Each step helps make dream house come true

You probably already know Dr. Marty Scharf.

He shows up regularly on ABC News, 20 - 20, in prominent medical journals and the pages of The Enquirer. His research is studied worldwide. As director of the Tri-State Sleep Disorders Center, he's sort of the nation's unofficial sleep doctor.

You may also have heard of the novel, slightly masochistic manner in which he's celebrating his 50th birthday: a 26.2-mile run in the Columbus Marathon next week to raise funds for Halom House, a residential home for mentally retarded adults, most of whom are Jewish.

But there is something about Marty Scharf you probably do not know. That is his relationship with his twin brother, Norman.

Marty was the first-born and only baby expected, in those days before sonograms. Norman came two minutes later.

Marty arrived healthy and perfect, with the neurological template that would allow him to do great things, to be famous and successful. Norman arrived too late. A lapse in oxygen left him high-functioning, but mentally retarded.

They were brothers. Twins. That most intimate, duplicative of human relationships. But they were destined to lead vastly different lives.

He never ran away

One of the defining qualities of Marty Scharf, who is widely known for so many other things, is that he never ran away from Norman.

Norman never intended to live in Halom House. He has an apartment in Roselawn. He will never ride in the van purchased with the money raised by Marty's marathon. And when the air-conditioning broke down in Halom House, Norman wasn't the one who suffered until Marty replaced it.

But as Marty says, ''Norman is not far from anything I do.''

The love of one brother for another is all over Halom House. People with disabilities aren't simply cared for here, they're cared about. They go out to eat, shopping, to every festival they can find.

They work. They divide household chores. They share Passover seders.

It's the sort of life we'd want for disabled people if we really believed they were our brothers and sisters. Or if we believed they were people at all.

A dining room. Halloween decorations. A kosher kitchen. Someplace to be alone once in a while.

Simple, exquisite joys.

Halom House. ''Dream House,'' in Hebrew.

'They have pride'

But he buys air conditioners and co-signs bank loans for Halom House instead.

''The people who live here work. They have pride in themselves,'' he says. ''The people here aren't kids. They're grown-ups, and this home allows them to be as grown up as they can be.''

He looks away. He leans forward. He starts a sentence and stops.

He wants to explain why Halom House. Why kosher kitchens and privacy. Why Marty Scharf.

''This is so pure,'' he says almost in a whisper. ''You can work for homeless people, for truants, for kids in trouble. You can put together programs that potentially can turn them around. But for the people here, there is no turning around. This is who they are. This is who they will be.

''When we do right by them, that's a sign of our true humanity.''

A 50th birthday is a good chance to look around and figure out where you are in life.

Marty Scharf has put in the hard miles. He has run a wise race. Next Sunday, no matter when he crosses the finish line, Marty Scharf triumphs.

And so, as always, does Norman.

Krista Ramsey's column appears in The Enquirer Saturdays. Write her at 312 Elm St., Cincinnati 45202 or fax at 768-8340.

Published Nov. 2, 1996.