This is why you shouldn't judge somebody by how he look?

By looking at this man, what might you assume?

I see a classically handsome guy with a strong jawline, fine features and sincere, brown eyes. He is well-dressed. His hair, trimmed and combed neatly, along with his clean-shaven face tells me he takes pride in his appearance.

That’s my first impression. I would have probably done a double take if I had seen him somewhere. I see nothing that would make me assume he was anything but a kind, decent and very attractive man.

His name was Joseph and he was born in Leicester, England in 1862. He had a normal childhood, attended school and had a doting mother who dearly loved him.

He was very creative. His interests included drawing and model building and he treasured the time he got to spend cultivating those skills.

Around age five, he began to show signs that something wasn’t quite right. Dry, grey patches began to form on his skin followed by fleshy tumors on his body.

He needed more care as his condition worsened, which his mother, Mary Jane, lovingly provided. His mother also taught Joseph to read and write and passed down a passion for reading that lasted his entire lifetime.

When Joseph was 11 years old, what he described as the “greatest sadness in my life” happened. His mother passed away from pneumonia. He would also later say the only two people who showed him real love was the Lord and his mother.

His father remarried less than a year later and the cruel treatment at the hands of his stepmother caused Joseph to leave home to find work and make a living for himself.

At age 13, he found a job rolling cigars in a factory but within two years, he lost the use of his right hand. No longer able to do the work, he was forced to leave.

His father owned a haberdashery and sent his son out in the streets to sell his shop’s wares. By this point, however, Joseph’s deformities were so extreme, and his speech so impaired, that he frightened people.

One day his father beat him severely for not earning enough money, so Joseph went to live with an uncle briefly before becoming a resident at a workhouse at age 17.

He found life in the workhouse intolerable, but unable to find any other means of supporting himself, he was forced to stay.

It was said that Joseph "was a man of very strong character and beliefs - anxious to earn his own living and be independent of charity.” Only wanting to be “free and independent,” he eventually found the means to earn a decent living.

Though it was considered immoral, his only rational financial choice was to be put on public display with a traveling 'freakshow' exhibition.

He made a very decent living for himself and was able to set aside money for his dream of buying a small house where he might live quietly.

Those he worked with said of Joseph that “he was a most interesting man—he would talk on subjects you would never think a man in his condition would talk about. Very upstage subjects, you know, and he was a bit on the religious side, too.” Another said, “they could not admire his appearance, none could doubt his spirit.”

At the end of the shows, many of the ‘freaks’ would pass a hat around to collect charity. Joseph refused to do this however, quoted as saying he was not a beggar.

In 1884, the show was shut down by the police. He attempted to continue his career touring Europe but in June 1886, Joseph woke to find his employer had robbed him of his entire savings and abandoned him in Brussels.

For an average person, being left penniless in a country where you had no connections and didn’t speak the language would have been bad enough. For Joseph, it was catastrophic.

By pawning what few possessions he had left, he was able to make his way back to London. He arrived completely destitute, his will gone, his demoralization complete.

Due to his disfigurement, crowds gathered around him like prison walls everywhere he went. There were instances where the police had to intervene to free him from the hordes of gawkers. Women would sometimes scream at the sight of him. The kindest treatment he could hope for was to simply be stared at in horror and disgust.

In the same year, Joseph was admitted to the London Hospital under the care of Dr. Frederick Treves. Considered an incurable and unable to support himself anymore, it was obvious Joseph needed a permanent situation.

Dr. Treves made a public plea in a letter published in The Times newspaper for donations to fund Joseph’s care and accommodations at the hospital. In the letter Treves wrote:

“Terrible though his appearance is, so terrible indeed that women and nervous persons fly in terror from the sight of him, and that he is debarred from seeking to earn his livelihood in an ordinary way, yet he is superior in intelligence, can read and write, is quiet, gentle, not to say even refined in his mind. He occupies his time in the hospital by making with his one available hand little cardboard models, which he sends to the matron, doctor, and those who have been kind to him. Through all the miserable vicissitudes of his life he has carried about a painting of his mother to show that she was a decent and presentable person, and as a memorial of the only one who was kind to him in life until he came under the kind care of the nursing staff of the London Hospital and the surgeon who has befriended him.”

The generosity from the public was unexpected and overwhelming and more than covered the expenses for the remaining years of Joseph’s life. The very few years.

On April 11, 1890, just 27 years old, Joseph was found dead in his hospital bed.

Due to the weight of his head, Joseph could not lie down to sleep. To do so would have caused asphyxiation or his neck to break so he was forced to sleep sitting upright with his legs gathered up and his head resting on his knees.

It is unclear if his death was accidental or not. Joseph knew to lay down like “normal people” would be fatal. He was also found in the middle of the afternoon, a time which to go to bed was not at all usual for him.

His doctor argued that his death resulted from his "pathetic but hopeless desire" to sleep "like other people.” Others who knew him agreed with this, and asserted that he knew that to fulfill that desire would cost him his life.

That’s all he ever wanted. To just be normal.

Who was Joseph?

He was an artist. With only one functioning hand, he created this paper model of Mainz Cathedral.

He was an eloquent writer and gentleman, always showing gratitude for the kindnesses paid to him. This letter was written to Leila Maturin, a young widow who came to visit him at the hospital at the invitation of Dr. Treves.

Treves had thought of Leila, as she was a close friend, and asked if she would be willing to meet this man. Without hesitation, she agreed.

She was given a fair warning of his looks, and when it came time, she “entered with easy grace, smiling as she approached” and shook his hand.

Joseph was overcome with emotion, and burst into tears. He later told Treves that Leila had been the first woman ever to smile at him, the first to shake his hand. The two kept in contact, exchanging letters and gifts.

She was the first woman to treat him like a human being. Thanks to her, Joseph started to see himself as a human being rather than a monster, something that he was denied for most of his life.

He was passionate about literature, notably Jane Austen as she wrote of romantic love, something Joseph had never known but had longed for ardently his entire life.

He was intelligent, sensitive and interesting with a remarkable depth of curiosity and character. He had endured rejection, cruelty and exclusion all of his life because of his appearance yet he held no ill toward a world that had wholly rejected him.

If you’ve not guessed who Joseph was by now, you might know him better as The Elephant Man.

Joseph Carey Merrick

The image of Joseph at the top was created by scientists for a documentary using his relatives’ facial templates, Joseph’s skull and imaging equipment to show what he would have looked like if he’d not suffered from what is believed to be Proteus Syndrome.

While his life was spent being judged by his appearance alone and marked by inhuman treatment because of it, Joseph’s story has lingered, a reminder that the world is desperate for more compassion.

Joseph closed many of his letters with this poem so I will close this with it as well.

‘Tis true my form is something odd,
But blaming me is blaming God;
Could I create myself anew
I would not fail in pleasing you.
If I could reach from pole to pole
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul;
The mind’s the standard of the man.