The silent—individuals with limited abilities to communicate—have historically been excluded from society. For too many, their homes were institutions or residential treatment centers. Their lives, heartaches, struggles, and triumphs were largely unseen, unheard, unknown, and undocumented. But their stories are worth telling.

Demonstrating a soul-stirring resilience, the silent speak to us through their actions, providing an underappreciated, honest, and revealing look into the human condition. The accounts in this book are lively snippets of the lasting, life-changing lessons that transformed my ideas about disabilities, as well as the progress that results from practicing the empathic, client-centered science of human behavior.

Of my many mentors, the silent were my greatest teachers. They set in motion a series of events that would change who I thought I wanted to be into who I am. Although these individuals could not write nor tell their tales, through these pages, their memories and truths live on. To honor the profound influence of the silent on my life, I share some of their stories here. I hope they will touch your heart and shape the way you view those who cannot speak for themselves.

Artie was 81 years old when I met him. A client in the agency’s group home on 6th Avenue, he was less than 5 feet tall, although with the slight hunch in his back, he looked even shorter. He was thin, with a tiny bit of white hair, and the normal aging spots and wrinkles of an octogenarian. He walked with a distinct, extremely short shuffle. Artie had no teeth, a tragedy that occurred during the days before patient rights were considerations. Apparently, he was a biter, and the institution prevented biting not through careful assessment and intervention but through extracting his teeth—all of them.