

The story continues here.