Christmastime.<\/p>\n
For ten and half months of the year, Another Chance had to scrimp, scratch, and fight for donations to keep basic operations going at our homeless shelter. But after Thanksgiving? Oh, we were deluged by churches, schools, women\u2019s groups, businesses, fraternal organizations, families and individuals all wanting to donate toys, food, toys, clothes, toys, blankets, toys, toys, and more toys to the poor unfortunates. Yes, homeless children were the biggest target for their largesse. Truckloads of toys poured into the shelter despite my speaking engagements where I would implore citizens to be balanced. Fewer toys and more cash into a fund for client resources such as work boots and uniforms when they are about to start a job. Give the gift of themselves and teach a child or adult to read, drive people to appointments, teach apartment upkeep, smart food shopping and cooking healthy meals on a budget, help pay for dental and doctor visits, eye exams and glasses, vehicle repair, bus passes, and more. So much good could be done with the money spent on toys.<\/p>\n
After one talk at a local church, an elderly woman got to her feet with help, pointed at me, and said in a voice shaking with anger, \u201cHow can you stand there and deny a child a toy, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n
Oh, hell!<\/p>\n
That season, Another Chance was filled with residents dealing with issues ranging from substance abuse, family dysfunction, trauma from incest and rape, custody issues, delinquent dads, ignorance, laziness, sexual orientation prejudice, a bullet wound, and gross obesity. The tension was palpable, punching me in the gut as I arrived each day for work in my new position as Emergency Shelter Coordinator. These simmering emotions could blow up at any time, and Felix Graves was miscreant enough to light the fuse.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Felix, or Mr. Graves, as he liked to be called, was in Room Nine with Tony Arlington. Both were in their early 20\u2019s. That was all they had in common. Tony was fresh from rehab for addiction to alcohol and pain pills. Mr. Graves was an itinerant loner fresh from the emergency overflow shelter. In one room with two bunk beds separated by a nightstand, they were oil and water. They bitched at each another about any- and everything. Tony worked as a meat-cutter at a local market; Mr. Graves was unemployed with seemingly no inclination to change his situation. Tony looked down his nose at his roommate as if he was the scum of the earth, while Mr. Graves considered Tony a kiss-ass to our staff.<\/p>\n
Mr. Graves was so lazy, his Case Manager, Lyn Ott, asked me to look at his file one afternoon. I did and was nonplussed. \u201cGet him down here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lyn let me use her office, escorting Mr. Graves inside and motioning to the chair in front of her desk. On her way out, she stifled a giggle and waved. I cleared my throat. \u201cIn looking over your file I see you\u2019ve been here exactly a week and you have broken almost every rule we have to one degree of another.\u201d<\/p>\n
Graves was a barely blinking mouth-breather.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, what is your plan? What are your goals?\u201d<\/p>\n
Graves shrugged. \u201cEat, sleep, and crap. What else is thar?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow old are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwenty and a half.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat grade did you finish in school?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSeventh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have family? Parents?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomewheres.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you from here, from Clinton?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNope.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere were you born?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI dunno.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour folks never told you where you were born?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot my folks, my mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI ain\u2019t got folks, I got a mom, and she never told me where I\u2019s born.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAin\u2019t important, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have your birth certificate?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAn ID? A driver\u2019s license?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo and no.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you drive?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA\u2019course. Don\u2019t need no card to know how to drive. Just need a car.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you can\u2019t drive without a license.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust \u2018cause they won\u2019t let me don\u2019t mean I don\u2019t know how.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laced my fingers. \u201cWhere\u2019d you come from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUpstairs. I was sleepin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, what town before you got here to Clinton?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLots of \u2018em.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019d you live?\u201d<\/p>\n
Graves looked at me as if I was a dolt. \u201cIf yer alive you\u2019re livin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019d you afford food and a place to live?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI get by.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, what are your goals while you\u2019re here? What do you want to accomplish?\u201d<\/p>\n
More mouth breathing.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you understand my question?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou understand my answer?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn looking at your file, your goal seems to be to do nothing. Mister Graves, you might be the laziest human being to ever cross our threshold. In fact, if breathing wasn\u2019t automatic, if you had to bring conscious effort to it, I believe you\u2019d die because you\u2019re too lazy to breathe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI ain\u2019t lazy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I got here you were wasting time up in your room.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wasn\u2019t wastin\u2019 time, I was sleepin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t you think that time could\u2019ve been better spent looking for a job?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI done that this mornin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s your job search sheet?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI dunno.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have to fill out five job applications a day, write those contacts on the sheet, and turn it in by eight at night. You\u2019re sitting on a Termination of Stay for this rule right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was lookin\u2019 for work. Just \u2018cause it ain\u2019t on your form don\u2019t mean I didn\u2019t do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo how am I to know you did it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI just told you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. \u201cMister Graves, we have rules for a reason. I wish we could believe everyone who comes in here, but we can\u2019t. We need proof that you are progressing toward self-sufficiency. Do you understand?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere do you want to work?<\/p>\n
\u201cSomeplace that pays.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I mean, what kind of job do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne that pays.\u201d<\/p>\n
Oh, Jesus!\u00a0 \u201cWhat I\u2019m trying to ascertain is, what are your interests concerning work? What do you like? What can you do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t like work. Nobody does, but you gotta do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, if you had your choice of any job, what would it be?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, I\u2019d be a lawyer. Them cocksuckers can steal legal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat kind of job do you want that you can actually do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne that pays. I told you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I growled. \u201cListen, just follow our program. Get a job, build a budget, and move forward. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
He shrugged. \u201cCan I go now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
Graves jumped up and bounded out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Then a knock at the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome in.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lyn entered her office, smiling. \u201cA unique individual, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n
The final straw between Mr. Graves and Tony was the next day over Graves not clipping his sloth-like toenails; Tony complained he could hear them scraping against the sheets as he tried to sleep. Tony even bought Graves a set of cheap clippers to get the job done. While Tony was at work, Graves clipped his toenails and left them in a pyre in the middle of Tony\u2019s bunk bed. When Tony arrived home from work, the conflagration began, but I was dealing with the aftereffects of finding Waldo.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My office was the staff office in those early years. I\u2019d just finished updating the waiting list, removing eight people for not calling in to check their status. Others on the list had moved in, and for one of the rarest times ever, no names were on the waiting list. None. I\u2019d never seen it. A mirage?<\/p>\n
The front door flew open with a bang and a petite black girl rushed in, eyes wide with panic. \u201cCan you help me? Please!\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood up.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I followed her outside to a teal green Ford Explorer parked along the curb. \u201cI was driving back from Terrapin and found this man under an overpass on Fourth Street.\u201d She opened the passenger door where sat an old man of indeterminate age with long white hair and an even longer white beard. Holding a surplus Army blanket on his lap, he was dressed in green fatigue pants, worn Converse, and a tattered olive sweater over a white shirt.<\/p>\n
We helped him inside to a seat in the dining room. I poured him a cup of coffee. From the curb to the table, the man kept saying, \u201cGod bless you\u201d over and over in a voice reminiscent of William S. Burroughs.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou hungry?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no, no, I\u2019m all right.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs he gonna be okay here?\u201d asked the black girl.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, we\u2019ll handle it from here, Miss?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCrystal. Crystal Barnhart.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Mac.\u201d<\/p>\n
Crystal hugged the old man. \u201cGood luck to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He patted her arm. \u201cGod bless you, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n
After she left, I heated some leftovers from last evening\u2019s supper: turkey, mashed potatoes, dressing, a glass of milk, and a piece of pumpkin pie. \u201cOh, God bless you, God bless you,\u201d he said. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer before digging in.<\/p>\n
\u201cEnjoy your food,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m going to the office for a minute, okay? What\u2019s your name?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWaldo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike Where\u2019s Waldo?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me dumbfounded.<\/p>\n
In the staff office, I looked at the white board and pondered where Waldo could go. Even though the waiting list was open, all resident rooms were occupied. Waldo would have to stay at the emergency overflow shelter until a space opened, meaning he\u2019d have to be on the street from seven in the morning until six at night. I had no other options.<\/p>\n
Returning to the dining room, I saw two residents sitting at Waldo\u2019s table, Cathy Kidder and Tamara Belton, both in their early 40\u2019s and both in recovery for substance abuse. They were roommates in Room Four which was not a good thing. Emotionally frazzled, they would spat over whose life was shittier. They also had spats over similar men, children in state custody, debts, fines, house rules, room upkeep, sleep habits, and on and on and on. Their force fields of tension repelled both staff and other residents. So, I was absolutely floored to see them having coffee with Waldo, relaxed and laughing, almost motherly, with no trace of animosity. I sat down. Waldo crossed his forearms into an X and bowed reverently. \u201cBless you,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
When I explained to Waldo he would have to stay at the overflow shelter and on the street until a room opened, he grasped my hand warmly. \u201cOh, thank you. Thank you so much.\u201d I asked Cathy and Tamara if they would go through boxes of donated clothes in the basement and outfit Waldo in something warmer, plus coat, gloves, and a hat. They eagerly agreed.<\/p>\n
When I gave Waldo a hygiene packet, a towel, and wash cloth so he could take a shower, I noticed a thick rope of hair hanging down and tucked into the collar of his shirt. \u201cWhat is that?\u201d<\/p>\n
He withdrew a long dreadlock from his shirt, displaying it like a hirsute serpent.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs there some meaning to it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d Waldo said, sipping his coffee.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
After his shower, Waldo put on his new clothes and joined me in the staff office to complete his waiting list form. A simple procedure, usually, but as I was to learn, nothing with Waldo was ever simple.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour full name?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWaldo Kevorkian.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKevorkian? Really?\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cLast address?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOut on the highway where that lady found me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, where\u2019d you last live? Where are you from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are any of us from, really? From the stars. This Earth is a school.\u201d<\/p>\n
I left the space blank. \u201cYou have any ID? Social Security card?\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo reached into a sock and handed me a plastic card holder.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll photocopy these and give them back, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo crossed his arms into that X and nodded.<\/p>\n
Just then the sound of yelling, crashing, and thumping filtered into the office. I opened the door and there were Mr. Graves and Tony, bloody, disheveled, and fighting. \u201cStop it,\u201d I said, separating them. \u201cWhat the hell is going on now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe started it,\u201d said Mr. Graves.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike hell,\u201d said Tony, \u201che clipped his toenails and left them in a pile on my bed!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter who started it. You both broke rule three about no violence, so you\u2019re both out of here. Either of you want to fill out a grievance form and have a hearing with the boss out back to try to stay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHell, no,\u201d said Mr. Graves. \u201cI want the fuck outta here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about you, Tony?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tony wiped his bloody mouth on his hand. \u201cNah, I have enough money to pay for a motel until I get a place. I\u2019m workin\u2019. Unlike this lazy bastard.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Graves lunged for Tony. I pushed him against the wall. \u201cYou sit the hell down in the living room, Graves. Tony, go and pack your stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n
The front door opened and the Facility Manager, Esperanza Lopez, entered. \u201cWhat the hell is this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you kindly write out Termination of Stays for both of them for violence? They\u2019ve refused grievance hearings. And keep Mister Graves in the living room until Tony\u2019s gone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Graves stomped off while Tony went up the stairs. As Esperanza entered the staff office, I touched her shoulder. \u201cYou okay?\u201d Her lover, Rita, split up with her two days before and Esperanza\u2019s world was a heartbroken vortex of sorrow.<\/p>\n
She nodded. \u201cGetting there. Thanks.\u201d Seeing Waldo, she said, \u201cWho\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is Waldo. Now that the Katzenjammer Kids are leaving, he\u2019ll be moving into Room Nine. Waldo, this is Esperanza, our Facility Manager.\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo stood, made the X with his arms, and bowed. \u201cA pleasure, Madame.\u201d<\/p>\n
Esperanza smiled at me. \u201cMadame?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the flurry of getting Mr. Graves and Tony moved out and Waldo moved in, I left Waldo\u2019s sleeve of cards in the new resident file, not looking at them until the next morning. I found: an ID card issued in Boston, Massachusetts, an ancient Social Security card, Medicare card, Bank of America card, and an out of state phone number written on the back of a diner receipt.<\/p>\n
Curious, I dialed the number. On the fourth ring, a woman with a thick accent answered, \u201cHomeless Outreach Team. This is Fay.\u201d<\/p>\n
I introduced myself, where I was calling from, and that this was a homeless facility. \u201cWhere are you located?\u201d<\/p>\n
She gave a street address.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, what state are you in?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is Boston, Mass. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you ever heard of a Waldo Kevorkian?\u201d<\/p>\n
Fay gave a banshee cry. \u201cOh, my Gawd, you found Waldo!\u00a0 I don\u2019t believe it! Oh, my Gawd! You have to talk to Brian! He\u2019s the director of our outreach team. He\u2019s at a meeting. Be back in an hour. I\u2019ll have him call you. Oh, my Gawd!\u201d<\/p>\n
So roughly an hour later the phone rang. \u201cAnother Chance. This is Mac.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou found Waldo, man?\u201d It was Brian. \u201cHow is he? Does he still do that funny salute with his crossed arms?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes he still have that dreadlock hanging down his back?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, he does.\u201d I gave a capsulized version of how Waldo became a resident before asking, \u201cWhat\u2019s his story?\u201d<\/p>\n
Brian said Waldo was from an old money New England family who ostracized him as his mental illness grew worse. \u201cThey just cut him off. No money, no help. He was an embarrassment.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow the hell did he end up here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wanders. He just takes off, but usually, sooner or later, he\u2019ll end up back here. Like some salmon.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen\u2019s the last time you saw him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJune of last year.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s been out on his own for eighteen months. He could\u2019ve been killed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNah. Waldo\u2019s a survivor. There\u2019s more to him than you think.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019d you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean he\u2019s greater than a diagnosis.\u201d Noise in the background. \u201cHey, man, I gotta go. Call me if you need anything. Tell Waldo we all said hello and we miss him.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hung up. The raw emotion Brian felt for Waldo was palpable. \u00a0I\u2019d discussed a lot of residents with a lot of professionals and providers, but never had such human warmth been conveyed. \u201cWhat am I dealing with here?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
With Case Manager Lynn Ott out sick with a repertory infection, I did Waldo\u2019s assessment in Lyn\u2019s office at one o\u2019clock. Waldo looked rested and well-fed as he sat down in front of the desk, cup of coffee in hand. \u201cLooks like you slept well, Waldo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes, yes, like a newborn. God bless you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I returned his plastic sleeve of cards. \u201cI called a number I found in there and spoke with Brian in Boston. He said to tell you hello.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Brian is a wonderful spirit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, let\u2019s get through this assessment and get what you need.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI require nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, let\u2019s help you achieve your goals. What are they?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to heal people. Help them. People are in such pain these days.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo took a sip of coffee. \u201cNothing. I\u2019m a prophet. I go where I\u2019m needed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUh, okay. Let me get some answers to these questions.\u201d I took out my copy of the needs assessment created by our director, Ms. Page, and began. \u201cAre you a veteran, Waldo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, no, I would never carry a weapon.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you on any medication for any physical disorders?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMental disorders?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey say I have them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s your diagnosis?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s their diagnosis, not mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much you get a month?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFive hundred and thirteen dollars, but I haven\u2019t had a check since I left Boston over a year ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow have you gotten by?\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo crossed his arms in his X salute. \u201cIt\u2019s all provided.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you supposed to be on any medication?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey think so. Their cures make me sleepy and numb my senses.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEver had any issues with substance abuse?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCigarettes and coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I meant drugs and alcohol.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCigarettes and coffee are drugs.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed. \u201cEver been in jail or prison?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJail. Many times.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor what offense?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVagrancy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the highest level of education you attained?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m still learning. A learned person is a dead person. A learning person will never die.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much school did you attend?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHigh school, college, and graduate school.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGrad school? Where?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMassachusetts Institute of Technology.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMIT? You went to MIT?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI quit after one semester.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was a cog is their machine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was your major?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing that spoke to my heart.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled again. \u201cOkay. You feel the need for any counseling?\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo shook his head. \u201cThat\u2019s why people seek me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I skipped the areas of pregnancy, children and childcare, work, and transportation, and moved in the area of clothing needs. He reiterated his want for a new sleeping bag. \u201cMy last two were stolen, and I\u2019m tired of sleeping on the ground.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy don\u2019t you settle down here? We can get you a nice, safe apartment, and wrap services around to make sure you\u2019re okay. Isn\u2019t it dangerous on the road?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRisk is life. Security is an illusion. Don\u2019t you ever feel like taking a chance? Risk everything for something greater than yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n
I averted my eyes. Oh, man, cut to the core! Lately my life had become a single note; one key out of eighty-eight. Dull and rote. Not that my work at Another Chance wasn\u2019t challenging and interesting, but I had become something I never believed possible: mundane. At times, spiritually inert. I got the strange feeling Waldo knew this, could sense this within me. I was embarrassed. Appearing weak was worse than being weak.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the following days, I noticed more and more changes within residents…<\/p>\n
First, Vanessa our house cat (who\u2019d lived in the alley for years until adopted by residents a few weeks before I arrived in 1999), a tiger-striped tabby, didn\u2019t warm to many people, especially kids who quickly unnerved her. She treated the staff office as a haven. Her food and water were down the back stairs by the pantry and laundry room where she could always take refuge in the basement because its door was nothing but a hunk of plywood with hinges, a padlock, and a gaping space at the top. Vanessa would simply jump through the opening and curl up in the shelves of stored blankets.<\/p>\n
So, I was shocked that afternoon to see Vanessa curled in Waldo\u2019s lap as he sat smoking on the front porch, bundled up in his donated parka. Once ready to come back in the house, Waldo gently put Vanessa in the chair, but she immediately jumped back in his arms. In the living room she sat exclusively on Waldo\u2019s lap and would cry outside his room if she wasn\u2019t allowed in at bedtime. All staff members were dumbfounded.<\/p>\n
Jason Frey, a resident in Room One, was referred to us by the local State Parole office\u2019s head, Warren Covey. He\u2019d been a badass gang kid in Wichita and was shot in a fight with a rival gang. He still had a bullet lodged against his lower spine. While in prison on multiple charges, symptoms of MS appeared. Now on parole, he walked twisted like a pretzel. His mouth was contorted, speech garbled. Warren cautioned me, \u201cYou can\u2019t understand him, Mac\u201d<\/p>\n
An understatement. Jason spoke like a stroke victim. His intake took me over two hours, and it was weeks until I could halfway decipher his sentences. So, again, I was floored one afternoon hearing Jason and Waldo talking over coffee as easily as two thespians discussing Beckett at a caf\u00e9. Whatever garbled mess came out of Jason\u2019s mouth, Waldo immediately understood and responded. I later asked Waldo how he understood Jason so easily.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, don\u2019t look at his mouth. I don\u2019t presume what he might say. Just listen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do listen to him, but it\u2019s a jumbled mess.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have too much on your mind to truly listen. You live three and four steps ahead in time. I watch you. There\u2019s always something you have to do. That gets in the way of listening. You seem to have no time for people.\u201d<\/p>\n
It offended me. I gave all my time, my life, to these people. How dare this mental patient accuse me like that? \u201cThat\u2019s not true, Waldo.\u201d<\/p>\n
But I knew it was.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Belinda Catelyn and her sons Jimmy, age thirteen, Bruce, age eleven, and daughter Janice, age nine, were in Room Six. Belinda had entered as a single resident a month and a half ago. Her addiction to cocaine led a neighbor to call in a Child Protective Service report. When the CPS worker and Clinton police arrived at their small rental house on East 1st Street, there was little food in the house and the electricity had been turned off. The State took custody of the children, and she was court-ordered to in-house drug treatment.<\/p>\n
After treatment, Belinda moved into Another Chance and showed such progress, her foster care worker and the judge returned the children to her care. However, the family dynamic was out of whack. Belinda on drugs had created a massive void. Jimmy, the eldest, had taken the role of caregiver for his two siblings; he was the parent. That strain was showing. Outwardly, the boy was calm and respectful, but he was starting to crack.<\/p>\n
One afternoon I saw all of them in the living room talking to Waldo. Both Belinda and Jimmy were crying. I retreated to the staff office, not wanting to intrude. Soon Belinda asked to speak to me in private. She took a chair, and I closed the door. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes. Especially after talking to Waldo. I don\u2019t know how, but he knew exactly what we\u2019ve been going through as a family. He said it\u2019s time for me to be a mother. He told Jimmy to stop making adult decisions, stop raising Bruce and Janice, and be a kid. Poor Jimmy broke down in tears.\u201d Belinda started to cry. \u201cI had no idea the hell I\u2019d put my family through.\u201d She took a tissue, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes. \u201cGod bless Waldo.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The house project that month was painting the Child\u2019s Playroom. A local paint store donated paint, brushes, trowels, trays, etc., but the work was done by residents directed by Esperanza. Waldo was painting with her one afternoon. Still reeling from her breakup with her girlfriend, Rita, Esperanza was also dealing with the anniversary of the death of her brother, Fantino, the year before. The young man had been involved with human trafficking and was shot to death at a motel east of town. Though she had distanced herself from him, and her entire dysfunctional family, she was racked by guilt and grief. She asked me, \u201cWhy didn\u2019t I work harder to get him out of that life? Why didn\u2019t I do more?\u201d<\/p>\n
I told her people build their own nests. No matter what lives we envision for others, the onus of responsibility is on them. A piss poor choice is a piss poor choice, and you can\u2019t get someone out of a cesspool unless they want out on their own. His death and the dissolution of her relationship had her as low as I had ever seen. Normally, no matter what, she was tough, centered, and sexy. Now? She was thin-skinned and drained of confidence and joy.<\/p>\n
I was updating the waiting list when she charged in and slammed the door. \u201cWhat did you tell Waldo about me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were the only ones in the playroom. I was painting the south wall; Waldo was painting the north. He put down his brush, walked over, touched my shoulder, and said, \u2018Please don\u2019t worry. Your life will be fine. Your breakup is filled with lessons for you. So sorry about the death of your brother, but he chose his own path. You\u2019re a beautiful soul. Be at peace.\u2019 Then he hugged me.\u201d She started crying. \u201cI\u2019ve been hugged before, but this was like I was being hugged by . . . life itself, Mac. He enveloped me with such warmth, I was on fire. I felt his love to my core, Mac. I felt wanted and needed and whole and . . . complete. What is he?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In order to get Waldo\u2019s Social Security benefits going again (he had fallen off their radar for months and had not received checks), I had to drive him to the Social Security office for a meeting. The worker was a man named Alvin, carrying files, a calculator, and an abundance of attitude. Short with black hair slicked back, dressed in black slacks, socks, and wingtips. A pressed short-sleeve white shirt and black tie, black fountain pen in his left shirt pocket. He sported a long handlebar moustache that curled at the ends. Everything about him gave off the vibe of a bureaucrat whose ass is so tight he has to hire a minion to break wind for him.<\/p>\n
Alvin was taken back when Waldo greeted him with his crossed arms salute and a bow. He looked at me with a What? expression before leading us to a cubical with a small table. He spoke in a crisp professorial tone. \u201cNow, Mr. Kevorkian, it seems you haven\u2019t cashed any of your benefit checks for eighteen months. Can you explain why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have been traveling and healing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, you\u2019re not living in Boston?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI meant your previous address in Boston is no longer valid?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s valid. There are lots of people there, but I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alvin exhaled. \u201cOkay, so you are now living here in Clinton, correct?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, we will put down what for an address?\u201d<\/p>\n
I jumped in and provided the address of Another Chance.<\/p>\n
Alvin scribbled it down. \u201cThis is now your permanent address, so–\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot permanent,\u201d said Waldo. \u201cNothing in life is permanent.\u201d<\/p>\n
I said, \u201cWe\u2019re a transitional housing organization. Waldo is technically homeless. As soon as his income is stable, we can look to his long-term housing solutions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhich are?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I\u2019ll have him apply at the Housing Authority for a voucher. With him on a fixed income, this will assure he can pay the rent at a HUD approved apartment. And we\u2019ll wrap services around him to make sure he can maintain himself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not staying,\u201d said Waldo.<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes. Waldo, please shut up and secure your money. Stop being you.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, you won\u2019t be settling here?\u201d asked Alvin.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBack to Boston.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you just said that address in Boston isn\u2019t valid.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot now. I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo why are you going back to Boston?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, so many people there need my help?\u201d<\/p>\n
Alvin leaned forward. \u201cWhat help?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLife help. So much pain and suffering in the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you intend to do about it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHelp them. I\u2019m a prophet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alvin\u2019s mind was a vapor-locked car.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I may jump in,\u201d I said. \u201cFor now, let\u2019s get his payments going to the address I just gave you, plus any back pay. How much will that be?\u201d<\/p>\n
Alvin whipped out his large Texas Instruments calculator and started punching numbers. \u201cThere was an increase in your benefits this year. Taking that into account, you are owed a total of six thousand two-hundred sixty-four dollars. Starting in January, you monthly payment will go up to five hundred forty-five dollars a month. And you want the back paycheck mailed to this Another Chance, correct?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cWhen it arrives, we\u2019ll open an account for him at a local bank.\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo grasped my arm. \u201cCan you deposit it in Bank of America? They have branches everywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the first monthly check in January will go to the same address?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMister Kevorkian, I would strongly suggest you find a residence and stay there. From your history, you seem to move around a great deal. This puts a strain not only on individual Social Security workers, but a strain on the entire system as well.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nudged Waldo in hopes he would remain silent, but of course not. \u201cI go where I\u2019m needed. The world is in flux. People are in pain, and they need my help. What should I do, ignore the Call?\u201d<\/p>\n
Alvin looked to me for an answer.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The BOOM was felt throughout the house. I rushed down the hallway to Room Ten, reserved for disabled people, and knocked on the door. \u201cIt\u2019s Mac. What happened in there?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe bed broke,\u201d came a voice from inside.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m coming in.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s unlocked.\u201d<\/p>\n
I opened the door and was repelled by the stench. The room\u2019s resident, Robert McGoo, had been referred by Child Protective Services. Robert, a thirty-eight-year-old man with two children, Orson, age eight, and Rachel, age six, had an issue: he weighed over five hundred pounds. His wife left six months before, just took off. And she was the family breadwinner. Robert had SSI from a diagnosis of bi-polar and personality disorder, but that\u2019s not enough for a household of three. They were evicted from their modest home on Tenth Street. A battery of counselors, social service workers, and even church members were involved trying to help this family. The major problem was Robert was too obese to be a father, a worker, or a human being. He spent all his time in bed watching TV and farming out duties to others. He was so corpulent, he couldn\u2019t reach around to wipe his own ass after taking a crap. He\u2019d position himself on the edge of the bathtub and use a shower sprayer to clean himself.<\/p>\n
It didn\u2019t work. The odor in that room was a test of one\u2019s gag reflex. I walked in after the boom, covering my nose with a sleeve. The fact it was winter, and the windows were closed, made it awful; a combination of body odor plus stale feces. I could not believe what I saw: the bed had collapsed under Robert\u2019s girth; the bed posts, frame, box springs, and mattress were on the floor. Robert was rolling, attempting to get up. A beached whale.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust lay still, Robert,\u201d I said. The room was covered by empty food packages, soft drink cans, dirty clothes, toys, and junk. The girls had to sleep on two twin mattresses against the far wall because Robert could not walk up the stairs to a large family room. Their bedding was a mess. I cringed thinking of those girls living in that squalor. This room went against every bedrock principal Another Chance stood for, but like Ms. Page, the Director, told him: \u201cMister MacIntyre, without us, that man and those girls would be on the street. Our normal hygiene and cleanliness rules have to be waived until other agencies help to find a permanent solution.\u201d<\/p>\n
However, other agencies involved only gave lip service. Nothing had been done to secure a Hud voucher for affordable housing, no coordination with the Clinton Health Department for diet and health, no coordination with this agency for this and another for that. Robert and his family were in institutionalized limbo, and Another Chance\u2019s mission was compromised. \u00a0Other residents complained when they were written up for untidy rooms while Robert lived in a dump. It was a humane double-standard.<\/p>\n
I asked Esperanza to help me lift Robert to the edge of the mattress. He was out of breath after that bit of exertion. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I broke the bed,\u201d he wheezed.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me see if there\u2019s another bed frame downstairs,\u201d I said. \u201cC\u2019mon, Espe, you can help me.\u201d<\/p>\n
They left and went downstairs. \u201cYou know there\u2019s not another frame down here, Mac,\u201d Esperanza said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, I know. I was just buying time. What the hell are we gonna do?<\/p>\n
\u201cMac, the man can\u2019t take care of himself. He has two little girls to care for. This is a no win any way you look at it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe can\u2019t stay here. We\u2019re not what he needs, but he refuses a long-term care facility. We might have to legally get out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019ll scream prejudice against an overweight man,\u201d she said. \u201cHe told me he\u2019d get a lawyer and sue Another Chance if that happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet him try,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m done with the stench coming out of that room, and in all honesty, we\u2019re culpable in abuse of those children by not doing something positive.\u201d<\/p>\n
As we walked through the kitchen, I saw Waldo exiting Room Ten. When we got inside, Robert was sitting on the edge of the mattress, tears running down his face. Seeing me with Esperanza, he looked at the floor and calmly said, \u201cCall our SRS worker. Tell her I want the girls in a foster home while I go into assisted living. I can\u2019t live like this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll go call,\u201d said Esperanza, walking out of the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat changed your mind?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat guy with the white beard came in here and talked to me. I see things clear now. I see what I have to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Despite Robert\u2019s stench, I leaned in. \u201cWhat did he say exactly?\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert thought and then smiled. \u201cIt\u2019s not what he said, it\u2019s how he made me feel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhich was?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike I\u2019ve been washed clean on my insides.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t get it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert didn\u2019t either.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Over and over stories emerged from residents of Waldo changing their lives by just being present. From the two recovering addicts and single mothers, Cathy and Tamara, struggling with their children taken into in foster care, to Esteban Vamos, a drug-addicted, homosexual Chicano abandoned by his bi-sexual boyfriend; to Braden Monroe, a nineteen year-old kid who fled his so-called home because his mother\u2019s drug habit led to a never-ending series of boyfriends who beat him after getting high and having sex with his mother, Waldo somehow gave them the wisdom, strength, and insight to put down their pasts and feel their innate strengths.<\/p>\n
Raised a Methodist, I had walked out of Sunday school in the 7th grade when my teachers\u2019 answers to my growing questions were greeted by platitudes and dogma. Despite my ire toward organized religion, I\u2019d felt something deep in me since Waldo\u2019s arrival and that infusion of joy had infected the damaged and lost. How? How did he do this?<\/p>\n
As always when I needed guidance, I walked through the backyard to the west stucco duplex where Ms. Page had her office. She gave me a cup of one of her strong imported blends and we sat around the long table reserved for meetings. I told her everything that happened since Waldo\u2019s arrival. \u201cI don\u2019t get it,\u201d I said. \u201cAll he has to do is sit at the same table with someone and they\u2019re better. What the hell is this?\u201d<\/p>\n
She leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers. \u201cHave you read any William Blake, Mr. MacIntyre?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSome.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wrote, If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. It appears your Mister Waldo has cleared away our residents\u2019 perceptions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSounds a man with no illusions. A pure spirit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut he\u2019s a mental case.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow lucky to have such an illness.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, what am I dealing with here? I don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can see that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do I do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you feel you need to do anything?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, I\u2019m in this job to help people, but this guy\u2019s done more than I have by doing nothing. By just being here. How\u2019s that make me feel?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, so this is about you then?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo! Well, maybe. Look . . . what is this guy? How is he doing this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have no idea.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, would you at least talk to him and give me some insight? I mean, the guy\u2019s not Jesus.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Over the next few days, I noticed Ms. Page conversing with Waldo on the front porch, in the back yard, and in her office. I was dying to get her impressions but didn\u2019t rush it. While I waited, my days were filled with handling enormous donations of food, toys, and other . . . stuff. Lots of stuff. The residents came together to make Christmas decorations to sell as a fund-raising activity. The Christmas tree ornaments were like mini wreaths with red centers where the residents drew pictures and inscribed personal greetings. Waldo\u2019s decorations said the same thing on each one: Peace to all.<\/p>\n
That sentiment was reflective of the vibe throughout the house. I had never experienced such peace within those walls, but I refused to attribute it to Waldo\u2019s appearance. That wouldn\u2019t be logical. As if on cue, Ms. Page called up front and asked me to her office.<\/p>\n
Armed with coffee around the long table, she said, \u201cI believe Waldo is what he says he is. A prophet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s also a mental patient. The records I requested got here this morning. Want to see them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. I\u2019m satisfied with my conversation and seeing the actual proof in people rather than from another goddamn professional.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSpoken in the pejorative.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I\u2019m done with the cult of professionalism. Everyone today is labeled with their own diagnosis and that diagnosis has a code, a code that can be billed for with insurance. The definitions of clinicians weren\u2019t designed for people like Waldo. His truth doesn\u2019t fit into one of their boxes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe reports say paranoia and delusions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need to get beyond that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd accept what? That he\u2019s Jesus?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr Buddha, Mohammed, Krishna, Patanjali. I believe Waldo is of the higher consciousness of everything. We all are, but most of us are sadly blind to it, living our lives on a road as narrow as a toothbrush. Like it or not, Waldo has a direct connection to life\u2014real life. We\u2019re the stuff of God, Mister MacIntyre. Waldo knows this. Every breath he takes is the breath of the infinite.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t stand religion.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWaldo has nothing to do with religion.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you expect me to–\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t expect anything from you, Mister MacIntyre. I\u2019m just telling you to accept Waldo as he is. Don\u2019t label. Has he broken any of our rules and policies?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot a one. I\u2019m just trying to understand what\u2019s going on.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen let the man be.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Waldo\u2019s vibe filtered down to the residents progressing with their goal plans, getting jobs, building budgets, handling their individual issues, and focusing on self-sufficiency. Everyone, staff, and residents, came together as a team to keep Another Chance, the house and the mission, flourishing.<\/p>\n
Residents sold their ornaments at a craft fair and made over $1,100. People paid extra when they learned who made them. The Clinton News sent a reporter named Karen by to interview residents about what it\u2019s like to be homeless during the holidays. She was amazed at the joy emanating from the folks she spoke with and communicated that in her article which spread throughout the entire county meaning more donations and more good vibes.<\/p>\n
I decided to shut off the boo birds in my head and let things be, just as Ms. Page suggested. It didn\u2019t matter what Waldo was, I was just glad he was here.<\/p>\n
Two days before Christmas Waldo asked me if we could speak in private.<\/p>\n
The door to the staff office locked, Waldo sat next to the desk and said, \u201cIt\u2019s time for me to go back to Boston.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was taken back. \u201cWhy? We can get you a place here. You can be safe. Not like out on the road.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNowhere is safe. Not really. Security is another illusion, remember? It\u2019s time to go back to Boston. People there need me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why did you leave in the first place?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPeople needed me in those places. I go where I\u2019m needed. The feeling tells me when and where.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, you hear voices?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. No words. I told you, feelings.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUh-huh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMake me understand. I want to know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan a bird teach you to fly?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I raised the money for Waldo\u2019s bus ticket from Wichita to Boston from several churches. He was leaving early Christmas Eve morning, so the Christmas Eve eve celebration was also his goodbye dinner. During the gift exchange, Waldo received a new down parka and new Coleman sleeping bag (also from raised funds), and he greeted each gift with crossed arms, a bow, and a smile.<\/p>\n
All residents and staff were so joyous and relaxed an outside observer would have no hint of the trauma they had endured. Ms. Page caught up to me in the kitchen getting a glass of punch. \u201cYou seem in good spirits tonight, Mister MacIntyre, for a man who loathes Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis one feels different.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wonder why.\u201d She smiled.<\/p>\n
I drove Waldo to the Greyhound Bus station in Wichita at one o\u2019clock the next morning, locking Vanessa the house cat in his room so she wouldn\u2019t follow (Larry, the Overnight Monitor, let her out later). We arrived just before two. Waldo\u2019s bus didn\u2019t leave until 3:30, so I sat with him. This felt overprotective considering all the places Waldo had been on his own and what a survivor he was, but I wanted to prolong the goodbye. We barely spoke the entire time, but it didn\u2019t matter. I was completely contented. My mind wasn\u2019t racing endlessly. I wasn\u2019t in a hurry to get something else done. My usual dissatisfaction with my own life, my own self, was absent. I simply sat there with Waldo, and it was enough.<\/p>\n
A very light snow fell throughout the hour and a half wait. During that time, other bus patrons went out of their way to approach Waldo and say hello. Some even moved to chairs around him just to be near, drawn like millers to a porch light.<\/p>\n
At one point I left to take a leak. When I came back a young man was sitting next to Waldo: Felix Graves. \u201cGraves,\u201d I said, \u201cwhat\u2019re you going here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey run me outta Clinton.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were living in the trees and stealing food off a disabled woman\u2019s plate.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n
Waldo dug out a wad of cash. \u201cWill you go buy Felix a ticket to come with me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWaldo, he\u2019s a leech.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck you,\u201d said Mister Graves.<\/p>\n
Waldo shoved the cash at me again. \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n
After the bus arrived Mister Graves got on the bus while I stored Waldo\u2019s gear in the underneath compartment. Waldo gave me his crossed-armed salute and bowed. \u201cIt\u2019s been an honor knowing you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Surprisingly to me, my voice trembled. \u201cMe, too.\u201d He took both of my hands in his, and I felt his love for everyone and everything in this world flow into me, as did his pure compassion (even toward the miscreant Mister Graves). His capacity for forgiveness was seemingly endless.<\/p>\n
I watched the bus drive away in the snow and did not budge until it was out of sight. Driving back to Clinton, I played Philip Glass on the tape deck, blowing snow like a meteor shower in my windshield; the kind that made me dart my eyes back-and-forth to avoid being transfixed and sleepy. With Glass\u2019s help, I was able to avoid going in a ditch. I felt small.<\/p>\n
I walked into Another Chance and our residents, the broken sweepings of this community, were up early cooking in the kitchen, setting out presents for the children, talking and laughing, their troubles put aside for a day.<\/p>\n
On January 2, I received a plain post card saying:<\/p>\n
We made it. Fuck you.<\/em><\/p>\n –Graves<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The next April I received a phone call from a Ms. Mauck at the Langdon, North Dakota Social Security office. \u201cDo you know a Waldo Kevorkian?\u201d<\/p>\n After laughing uproariously, I filled her in on Waldo\u2019s background and then asked to speak to him. It was so good to hear his voice. \u201cWhat drew you to North Dakota?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I picked up on the fact some folks here really need direction and healing, so here I am.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you ever want to come back and settle down here, we\u2019ll all help you, Waldo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, it\u2019s a big country. Lots of lost souls need me.\u201d<\/p>\n It was the last time I ever spoke with him. Every few months hence I\u2019d call the local Social Security office where I had a female mole who\u2019d surreptitiously slide me specific information. I\u2019d give her Waldo\u2019s Social Security number to see if he was still collecting his payments. If so, I knew he was alive. She also told me what state the payee was in at the time.<\/p>\n I put a cheap US map on my wall and started putting different colored pins in the states where Waldo had been. It felt like I was tracking a personal whirling dervish.<\/p>\n In 2004 my phone rang. \u201cAnother Chance, this is Mac.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMac, this is Brian in Boston.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHey, man, you heard from Waldo?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, well.\u201d Brian cleared his throat. \u201cWaldo\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n I couldn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n \u201cYou still there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah. Did he die in Boston with you guys?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cActually, he died in Kansas.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? Where?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEver heard of Washington?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, up by the Nebraska border. Why the hell wouldn\u2019t he come back here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re asking me to explain why he does what he does?<\/p>\n \u201cWell, goddamn!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHis body is in transit to Boston. His remaining family is paying for it, and they are not happy, the rich pricks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey have no idea about him, do they?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEven if they did, they wouldn\u2019t give a shit.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOnly the poor knew the meaning of life; the rich and the safe had to guess.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho said that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cChuck Bukowski.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs that your boss?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n When someone is evicted or moves from a room and leaves possessions behind, staff bags and labels them for storage for 30 days. A year ago, an old boy had a sealed quart bottle of Ten High bourbon hidden in his closet. I\u2019m not normally a whiskey man, but I snuck it home and left it under the kitchen sink.<\/p>\n That night, I cracked the seal, tossed ice in a small Bell jar, and made a sippin\u2019 drink before plopping down on the couch. I drank in silence while looking at the Waldo map. All those places he\u2019d been, people he\u2019d touched. I decided not to tell anyone he was dead; let them keep believing he was still out in the world. They\u2019d sleep better that way.<\/p>\n Frank Sinatra was right: Basically, I’m for anything that gets you through the night–be it prayer, tranquilizers, or a bottle of Jack Daniels.<\/p>\n Add Ten High to the list, too.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Lately my life had become a single note; one key out of eighty-eight. Dull and rote. I had become something I never believed possible: mundane. At times, spiritually inert. I got the strange feeling Waldo knew this, could sense this within me. I was embarrassed. Appearing weak was worse than being weak.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":18643,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[2917],"class_list":["post-18033","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-homeless-gritty-cosmic","writer-james-kanady"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18033","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18033"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18033\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18644,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18033\/revisions\/18644"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/18643"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18033"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18033"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18033"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}