Scene

You reach the locked ward for Alzheimer's sufferers by taking an elevator down to the basement. The unmistakable, and foul, odor announces that you have arrived. It is then you first hear the screams:

"Ray... Ray... Ray... Ray."

The grating, frightening sounds continue, over and over again. Their source is an emaciated African-American woman, sitting in her soiled bed, wearing only a diaper and a lightweight top. Her hair is unkempt. The smell is pungent, sickening.

"What's your name?" begins psychologist P.K. Beville, Ph.D., who is dressed this day as a mime.

"Evelyn," the resident answers. Dr. Beville, a counselor inside nursing homes for some 18 years, explains to Evelyn that she has come in costume, because today is Halloween. She puts one arm around this resident's shoulders even as she invites her to touch, and to explore, her mime's garb.

From the outset, Beville had recognized that Evelyn is blind.

How did she know? "The stare, the vacant eyes, " she said, "but also because of the obvious neglect, coupled with the fact she was left behind."

Now, the relevant facts about this dramatic scene are: in another part of this sub-standard home in North Georgia, outside Atlanta, a traditional Halloween party is in progress. Beville, at 49 an old pro as a professional caregiver, knew those needing special care would be left in their rooms. No good time for anyone who can't make her own way to the Recreation Room.

As the founder of, and prime mover behind, "Second Wind Dreams", a non- profit group that goes into nursing homes all across the south and makes unspoken wishes, or dreams, come true, Dr. Paula Kaye Beville of Marietta, GA is the best friend the nursing home industry has.

Consider, instead of leading a crusade against the institutions, publicly detailing neglect, abuse and outright crimes, this five-foot, 92-pound tartar quietly wages her own sotto voce reform, employing compassion, knowledge, persistence and, unquestionably, love.

On this day, as on so many others, Beville and five volunteers arrive with gifts of lap robes, fresh flowers, bananas, candy and stuffed animals for the dementia victims. The psychologist heads for the elevator. She cautions the one volunteer who trails her: "You don't have to do this. There's horror down there."

Together, the two women enter Evelyn's room; they gain her confidence and then the psychologist took command. "Why don't we sing?" she suggests and is surprised, pleasantly, at Ms. Evelyn's clear, strong voice.

"Do you know 'Amazing Grace'?" Paula Kay next asks. Not only does she remember the tune, the Alzheimer's patient sings every word. Beville has an idea: "Why don't you sing for these people? You can help them all with your singing."

"I can?" asks Evelyn. Beville assures her, "Yes you can."

As the Second Wing Dream volunteers, all in costume, take their leave the sweet music of the handicapped resident named Evelyn is at work behind locked doors in the nursing home basement. She will sing all day.

"Did anyone thank you?" I ask Beville. The social scientist smiles, as if to say: "I don't do what I do to be thanked." The truth is Beville is an innovator, a social crusader who possesses that rare, intuitive talent to see, and then to feel, another's misery.

"If I were blind, and demented," she tells me, her jaw muscles tightening, "and left alone, wearing a diaper because someone doesn't want me getting up and going to the bathroom, I'd be screaming a lot more than Ray, Ray, Ray."

As if to declare a New Year resolution, she adds, "I need to take Evelyn under my wing, make certain she's not forgotten, left alone like that ... again."