Willie Levi died on April 23rd

SINGING WAS something Willie Levi loved to do. When he was at the state school in Mexia, Texas, he belonged to a choir called the Sunshine Singers. They would tour round with a repertoire of hymns: “The Old Rugged Cross”, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”. He sang more in church on Sundays: “Surely Goodness”, “Amazing Grace”. Along with the hymns he liked to shake his tambourine, to keep the beat. He could get music out of almost anything. If you gave him a comb, he could play it. And somewhere, in a pocket or a sock, he would keep a pair of spoons, the regular white plastic ones you might pick up in a coffee place. He could play those, too.

He also sang to the turkeys, or talked to them in their language, which was a cross between gobbling, whooping and singing. Turkeys were his work day in, day out, ever since he had been recruited by Henry’s Turkey Service in 1974 in Goldthwaite, Texas. It was the sort of job people like him, with a mental disability, seemed to end up with. He had tried portering and packing doughnuts, but nothing had quite worked out. In Goldthwaite his job was turkey insemination: catching the toms, all 40 thrashing pounds of them, milking their semen and running fast to impregnate the hens. When he and the others he worked with—mostly white, some black, all with a mental disability, all his brothers—were trucked...