Welcome to the first of a new series I’m launching today.

I’m calling it “Into The Light, Faces Of The Mansion.”

Most of us drive by eldercare residences all the time, but if we don’t have family there, we rarely know who these people are, or see them, or know where they came from, what they love, and what they left behind.

Our culture tends to forget them, give them nothing to do, and isolate them.

And they do feel left behind, as they live on the edge of life, often without friends or family nearby to remember them. I’m committed to bringing them into the light.

I’ve come to know, love, and appreciate these people.

They’ve worked hard all of their lives, raised families,  and now they need support for things they can no longer do.  The Mansion I have come to know is a loving and safe place.

The residents often feel forgotten and abandoned.  Sometimes they feel useless.

I’m excited about this project, and so is the Mansion management and staff. I thank them for letting me do it, it’s been on my mind for several years.

In some ways, it echoes the portraits I’m doing of the refugee children at Bishop Maginn High School. They need to be known, not just as political and social issues, but as very real human beings.

Tania Woodward and the other Mansion aides are helping me to choose the portrait subjects.

We make sure everyone we talk to wants to be part of this program. Almost all of them do.

This idea includes finding out if they want or need anything to make their lives brighter and more accessible. And getting it to them, refugees and Mansion residents alike.

We scored right off the bat with Fred Coons,  who worked at a lumberyard for 60 years, and whose passion is carving toys and dollhouses out of wood.

This is a good man, a devoted family man, who worked since 1960 in the same job hauling lumber and delivering it. He is proud of his life.

Feed is 85 and lived all of his life just outside of Saratoga. His wife is alive and lives with one of his five daughters. I asked Fred what it was like to have five daughters, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Wow,” he said.

He worked all of his life for the Perth Lumber company, “lifting and haulin’,” as he put it. He worked very hard every day on that job, he said. I got the feeling he misses it.

Work is such a big part of human identity, leaving it so far behind is disorienting and sometimes painful.

My reporting life comes in handy when working with the Mansion residents and the refugee children.

Everyone I interview in both places is shy and uneasy at first,  but they begin to open up after a few minutes. For all of them, this is the first interview of their lives. I slip back into my journalist mode, which comes in handy all of the time.

Then I ask them what they love doing as a hobby and try to get them something to support it. They often just need a boost to understand they don’t have to give up everything they love, they can bring some of it with them.

It took me five or six rounds to get Fred to talk about his wood carving. The look in his eyes told me this was his private passion.

Fred beamed when he talks about his wood carving, his daughters, his job at the lumber company.

There is always a passion, something that will light these people up, it’s my job to find it and dig it up. I’m good at it.

I asked Fred if he would still like to make wooden toys and dollhouses, and he lit right up. “I’d love to,” he said, “but how can I? We got rid of all my tools.”

It’s easy, I said, I will order a new wooden carving kit for you, and it will come to the Mansion, and you can make toy dolls, which some residents would love, and a wooden dollhouse that would brighten up the Great Room.

I wasn’t sure Fred could smile at first, but after a few minutes, he was smiling much of the time.

“How much will it cost?” he asked. Nothing, I said. It’s free. I told him about the Army Of Good. I’m not sure he quite understood what it was. It is not simple to explain.

I wasn’t sure Fred could smile at first, but he opened up.

Kelly, one of the Mansion aides, went down to his room and came with his book of photographs of his work. It was in his dresser, bottom drawer.

Fred is the real deal. I told him there is absolutely no reason he can’t continue to make dolls for his grandkids and a wooden doll house for the Mansion itself.

There are some beautiful spots for one at the Mansion.

Fried said he misses his house and making wooden toys, but he is also comfortable and content living in the Mansion.

It isn’t home, he said, but it’s the closest thing. And he is well cared for. Fred’s medical issues made it necessary to move to assisted care.

Fred and I went on Amazon and looked at wood carving kids for toys and dollhouses. We agreed on two sets, they are on the way.

As I got up to leave, Fred invited me to come back and look at some of the other photo books he brought of his work.

He said he looks at them all the time. He said he had never shown them to anyone else outside of his family.

I told Fred he could now make toys for his nine grandchildren and one great-grandchild. He lit up.

The two kits are on the way. Thanks to Mansion Director Kassi Gormley and Aide Tania Woodward for helping with this program.  I hope one day to see all of these portraits hanging on the Mansion walls.

Real people with real lives and deep feelings live there. Thanks for supporting this work. You can contribute via Paypal, [email protected], or Venmo, Jon-Katz-@Jon-Katz-13. You can also send a check to Jon Katz, Mansion Fund, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. Thanks.