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Provided by Today's New International Version TNIV Bible. ValleyofDeath

Friday, April 10, 2009

Awake, O Zion


Isaiah 52:1 - 53:12


52Awake, awake, put on your strength, O Zion! Put on your beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city; for the uncircumcised and the unclean shall enter you no more. 2Shake yourself from the dust, rise up, O captive Jerusalem; loose the bonds from your neck, O captive daughter Zion! 3For thus says the Lord: You were sold for nothing, and you shall be redeemed without money. 4For thus says the Lord God: Long ago, my people went down into Egypt to reside there as aliens; the Assyrian, too, has oppressed them without cause. 5Now therefore what am I doing here, says the Lord, seeing that my people are taken away without cause? Their rulers howl, says the Lord, and continually, all day long, my name is despised. 6Therefore my people shall know my name; therefore in that day they shall know that it is I who speak; here am I.

7How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.” 8Listen! Your sentinels lift up their voices, together they sing for joy; for in plain sight they see the return of the Lord to Zion. 9Break forth together into singing, you ruins of Jerusalem; for the Lord has comforted his people, he has redeemed Jerusalem. 10The Lord has bared his holy arm before the eyes of all the nations; and all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God. 11Depart, depart, go out from there! Touch no unclean thing; go out from the midst of it, purify yourselves, you who carry the vessels of the Lord. 12For you shall not go out in haste, and you shall not go in flight; for the Lord will go before you, and the God of Israel will be your rear guard.

13See, my servant shall prosper; he shall be exalted and lifted up, and shall be very high. 14Just as there were many who were astonished at him—so marred was his appearance, beyond human semblance, and his form beyond that of mortals— 15so he shall startle many nations; kings shall shut their mouths because of him; for that which had not been told them they shall see, and that which they had not heard they shall contemplate.

53Who has believed what we have heard? And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed? 2For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. 3He was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity; and as one from whom others hide their faces he was despised, and we held him of no account.

4Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases; yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted. 5But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed. 6All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way, and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all. 7He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth. 8By a perversion of justice he was taken away. Who could have imagined his future? For he was cut off from the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people. 9They made his grave with the wicked and his tomb with the rich, although he had done no violence, and there was no deceit in his mouth.

10Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain. When you make his life an offering for sin, he shall see his offspring, and shall prolong his days; through him the will of the Lord shall prosper. 11Out of his anguish he shall see light; he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge. The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities. 12Therefore I will allot him a portion with the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; because he poured out himself to death, and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Obamas Muslim Nazis



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Obamas Nazi Storm Troopers

FROM BROWNSHIRTS TO GREENSHIRTS

VAN JONES HAS BEEN APPOINTED BY BARACK OBAMA
TO BE HIS SPECIAL ADVISER ON GREEN JOBS. HE WILL
BE OBAMA’S GREEN CZAR. WHAT MOST PEOPLE DON’T
KNOW, HOWEVER, IS THAT VAN JONES HAS A BACKGROUND
AS A STREET RADICAL. AFTER GROWING UP IN RURAL
TENESSEE AND GETTING A LAW DEGREE FROM THE WHITE
LIBERALS AT YALE, VAN JONES BEGAN HIS CAREER OF
AGITATION IN SAN FRANCISCO. HE STARTED A GROUP
CALLED POLICE WATCH, A GROUP WHICH HAS
SYSTEMATICALLY HARASSED THE POLICE OF THE SAN
FRANCISIO BAY AREA. USING VIDEO CAMERAS, PROTESTS,
LAWSUITS, ETC., VAN JONES FOUGHT TO PREVENT THE POLICE
FROM PROTECTING US AGAINST THE SCUM OF SOCIETY. HE HAD POLICEMEN FIRED, HE’S RUINED LIVES, AND HE’S MADE US ALL
MORE VULNERABLE TO STREET GANGS.

BUT IN THE LAST FEW YEARS, IT SEEMS, VAN JONES HAS MOVED
ON TO A DIFFERENT CON GAME – THE ENVIRONMENT. HE STARTED SOMETHING CALLED THE GREEN COLLAR JOBS CAMPAIGN, WHICH TRIES, AS HE CLAIMS, TO “CREATE GREEN PATHWAYS OUT OF POVERTY.” IN OTHER WORDS, CONNING PEOPLE ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING HAS BECOME MORE PROFITABLE THAN HARRASSING
THE POLICE.
AND NOW BARACK OBAMA HAS BROUGHT HIM ON AS PART OF
THE TEAM. HIS BACKGROUND DOVETAILS PERFECTLY WITH
OBAMA’S PLANS. YOU’VE HEARD OBAMA BEFORE TALKING
ABOUT STARTING A “CIVILIAN NATIONAL SECURITY FORCE”
SEPARATE FROM THE MILITARY. LISTEN TO HIS WORDS AS HE
SPOKE ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL LAST YEAR.

CHILLING. BUT I’VE TOLD YOU BEFORE THAT OBAMA IS GETTING
READY TO ORGANIZE AN ARMY OF GREENSHIRTS. AND GIVEN VAN JONES’ BACKGROUND IN STREET AGITATION, HE SEEMS LIKE THE PERFECT PERSON TO DO IT.

THERE WAS ANOTHER MAN ONCE WHO ROSE TO POWER ON AN
ARMY OF STREET THUGS. ADOLPH HITLER HAD A FRIEND NAMED ERNST ROHM WHO WAS THE HEAD OF AN ORGANIZATION CALLED
THE S.A.. THE S.A. WAS A POLITICAL ARMY WHICH PROTECTED THE
NAZI PARTY LEADERSHIP, BATTLED POLITICAL OPPONENTS, AND TERRORIZED THE JEWS. ERNST ROHM WAS AN AVOWED SOCIALIST.
HE REJECTED CAPITALISM, PUSHED FOR THE NATIONALIZATION OF GERMAN INDUSTRY AND REDISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH. VAN JONES,
IT SEEMS, IS WORKING ALONG THE SAME LINES.

THE ENVIRONMENT IS BEING USED BY OBAMA TO CONTROL THE
U.S. POPULACE. THE BROWNSHIRTS HAVE BECOME THE
GREENSHIRTS, LED BY VAN JONES AND HIS STREET AGITATORS.
THEY SEEM TO BE ON THE VERGE OF DEPUTIZING AND ARMING AN ARMY OF GANGS WHO WILL THREATEN, INTIMIDATE, AND ARREST ANYONE WHO REFUSES TO GO ALONG WITH THE NEW GREEN AGRENDA.

THE OBAMA CORRUPTION CABAL
DURING THE PRESIDENCY OF GEORGE W. BUSH, LIBERALS USED
TO SAY THAT IT WAS THE MOST CORRUPT ADMINISTRATION IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. BUT AS TIME GOES BY, IT’S
LOOKING LIKE BARACK OBAMA MAY CLAIM THE TITLE FOR
HIMSELF. JUST TODAY, THE OFFICE OF THE MAN B.O. APPOINTED
AS THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT’S CHIEFINFORMATION OFFICER
WAS RAIDED BY THE FBI. TWO MEN WHO HAD WORKED FOR
VIVEK KUNDRA WERE ARRESTED AS PART OF A FEDERAL BRIBERY STING. THEIR NAMES WERE YUSUF ACAR AND SUSHIL BANSAL. IT LOOKS LIKE MAYBE THERE’S AN ELIOTNESS OUT THERE AFTER ALL.

BUT IF YOU’VE BEEN PAYING ANY ATTENTION AT ALL OVER THE LAST FEW MONTHS, YOU KNOW THAT THIS IS ONLY THE MOST RECENT IN A LONG LIST OF SCANDALS INVOLVING OBAMA APPOINTEES.

· BILL RICHARDSON REMOVES HIMSELF FROM THE RUNNING
TO BE U.S. COMMERCE SECRETARY, SUPPOSEDLY BECAUSE OF AN ON-GOING INVESTIGATION INTO A POSSIBLE “PAY-FOR-PLAY” DEAL IN RICHARDSON’S STATE.
· TIMOTHY GEITHNER, OBAMA’S PICK FOR TREASURY
SECRETARY “FORGOT” TO PAY TAXES BUT WAS APPROVED ANYWAY.
· TOM DASCHLE – FORGOT TO PAY $100,000 DOLLARS IN
TAXES AND HAD TO STEP DOWN.
· NANCY KILLEFER TOOK HERSELF OUT OF THE RUNNING
FOR OBAMA’S NEWLY CREATED “CHIEF PERFORMANCE OFFICER” POSITION BECAUSE SHE FAILED FOR 18 MONTHS TO PAY EMPLOYMENT TAXES ON HOUSEHOLD HELP.
· THE HUSBAND OF OBAMA’S NOMINEE FOR U.S. LABOR SECRETARY, HILDA SOLIS, HAS MORE THAN $7,600 IN TAX LIENS ON HIS AUTO REPAIR BUSINESS, BUT SHE STILL GOT APPROVED.
· RON KIRK, NOMINATED AS U.S. TRADE REPRESENTATIVE, THE LATEST OBAMA TAX CHEATER, OWES AN ESTIMATED $10,000 IN BACK TAXES.
· AND RABID ANTI-SEMITE CHARLES “CHAS” FREEMAN, OBAMA’S PICK FOR THE NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE COUNCIL TOOK
HIMSELF OUT OF THE RUNNING AFTER HIS RACIST COMMENTS WERE PUBLICLY REVEALED.

YET NONE OF THESE SCANDALS SEEM TO HAVE ANY AFFECT ON OBAMA’S DETERMINATION TO CONTINUE APPOINTING CORRUPT OFFICIALS. THESE PEOPLE CONSIDER THEMSELVES ABOVE THE
LAW. AS PART OF THE NEO-MARXIST CABAL, THEY CONSIDER THE
LAW TO BE FOR WORKING PEOPLE OR FOR CHRISTIANS OR CONSERVATIVES, BUT NOT FOR THEM.

MICHAEL SAVAGE

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Friday, March 06, 2009

My Best Girl


My Best Girl

There are so many things to write about each day it is truly difficult to stay current. Between the racist thugs and criminals that operate Mercy Housing, the gangs that control City Hall and the Satanic satyr in the White House one wonders where to begin.

In the midst of it all, my best girl is always at my side. MEOW is now two and a half. She shares the namesake of the grand matron of our kitty brood since she was as vocal as her mother when first asked her

name:

Meow

By George M Weinert V

March 22, 1996

(Dedicated to the Prettiest Girl in the Whole World)

A bright and sunny day it was, it yes indeed was that; And ‘round about four, or maybe before, I swore I’d heard a cat.

And so I ventured forth a bit, to see what I could see, It’s near I thought, but vainly sought, for nothing was to be.

But on and on the clatter went, and oh, the day was pretty; I soon surmised, the sparkling eyes, of a tiny baby kitty.

I seemed the wanderlust of youth, and the skills of a baby had landed, her turned quite around, and suddenly she found, she was hopelessly, hopelessly, stranded.

And so I stooped to pick her up, as she fit in the palm of my hand, And the kitty and I, though she still did cry, entered a brave, new land.

So into the house and up the stairs we ventured past the flowers; But “MEOW” she moaned, and that’s all the intoned for about the next three hours.

“You’re going to be all-right,” I said. “You’re going to be just fine!”;

But she thundered, “MEOW” and Oh, Holy Cow, she just whined, and whined and whined.

I guess it was really about two hours before she finally took her nap; No longer alone, she’d found a new home, snuggled up, safe and sound, in my lap.

She’s a heck of a gal, and my best little pal, and I’ll never understand it now, I asked her name, she just thought it a game, and sternly rebuked me, “MEOW!”

And so Meow became her name and she followed me all around, It was over six years, and she always endears, and we’re both so glad she was found.

So often as I ponder things, I can’t but wonder how; I took all the strife, and lived all my life,

WITHOUT MY LITTLE MEOW.

(Meow was killed in October of 1999 by an angry Rottweiler. She is buried in the yard of the home she loved so much and shared with me. In 2006 I adopted a lovely pair of female twins, one of whom is a dead ringer for Meow so she is now Meow II. Along with her sister, Josephine they are a great joy and blessing.)

Meow II has developed an adorable habit of helping with all my work. She began by trying to help me type. When she disliked being moved off of the keyboard next to the Thinkpad, she demonstrated true feminine wiles and decided that giving me big, sloppy wet kisses right on the lips would allow her to get her way. She is correct, and I don’t have the heart to stop her. It’s my fault, since I showed her that pressing a key would cause an action – she got the idea quickly, and then decided that if one paw was good, two would be better. From there, she decided that planting her entire 9 pound body on the keyboard would be best. She is really pleased and honestly thinks she is helping; any attempt to move her aside gets a sloppy, wet kiss right on the lips! I love my Little Meow, how can I move her? She is almost psychic, since she now has decided that perching on my shoulder is best, since she can help me read and make editing suggestions when I am writing.

Josephine is her little sister and litter mate. While Meow is hyper-active, Josephine sleeps most of the time, but when she is awake is extremely affectionate. She likes to be held and also wants to help. The problem is that her idea of ‘helping’ is to sit in my lap in front of my Thinkpad and demand to be held against my chest. Since she purrs like a baby, typing with one hand has become a necessary skill.

They are a true joy and provide solace when the rotten black bastards that run Harold Washington Corp, LLP are up to their criminal conspiracies and continuing grand theft of YOUR MONEY.

The hardest part about the Second Retaliatory Eviction that my Criminal Landlord, Harold Washington Corp, LLP is still pursuing against me after a year and a half is knowing that these dirty bastards want so kill my beloved Meow and Josephine. While one may couch this ugly reality in other terms, the facts remain – if successful, they will take these two adorable kittens, place them in a shelter where they will be murdered. If that occurs, action may be required. A Nice think to look forward to, is it not?

When a rotten punk named Walter Rogers, a “Case Manager” [1] still employed by Mercy Lakefront SRO, who had the AUDCAITY TO FALISIFY COURT DOCUMENTS AND PERJUR HIMSELF had me locked up in Reed Mental Health Center for eight days (see “Prisoner of Mercy”) I was taken from my north side SRO apartment but the cats were locked inside. They were there for eight days, while I was held against my will and forced to miss five classes a week before finals, but fortunately I was able to reach a fellow Paralegal at Roosevelt University who ensured that they had food and water. When I was finally released and walked back in, they were frightened but the reunion was joyous. Cats being cats, they had managed to knock the coffee pot off the stove and $200.00 worth of law books were stained. Of course my criminal landlord took no action to protect these books – THESE DUMMIES CANNOT EVEN READ! [2] The law books are useable but damaged.

At 57, with no family left alive (save for a cousin in Arizona, LOVE YA JO!) and a criminal gang of ignorant drug dealers and diseased whores trying to ruin my life, things can be very discouraging. It is at these time that my MEOW and JOSEPHINE show me their undying love.

I LOVE YOU MEOW!

I LOVE YOU JOSEPHINE!


[1] The incredible part of this whole tale is this same dirty black bastard is going to try to GET ON THE WITNESS STAND IN COURT TO TESTIFY AGAINST THIS 57-yard-old Paralegal.

[2] This is yet another under-reported but sad fact of the Chicago poor. Adult ILLITERACT RATES ARE EXTERMELY HIGH – these are not children, but ADULTS in their 30’s, 40’s, 50’s and BEYOND THAT CANNOT READ ABOUT A FOURTH GRADE LEVEL! “Functionally” ILLITERATE STILL MEANS ILLITERATE – THESE STUPID BASTARDS CANNOT READ AND WRITE!

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Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Prayer for the Children

Prayer for the Children

By George M Weinert V

August 15, 1973

 

Bless the children of this day, hold them in Thy hand;

Let their hearts and minds ne’er stray, from their merry land.

 

Guide their feet in paths or right; shelter them in storm,

Hold their hearts, and gladly light; their warm eternal morn.

 

Distress them not, and dry their eyes; if tears should spoil their joys,

Let them laugh, and lie no lies; wonder and hope their toys.

 

Lastly, let then ne’re know fear; no pain, no lust, nor greed,

Their hearts keep ever warm and near; that we may all be freed.

 

 

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Prisoner of Mercy

Prisoner of Mercy
By George M Weinert V
Tuesday, June 17, 2008 Chicago, IL

The Nightmare Begins

Have you heard that a Man’s house is his Castle? You may want to reexamine that wise old saying, at least if you live in the Land of Lincoln. This cherished aphorism makes you feel as safe as you can be while you are at home. If you really believe in the truth of this statement, you have a big surprise waiting for you. It is not true. In Illinois it is a fetid lie. You had best learn about the Petition for Voluntary/Judicial Admission. 405 Ill. Comp. Stat. 5/3-600.

The writer, a 57 year old Graduate Student in the Paralegal Program at Chicago’s Roosevelt University was assaulted, threatened and ultimately dragged from his own home under false pretenses by those who “Serve and Protect” and led into what would become an eight day nightmare in the Illinois Mental Health System.

· All of this was due to an incompetent and prevaricating “Social Worker” and condoned by the Sisters of Charity
· All of this was caused by a display of quite justifiable anger on the part of the writer
· All of this was the result of Stalinist-like laws that allows the government to remove you with under dubious circumstances and hold you against your will for weeks at a time

Scholars and history buffs may recall that the Nazis and Communists were fond of such tactics and employed them widely to avoid over-crowing the gas chambers and gulags. However, this is American and that cannot happen here right? Wrong – read on and you will see.

The legal slight of hand that the Land of Lincoln uses to accomplish these abuses is the Petition for Voluntary/Judicial Admission. 405 Ill. Comp. Stat. 5/3-600. This ‘petition’ only requires that a ‘spouse, parent’ guardian, or substitute decision maker’ call the Police, attest that you are –

1.) ‘An individual who is mentally ill and because of his or her illness is reasonably expected to inflict serious physical harm on himself of another in the near future which may include threatening behavior or conduct that places another in reasonable expectation of being harmed’
2.) ‘An individual who is mentally ill and because of his or her illness is unable to provide for his or her basic physical needs so as to guard himself or herself from serious harm without the assistance of family or outside help’
3.) ‘In need of immediate hospitalization for the prevention of such harm.’

This 57 year old Graduate Honors Level Paralegal Student would like to know how a 40 year old :Case Manager” (and part time drug dealer?) [i] without a College Degree like Mr. Walter Rogers can become a “Substitute Decision Maker” and confine him in a Mental Hospital against his will for eight days. Anyone got any answers?

The section of this form immediately following is filled out by the person(s) making the petition. In the instant case a “Case Manager” in the employ of Mercy Lakefront SRO Housing named Walter Rogers. I had told management in a north side SRO “Subsidized” apartment building to “Kiss my Ass!” and angrily described a group of marginally qualified delinquents as “ignorant dog s**t scum’. These outbursts were the result of three years of failures to repair and maintain property in this apartment building, which ultimately led to an angry confrontation. [ii] Remember that the next time you get in a fight with your landlord!

Directly below the account of the petitioner is a sworn statement that states:

a.) I do not have a legal interest in this matter
b.) I do not have a financial interest in this matter
c.) I am not involved in litigation in this matter

Rogers had checked all three of the items:

1.) The Signer is an employee of Mercy Lakefront SRO that first is perjury
2.) The Signer derives his laughable income from this employ so the second is perjury
3.) The Signer, as an employee is an agent of Mercy Lakefront SRO who is currently involved in an Eviction suit Cook County Circuit Court Error! Hyperlink reference not valid. with the writer this is also perjury

Mercy Lakefront Employee Walter Rogers PERJURED HIMSELF.

Why would the Sisters of Mercy continue to employ a CRIMINAL like this?

The Signer of this “Petition” is free to prevaricate and the cops could care less. Of course, if the CPD is being paid off by the ‘Petitioner’ why be concerned with the law?

The “Petition” was signed only by Error! Hyperlink reference not valid., “Case Manager” for Mercy Lakefront SRO Housing at the time I was removed from my apartment by threats and the lies of the Chicago Police Department. Those sworn to “Serve and Protect” were more than happy to engage in thuggish violation of my constitutional right to be “left alone” [1]

When I was rudely interrupted during my studies on the morning of May 15, 2008 I refused to answer a loud and threatening knock on the door. It is a wise policy in these buildings since gang members and prostitutes operate with impunity and you never know who is out there. When I told the abusers to “Go Away, I’m studying” Rogers used his Pass key to enter, in the company of five brave Chicago Police officers. This is TRESPASS.[iii] There was no emergency that warranted this invasion of privacy but the CPD went along with it all.

This could never happen when Illinois statutes are so clear in annunciating our rights, correct? The need for mental health treatment must be shown by clear and convincing evidence before involuntary admission is ordered. [2] In order to adjudicate a person in need of emergency mental treatment, and therefore in need of immediate hospitalization, the court must be presented with clear and convincing evidence which establishes that the respondent is suffering from a mental disorder and that due to the disorder, the respondent may injure himself or others, or is unable to care for himself. [3] Don’t believe it. I was the victim of an eight day unlawful imprisonment despite all the hyperbole enshrined above.

What was my crime? I was studying the Federal Rules of Evidence for a mid-term exam scheduled for May 19, 2008 in Trial and Post-Trial Litigation at Roosevelt University.

When the CPD entered my apartment illegally in the company of Rogers who had used his “Pass key”. [4] I asked what the fuss was about. I was told that “Management” was fearful that someone would get hurt and had requested Police assistance. How and why Police powers can be employed to prevent me from studying for a test is constitutional I have yet to discern but my protestations were to no avail. When I stated that I “wasn’t going anywhere” and asked to “Be left alone” the representatives of Chicago’s finest produced the “Petition” that had at this point only been signed by Walter Rogers. Chicago’s fines assured me that “This was only for tests” and that if I went along with this, I would “Be back in about an hour.” Being an ardent supporter of the Chicago Police I believed them and went voluntarily.

The responding officers were all older men which made this atrocity doubly alarming. Since a 57 year old man studying the Federal Rules of Evidence in the privacy of his own home is hardly what is considered a threat the manner in which facts were ignored in this instance was astounding. Are the COPS being paid off in order to enforce the dictates and terror of the career criminals that have learned to use the Illinois Mental Health code to silence any who expose their graft, tax evasion and embezzlement of millions? Since drug dealers and prostitutes often operated with impunity in these apartment units it is a legitimate question and since YOUR TAX DOLLARS are paying half the bill you should be very concerned.

The Office in Charge was Proternak, Star # 15169 – He is also guilty of perjury and charges shall be brought against him (and the four other unnamed offices with him) with the Office of Professional Standards. Why not ask him how much he was paid? I plan to shortly. He shall doubtless aver his lack of culpability and cite § 405 ILCS 5/3-606. [Peace officer; duties]
Sec. 3-606. A peace officer may take a person into custody and transport him to a mental health facility when the peace officer has reasonable grounds to believe that the person is subject to involuntary admission and in need of immediate hospitalization to protect such person or others from physical harm. Upon arrival at the facility, the peace officer may complete the petition under Section 3-601 [405 ILCS 5/3-601]. If the petition is not completed by the peace officer transporting the person, the transporting officer's name, badge number, and employer shall be included in the petition as a potential witness as provided in Section 3-601 of this Chapter [405 ILCS 5/3-601].

How does wanting to complete your studies for a Mid-Term in a few days and anger at a malfunctioning intercomm that had already deprived me of sleep on two nights that I Had classes the next day make this Paralegal “in need of immediate hospitalization”? I hope that Officer Proternak, Star # 15169 has a good answer since he should forfeit his badge. GESTAPO AGENTS (er, COPS) like Officer Proternak, Star # 15169 are a danger to all law abiding citizens.

I was placed in a large paddy wagon and transported to Chicago Lakeshore Hospital, 4880 N Marine Drive, Chicago, IL 60640. After being held in this locked Mental Hospital for two hours, I was transported to Sweedish Covenant Hospital and held there for another three hours for “additional tests’ [5] Personnel at this second hospital assured me that “I would be released” once I was returned to Chicago Lakeshore. At 11:00 PM that evening, I was returned to this ‘hospital’ and informed that a “Professional” named Catherine Biga (an LLPC) had signed the “Petition” and I was to be transferred “To the State Hospital.” I was held in a cold office and forced to sleep on the floor all night. The early morning hours at this “Intake” hospital saw three ‘patients’ forcibly restrained and apparently drugged into submission. There were at least four different visits by the Chicago Police Department dragging with them a new prisoner. A few were truly disturbed. Two of them seemed on the verge of violence and all kept screaming they wanted to get out. I decided it was best to stay quiet and avoid the goon squad that was busily subduing other hysterical patients to remained in the small office where I had been confined. It was only at this time that I was able to make a telephone call and it was too late to stop the insanity. I called my attorney, called the ‘case manager” responsible and more to no avail. I was a prisoner of Mercy. [6]

I had been held against my will for over 17 hours. The state's petition to involuntarily commit an individual was erroneously granted because the medical certificates accompanying the petition failed to indicate that the individual was examined by a psychiatrist as required, and
certificates filed by the qualified examiner and physician did not suffice because the statute applied to involuntary admission in emergency situations, and the admission in the case was by court order, not by emergency certification.[7]

The following day was Friday and all of my pleas that I had a class to attend that morning at 9:00 AM were ignored. At this point I considered just walking out but found that I was locked into this “hospital” and would be forcibly restrained if I tried. It was hard to believe that this was happening to an American citizen and 57 year old scholar but that was reality. By 2:30 PM, yet another ambulance team transported me to Chicago Reed Mental Health Center and the descent into Hades began in earnest. At this point I had been held against my will for 27 hours and was still protesting that I had to return to my studies since I had arleady missed my Friday morning Legal Writing Class. I had seen no psychiatrist nor M.D. The only ‘professional’ that had interviewed me was LLPC Catherine Biga. § 405 ILCS 5/3-601.2. Consent to admission by healthcare surrogate Sec. 3-601.2. Consent to admission by healthcare surrogate. A surrogate decision maker under the Health Care Surrogate Act [755 ILCS 40/1 et seq.] may not consent to the admission to a mental health facility of a person who lacks decision making capacity. A surrogate may, however, petition for involuntary admission pursuant to this Code. This Section does not affect the authority of a court appointed guardian. At this point after 27 hours of unlawful imprisonment, my decision making capability kept telling me that I had already missed my Friday morning Legal Writing Class and had to get back to study for a Mid-Term on Monday in Trial and Post-Trial Litigation. No one was listening. Employees at Reed also chose to ignore the law: § 405 ILCS 5/3-609. [Disclosure of information to respondent] Sec. 3-609. Within 12 hours after his admission, the respondent shall be given a copy of the petition and a statement as provided in Section 3-206 [405 ILCS 5/3-206]. Not later than 24 hours, excluding Saturdays, Sundays and holidays, after admission, a copy of the petition and statement shall be given or sent to the respondent's attorney and guardian, if any. The respondent shall be asked if he desires such documents sent to any other persons, and at least 2 such persons designated by the respondent shall receive such documents. The respondent shall be allowed to complete no less than 2 telephone calls at the time of his admission to such persons as he chooses.

I was given no copies but since the phone was free called my attorney, the Sisters of Mercy (who did nothing), Roosevelt (to tell them why I had missed class since I have always had a prefect attendance record) and my attorney’s office.

By this time to say that I was in shock would be putting it mildly. After five months in Paralegal Classes at Roosevelt University and an environment of scholarship I though I had successfully escaped the penitentiary mentality that permeates subsidized housing. I was wrong. The guards that masquerade as ‘care givers’ and fleece millions from the government under the penumbra of compassion enjoy their positions of power due to affirmative action, patronage, and corruption. Most of them are unable to get a real job and many are functionally illiterate. They have no way to relate to real education and must conceal their marginal qualifications to keep their jobs. The Sisters of Mercy allow this to continue since ‘de bruders needs ‘dem jobs. (Has you seen ‘de price of barbecue lately bro?)

Caregivers in Subsidized Housing units such as those operated by Mercy Housing quickly learn that the Bill of Rights does not exist when it comes to residents. Since the wardens and guards who masquerade as managers regard the 4th and 14th Amendments as obscure anomalies that are only useful when it is necessary to convince some legislator of their need for more government money The fundamental guarantees of the 5th and 5h Amendments are unheard of and most of the employees of these glorified penitentiaries do not even know what these vital tenets of American jurisprudence are. Since illegal searches are the norm, unlawful imprisonment is used as a means of control and every effort is made to circumvent freedom of speech and press it is not at all surprising that coercion by force is employed. The “Professionals” who were gang bangers, drug dealers and crack hos barely a few months ago know no other way. Any rights available were carefully concealed. Although this section has been used to involuntarily admit an individual in emergency situations, a proceeding to
admit respondent by court order, not by emergency certification, required a psychiatric examination under 405 ILCS 5/3-703 to complement an already submitted non-psychiatric certificate. [8]

In the instant case all the abusers were African and the abused is Caucasian. But it is impossible for discrimination to occur under such circumstances is it not? Not according to Illinois courts. It is possible for persons of white race to state claim for racial [9] Discrimination under 42 USCS § 1982

In the case under consideration such racial and age discrimination indeed played a role. The operators of Mercy Lakefront’s ETE [10] Center had already gotten away with denying Internet, phone and fax access to this 57 year old resident and prevented him from gaining any employment and/or training for same. This flagrant abuse of Title VI of the 1964 Civil Rights Act had been (and remains) buried under a confusing array of the chaos that is necessary in order for marginally educated and incompetent ‘caregivers’ to keep their jobs and keep embezzling millions of YOUR TAX DOLLARS. [11]

At this point employees of Mercy Lakefront had a lot to loose if their crimes became known.
[1] With the remnants of a gun shot wound suffered in 1985 and a badly damaged nerve causing a noticeable painful limp[2] I am also an alumnus, Master of Music Composition, Chicago Musical College or Roosevelt University, 1981[3] Things that Mercy Lakefront personnel know nothing about [iv][4] Which is exactly what I was doing when thrown out into the street[5] The Mercy Lakefront ETE Center is using Federal Funds and the phone, internet and fax that they pay for to do political organizing for the Barak Hussein Obama campaign – with Homosexual Black Muslim Terrorist Agnin Mumin heading up this illegal effort and using Terrorism to silence any opposition[6] Details can be found at http://www.roosevelt.edu/paralegal/[7] Perhaps the dummies that work for Mercy Lakefront can do serious research in 45 minutes, but as any serious scholar would only laugh at such buffoonery[8] Criminal and Civil Rights actions are just the start for years of tort and personal injury lawsuits shall follow [9] Beginning with Federal, State and Local Regulatory agencies – many of which you have never even heard of – remember that I am 56 years old and not some ignorant punk which brings elder abuse into play[10] And egged on by Black Muslim Terrorist Agnin Mumin who is on an FBI Terrorism Watch list thanks to the efforts of this American Patriot – perhaps you should join him?
Since the writer is now 57 and has been a victim of this abuse for years the Illinois Elder abuse statutes come into play as well:

Reported elderly abuse cases rose 163% from 1990 to 1998

· 24% of elderly victims suffer physical abuse
· 44% of abuse victims experience episodes of emotional abuse including
verbal assaults, threats, and intimidation
· Financial Exploitation accounts for 54% of all reported cases of elderly
abuse
· 4% of elderly abuse victims suffer sexual abuse
· Defined as passive neglect, caregivers fail to provide the elderly
person with food, clothing, shelter, medical care or other necessities
of one’s life in 38% of all cases
· Willful Deprivation, or the withholding of medication, shelter, food and
physical or medical assistance, occurs in 8% of elderly abuse cases
· Confinement accounts for 7% of all reported cases of elderly abuse
· In elderly abuse cases, the victim typically experiences more than one
type of abuse
· 76% of reported elder abuse cases involve Caucasian victims while 21% [12] are African American and 3% are Hispanic
· Almost 3/4 of all elderly abuse victims are women
· Elderly people often need others to report cases of abuse or neglect for
them especially regarding instances of neglect or willful deprivation
where elderly persons are incapable of seeking help for themselves
· 59% of elder abuse perpetrators are male while 41% are female
· 42% of elder abuse offenders are between the ages of 30-49 and 19% are
70 years or older
· 3/4 of alleged abusers are related to the victim
· Adult children of the victim account for 41% of all reported elderly
abuse cases

These harsh realities create an additional tort since the abused in this case is now 57 years of age:

(20 ILCS 105/3.05) (from Ch. 23, par. 6103.05) Sec. 3.05. "Aged" or "Senior citizen" means a person of 55 years of age or older, or a person nearing the age of 55 for whom opportunities for employment and participation in community life are unavailable or severely limited and who, as a result thereof, has difficulty in maintaining self‑sufficiency and contributing to the life of the community. (Source: P. A. 78‑242.)
It is imperative that employees who masquerade as “caregivers” find some way to conceal these laws so denial of services is normally employed. [13] They must find a way to hide the obvious conclusions. What’s the easiest to avoid answering these allegations?

JUST PORTRAY THE OLD MAN AS CRAZY! [14] That is what this crime was all about.

After being held against my will for 28 hours at Chicago Lakeshore Hospital on the legal authority of a bedpan commando named Catherine Bigg (LLPC who signed the “Petition for Involuntary/Judicial Admission” as “Intake Clinician”) and being forced to sleep on a cold floor with only a thin sheet I was placed into yet another ambulance and entered the gulag of the Illinois Mental Health System. My liberty had been taken from me on the legal authority of a Licensed Practical Nurse. (and she didn’t even empty the bed pan!)

On the morning of May 17, 2008 I finally had the chance to speak with another “Director”.at Chicago Lakeshore Hospital. By this time I had already missed my Friday Legal Writing Class at 9:00 AM and was only concerned that I could be released in time to prepare for my Mid-Term on Monday. A desperate plea was ignored. All they had to do was to call Rooevelt University to confirm my explanation but no one did. All of my protestations and petitions for release were ignored. Mercy Lakefront and the Siters of Mercy knew they could get awy with it: The police are authorized to seize a person and transport him to a mental hospital for involuntary commitment if a petition and medical certificate of need for commitment have been filed, or if the police conclude as a result of their personal observation that the person is subject to involuntary commitment.[15] But how does wanting to study for a Mid-Term make one subject to involuntary commitment? I kept asking but my pleas for sanity were ignored. When I asked why I could not simply walk the few blocks back to my apartment I learned that I was now in the custody of the state of Illinois. At this point, I was in no ones custody but was simply being held against my will and threatened if I attmpted to resist.

I was a Prisoner of Mercy.

The perpetrators unknowingly had created the odious tort of False Imprisonment.
Some courts have stated that false arrest and false imprisonment are distinguishable only in terminology.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] The two have been called virtually indistinguishable[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] and identical.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] It has also been said that false arrest is a species of the common-law action for false imprisonment,[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] or that they are separate causes of action that share the same elements.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] The gist of either tort is the unlawful detention.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] The difference between them lies in the manner in which they arise.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] False arrest is one of several means of committing false imprisonment.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] To commit false imprisonment, it is not necessary either to intend to make an arrest[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] or actually to make an arrest.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] By contrast, a person who is falsely arrested is at the same time falsely imprisoned,[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] and an unlawful arrest may give rise to a cause of action for either false arrest or false imprisonment.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] Thus, it has been stated that false arrest and false imprisonment are not separate torts, and that a false arrest is one way to commit false imprisonment; since an arrest involves a restraint, it always involves imprisonment.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] On the other hand, false imprisonment is the broader tort,[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] and a person improperly detained pursuant to a lawful arrest may have the right to bring an action for false imprisonment, but not for false arrest.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] [v]

If you think you have rights in Illinois then think again: The police may take a person into custody and transport him to a mental facility, even absent personal observation of erratic behavior, as long as probable cause exists to believe the individual is in need of hospitalization. [16] Remember that the next time you are cramming for finals.

Resistance is Futile (you will be assimilated)

I was a prisoner of the Borg [vi][vii] and there was no hope of escaping but Captain Picard was nowhere to be found Each time I protested and reminded my captors of my classes I was threatened with dire results. By this time I was getting used to ambulance rides but kept wondering who was going to pay the bills. Since no one seemed too concerned I dismissed the thought. I was relieved to be out of the clutches of Chicago Lakeshore Hospital since it appeared that staff in this facility were not adverse to employing physical violence to any patient that gave them a hard time. I had no doubt that I would be next and was relieved to be leaving. As I was wheeled out into the waiting ambulance, the entire staff gathered to say their farewells. I gave them all the finger all the way out. A small victory but quite satisfying.

The ambulance ride to Reed Mental Health was interesting; a thin but cute paramedic told me I looked like some movie star and seemed obsessed with looking at me. I’m used to comments like that from women but under the circumstance it was an odd place to flirt. I wondered if this new adventure was to reveal even stranger adventures with oversexed females. Perhaps there would be more to this than I had imagined.

Our arrival at Reed Mental Health Center was accompanied by the usual officiousness that all Illinois Taxpayers know and love. Another medical team of four individuals carefully stripped me of all my cards, id’s, wallet, keys and finally even my clothes. I was stunned when they took my shoelaces but one never know what dire dangers they may face at the hands of a crazed killer armed with a razor-sharp shoe lace! After two hours I was transferred to C-North and thrust into the Illinois Insane Asylum. Once all my possessions and my very identity had been taken from me the prison I was entering came into clear focus. The action for false imprisonment is derived from the ancient common-law action of trespass and protects the personal interest of freedom from restraint of movement.[Error! Hyperlink reference not valid.] False imprisonment consists of the unlawful restraint against his or her will of an individual's personal liberty or freedom of movement,[FN6] accomplished with or without process of law.[FN7] It is also defined as the unlawful violation of the personal liberty of another[FN8] imposed by force or threats.[FN9] Moreover, false imprisonment is sometimes defined by statute.[FN10] [viii]

It seemed that no one on staff wanted new patients to be aware of their legal rights:
§ 405 ILCS 5/3-403. [Discharge upon written notice; hearing] Sec. 3-403. A voluntary recipient shall be allowed to be discharged from the facility at the earliest appropriate time, not to exceed 5 days, excluding Saturdays, Sundays and holidays, after he gives any treatment staff person written notice of his desire to be discharged unless he either withdraws the notice in writing or unless within the 5 day period a petition and 2 certificates conforming to the requirements of paragraph (b) of Section 3-601 and Section 3-602 [405 ILCS 5/3-601 and 405 ILCS 5/3-602] are filed with the court. Upon receipt of the petition, the court shall order a hearing to be held within 5 days, excluding Saturdays, Sundays and holidays, and to be conducted pursuant to Article IX of this Chapter. Hospitalization of the recipient may continue pending further order of the court. There was never a mention of court and when I asked I was ordered to do something that would avoid the conversation so the issue remained a great mystery.

The first thing I did once I was settled in was to obtain notebook paper and a pen. This was not possible until Friday night since I had been shuffled from room to room and then into a new unit. I realized that recording this ordeal would convey events and impressions to a public that has no idea of what goes on behind the walls of Land of Lincoln Mental Hospitals. In the six days that I was held against my will no one made this Paralegal aware of the following legal precedent: Voluntary mental health patient was correct in asserting that, upon the expiration of the five day period after the initial request for discharge, he was entitled to discharge, and at that time his status was no longer that of a voluntarily admitted patient. [17]A petition for involuntary admission, filed more than five business days after a voluntary patient requested discharge, was ineffective to prolong his stay at a mental health facility. [18] No one seemed too concerned and regarded my arrival as business as usual.

What follows is an account of the next six days

A Gram is Better than a Damn [ix]

Saturday, May 17, 2008: 3:50 PM. Unit C-North is quiet today. It is Saturday so all social workers and most medical personnel are absent. I am now in my third day of unlawful imprisonment. If you’ve read Huxley’s Brave New World the last line makes perfect sense and the paradigm it represents was indeed the rule at Reed Mental Health. Patients are being controlled with drugs so staff can loaf around and collect a government paycheck.

I was taken from my North Side Chicago apartment by five Chicago Police officers who had convinced me that I would be returned in only two hours. They lied. I was held against my will first at Chicago Lakeshore Hospital, then transferred for “Tests” to Sweedish Covenant Hospital and then returned to Chicago Lakeshore when I was held in a cold office and forced to sleep on the floor. I was transferred to Reed Mental Health Center at 2:00 PM on Friday, May 16, 2008. It is not day three and I have been told I will be held here for another three days. No one has advised me of my legal rights and no one has told me how I can talk to a Judge or ALR regarding this heinous miscarriage of justice. I have missed my Friday morning class in Legal Writing and will now be forced to miss my Trial and Post-Trial Litigation class at Roosevelt University as well. No one seems to care and no one has bothered to verify these obligations. I am being held prisoner.

The Good Lord has been at my side throughout this ordeal though all personnel here that I have spoken with demonstrated nothing but a pusillanimous indifference to my plight. Unlike most of the inmates (er, Patients) here I can call my attorney who is currently representing me in the second Eviction action that has been brought against me by the same Mercy Lakefront SRO that is responsible for my current confinement. Most of the patients here do not seem to be so fortunate. Someone confined here indeed had a sense of irony since I just came across a paperback copy of George Orwell’s 1984 that I have begun to read for the first time in over 35 years. The analogy is striking but no one seems to understand or even know about this seminal work of American literature.

As a Paralegal student who has just completed a course in which we studied two cases of unlawful imprisonment I was stunned at the readiness that Chicago’s Finest displayed by breaking into my apartment while I was studying the Federal Rules of Evidence. The instigator of this illegal incident entered my apartment with his pass key though I informed him through the door that I was busy studying for a mid-term exam on Monday. Trespass is crime but the Chicago Police readily acquiesced and lent their badges and guns to the law breaking. Though my apartment was filled with books and notes and my scholarly pursuits were obvious to anyone, the Chicago Police simply ignored it. Pervious experience with the Boys in Blue avers that they frequently demonstrate an abject hostility to “college boys” and fail to comprehend the inviolable citadel of the heart and mind.

It is now over 48 hours since I was torn from my studies and I have lost invaluable time in studying for our mid-term examination on the Federal Rules of Evidence. Since I am an honors student at Roosevelt University I am getting very concerned. I do not know how long I shall be kept here and will have to make up a great deal of work. We are in the last two weeks of an accelerated six week term in which we do twelve weeks of work and I am loosing valuable time. No one seems to care and there is no one that will even listen. The only concern of staff here is in maintaining an exotic equipoise of conformity that rapidly deteriorates into hopeless boredom.

When I explained my efforts to “doctors” at Reed (whom I was told were psychiatrists) one had the audacity to question if my plans were “realistic” since I am 57 years old and am pursuing a Paralegal Certificate. Fortunately there is one doctor who appreciates my plight and at least expresses some empathy. How far will that good will go to get me out of here?.

The individual responsible for this sordid affair is employed as a “Case Manager” by Mercy Lakefront SRO. His name is Walter Rogers. Though Rogers likes to assert his supervisory position over the 60 plus residents of our SRO Apartment complex his professional credentials to do so have never been revealed. He is rumored to possess a high school diploma, unlike many Mercy Lakefront employees who are functionally illiterate. This is quite common with ‘professional’ office in these apartments though some are ‘rumored’ to actually hold a doctoral degree. [19] Odd that none of those degrees or professional credentials are never produced is it not? They don’t care since most of the residents are formerly homeless, desperately poor and very poorly educated. [20] They know they can lie and they do so freely while you’re paying the bill.

Personnel here in the C-North Unit of Reed Mental Health Center do not seem to know or care about the constitutional issues I have raised regarding this illegal confinement. Most of the “Desk” personnel appear to be simple hacks and bed pan commandos aka prison guards. It is not unusual to witness three or four actually watching a small television at the unit’s “Desk” while the taxpayers of Illinois are paying their salaries.

The two ‘psychiatrists” I have seen to date seemed more concerned with prescribing some medication than ascertaining the reasons for my presence here. After a conference with the first, I was told that I would be held for at least three days. A second “Doctor” I was required to see a few hours later prescribed Depakote and told me that if I refused to take the medication I would increase the length of my already illegal and worrisome detention. I would soon learn that this is the methodology used to keep patients under control and stoned into submission.

In the midst of such insanity humor can be a blessing. One of the inmates who is constantly walking the halls (and complaining that his medication is the cause) has suggested that this malady could provide small solution to the energy crisis. A Human size chipmunk wheel could be constructed so patients constant walking could be put to some use. Connected to a generator they could produce electricity. At least we can still laugh at our dire predicament.

Most of the inmates appear to be heavily drugged and two complain of “feeling all f**ked up”. Most seem to feel that their concerned are not being addressed and do not like the medications that are being forced on them. Conversations reveal that some are veterans of this diabolical gulag of drugs and despair.

Tomorrow is the Lord’s Day.

The Lord is My Shepherd.

Sunday May 17, 2008: 7:20 AM.

Day three of this odious ordeal began with a disgusting display of indolence and pusillanimity paid for by Illinois taxpayers. All four “medical” personnel in C-North were seated at the “Desk” Busily chewing the rag and drinking coffee (which the ‘patients’ are denied until their one cup of de-caf arrives with breakfast at 8:00 AM). This morning, Depakopte was given to me against my wishes. After taking it in liquid form and sensing the heavy alcohol base I demanded to see the list of side effects. A pamphlet was copied that indicated that these side effects include serious liver damage and potentially catastrophic pancreatic damage. I have a history of problem with both that stretched back 20 years since I am a recovered alcoholic I have informed the medical personnel that I shall not take it again. They do not appear pleased with my resistance.

Since this is Sunday a “Service” is scheduled so as a Man of Faith I pray that another shall come to my aid and help me return to my studies and sanity. A ‘deacon” from a Roman Catholic Parish (who refused to divulge his name when asked) said a short prayer, distributed a few holy cards and then rushed out. Attempts to relate my tale of woe were to no avail since he was too busy to be concerned with this life long Roman Catholic of 57 years. When I told him that I had been imprisoned by Mercy Housing he did not seem too concerned. After this ‘service” I called the Chicago HQ of the Sisters of Charity in another attempt to get some help. They never replied. Not surprising since the Good Sisters have made no attempt to intervene in the continuing harassment and elder abuse that is rampant in Chicago’s Mercy Lakefront SRO Housing. The Good Full Time Catholic Deacon was upset when I spoke of the Good Samaritan parable but not enough to stop him from rushing onto his next round of doing God’s work in three minutes.

While seated in the dining area after dinner I perused the Chicago Sun Times and came across a column titled “Think CTA Trains are bad? Try living there.” by Columnist Mark Brown. [21] The short piece portrayed the dire plight of the homeless diaspora who ride the El’s all night. In the years that I spent as a homeless man I knew more than my share so I know their plight. Brown’s column told the story of the salvation that a Mercy Lakefront SRO apartment had provided for the lachrymose denizen of the darkness. I read it with bemused interest and then blew my stack! While Mercy Lakefront garners considerable publicity for their good works (which are many) the criminals, gangsters and prostitutes that operate under their penumbra are free to continue their operations. Since the primary reason for my unlawful imprisonment was the fact that I have been exposing their crimes, embezzlement and grand theft for years I was determined that this would not go unanswered. It was easy to get in touch with Mr. Brown since the Sun Times provides for a direct telephone line to their writers. I first contacted Brown on Sunday night and briefly relayed the nightmare of Mercy that I was ensnared in and referred him to the Mercy Lakefront Blog at http://mercylakefront.blogspot.com/,. I waited and prayed that this additional intervention and quest for truth would get me back to classes and my honors grades. The Sun Times now would be kept fully advised of the continuing crimes of Mercy Lakefront SRO.

Sunday, 4:30 PM. After prayer and contemplation I seriously considered abandoning the Catholic Church that has abandoned me today and in my direst needs so placed a few calls to the Good Sisters, the Chicago Archdiocese and my home parish to let them know. They could care less about this Catholic or his 200 year family history of support so why care about them?

I have to remember to spit on the plaque at 18 S. Michigan that commemorates the 1846 founding of the First Mercy Hospital by the Sisters of Mercy I walk past daily on my way to Roosevelt University Paralegal classes at 18 S. Michigan. Since Mercy Housing merged with Lakefront SRO in January of 2006 I have pleaded with the Sisters of Mercy to intervene and stop the criminals that abuse our older residents. They have never responded to this life long Roman Catholic, though I had two great aunts who were nuns and a cousin who was an Archdiocesan priest. What vile hypocrites! [x]

4:50 PM. I have been informed that I will be given the Depakote against my wishes. I consistently refuse and the effort is abandoned. It is apparent that drugs will solve all problems here and I have managed to finish the first chapter of 1984. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING.

Shortly before dinner at 6:00 PM I was told by a ‘desk’ person that the TB Test I had been given during the intake process indicated that I had been exposed to the deadly disease. Since our Mercy Lakefront SRO Unit housed at least two TB Positive individuals this new was devastating. All of my medical tests were positive to this point; a true blessing at 57. Now I was told that I was in danger of contacting Active TB. I was understandably upset but had other responsibilities.
As I began Chapter II of Brave New World the reality of BIG BROTHER sank in. Every move, gesture and utterance of the inmates of C-North was under strict scrutiny. Any observed behavior that did not conform to the staff’s idea of ‘acceptable’ would result in some sort of consequence.
I was still seething inside but am not a fool so decided to play along whenever possible just to get out as soon as possible.

By this time I had not seen nor heard my two adorable cats for three days. When I was taken from my apartment and placed in a paddy wagon by the Chicago Police I was forced to leave them. A the time they had a little water and food. I did not know if they were alive of dead and was very concerned about the kitties I love so dearly. Fortunately I was able to call my jailer on the first night of this nightmare from the first prison camp and inform him of their need for care. I also told Mr. Rogers that there would be hell to pay if any harm came to my two adorable kitties.
I was also able to reach the Roosevelt University Paralegal Program Director and leave a message for a fellow student, another cat lover I knew I could count on for help. Sunday night Walter called me at Reed to tell me that the kitties were fine. I received no help from the Sisters of Mercy and no help at all from the Church I have attended for 57 years.

Sunday night after dinner I began to get the entire picture of Reed Mental Health Center. It seems that all of my fellow detainees had been forced to sign a “Voluntary” Commitment form that was the legal justification for their presence Those who refused related tales of lengthy stays and instilled a fear of non-cooperation in those of us who were new to this perfidious penitentiary. I was advised by veterans of this strange symposium that there were two main requirements for achieving release:
a.) take your meds, and
b.) do not display any aggressive tendencies.
I was in big trouble at this point since a.) I had already refused a ‘medication’ that was potentially fatal and b.) had loudly protested my confinement and need to return to my classes. I decided that playing the game was the only way out. Though the rigid control of 1984 was appurtenant the Soma somnolence of Brave New World is closer to reality. Huxley had predicted it all but I had only Orwell for comfort. As I greedily devoured the classic tale of government tyranny I was stunned that no one seemed familiar with this classic work of American literature. Albeit my fellows were not exactly Mensa material, but I expected a bit more from “Staff”. The only professional I found who had read this classic work was the empathic doctor who would aid in my release.

Ruminations on Democracy and Constitutional Rights would obviously be of no use. I was able to reach one of the many “Patients Rights” organizations that displayed their phone numbers on flyers next to the two phones in this unit and informed that A Legal Representative could get back to me in six weeks. Phone calls were free and there was no limit on how many the inmates were allowed to make. It was Sunday and I had already left nine message with my attorney so this avenue would be a waste of time ; and I realized that I was loosing as Monday morning approached. Fellow inmates expressed a sense of resignation and hopelessness so all I could do was to pray and trust in Almighty God. I could not stop thinking of the following cherished guarantees of the SIXTH AMENDMENT:

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the
right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the
State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed,
which district shall have been previously ascertained by
law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defense.

The kidnapping had been skillfully engineered and this was not a criminal matter yet it mattered little as I thought of the classes and study time that I was being kept from.The $2,100.00 in tuition was being wasted and no one had given it to me. I had paid for my education which acted as another factor that made me an anomaly. [22]

Ford’s in his Fliver, all’s well with the world. .

Monday, May 18, 2008: 7:10 AM.

I awoke determined to escape from this asylum so obediently took my morning shower and offered no resistance to medication. Fortunately it had been changed and the new drugs had no deleterious effects. There is a halcyon calm as I gaze out onto the patio that we are not allowed to enter due to our constant confinement. This early morning time is ideal for prayer and meditation. I will not get to my mid-term in less than two hours and my $2,100.00 tuition is being squandered. I have no control over the situation. Resistance is futile as I am a prisoner. False arrest and wrongful detention, both actions for false imprisonment,[FN18] constitute a continuing tort encompassing both the unlawful arrest and detention of the arrested person.[FN19] Both torts encompass the right to be free from being arrested without probable cause.[FN20] [xi]

It seems that personnel here can be deadly serious and silly at the same time. I have made the acquaintance of a young woman named Aaron who is a U of I alumnus. As an academic I normally tends towards university types. She walks the halls from morning to night with barely any rest. She is trapped in the maze of her own mind. She keeps chanting “This didn’t have to happen” and “I’m not supposed to be here.”. I don’t have to be here either and this was not supposed to happen to me so we have talked quite a bit. I have actually gotten her to forget her troubles for a few moments and laugh a bit but I am no psychiatrist. By the end of day one in this new unit Aaron had a very serious “Incident” where she had to be restrained and heavily sedated. After four hours she was back walking the halls and hardly missed a beat.

Four time a day the inmates (er, patients) here are summoned with the call “Medications!” It is time to take the sedatives that medical personnel in these places rely on to keep them under control. Ten to twenty hopeless inmates queue up obediently and are handed their soma the reminder of the night. The medications in reality range from Depakote to Prozac to Zoloff and beyond. The object is to keep the inmate (er, patient) sedated so they can be easily controlled. Any “Psychiatric” personnel spend less than five minutes with each patient and hurriedly move on to the next. There is no need for any meaningful therapy since the drugs keep their hapless charges well controlled. I remain the odd man out but have decided to use my will for control so am left largely alone by staff.

2:00 PM. I have been informed that I am to be transferred to another unit. Accompanied by a well fed security guard we wind our way through a maze of corridors and then enter yet another locked ward, B-North. The physical surroundings are identical to the first but at least there are a few pretty girls here so things may not be all that bad. At least I have once again heard the welcome sound of laughter here and it is a welcome relief.

A hasty meeting is arranged where I am introduced to the entire staff. I tell my tale of desperation but no one is listening. One of the directors of this unit, Mr. Pete is familiar with the work of Mercy Lakefront SRO. He appears to not believe my account of events. I refer him to the internet blog I have maintained for nearly two years but know he will never look at it. I am alone in my prison and my classmates at Roosevelt University shall continue without me.

7:10 PM. I have been asked by “Staff” to leave Aaron alone. It seems they are upset that someone can actually make her smile. That is all I am trying to do. I was able to reach Columnist Mark Brown at the Chicago Sun Times voice and he confirmed receipt of my emails regarding Mercy Lakefront SRO. He has also read the Mercy Lakefront BLOG. I told him about the exposure to TB [23] since Mercy Lakefront is responsible. He expressed sympathy and promises to look into it at a later date. At least someone is on my side. Will he expose the hypocrisy and crimes of Mercy Lakefront when time allows or will this simply be swept under the rug like the rest of the Crimes of Mercy Housing personnel?

8:45 PM. I have just spent another half an hour calling anyone I can in an attempt to get some help. Since it is Sunday I can only hope someone out there hears my desperate pleas. Fortunately there is 1984 for intellectual solace and another young artist by the name of Jessica who was admitted with a buxom brunette for flirtatious fun. In comparison to the first unit I am now in a virtual beauty show so there’s a little good in everything. I love to flirt and am an expert. It is harmless and fun so I am well practiced and use my skills with ease. Between this, reading and eating at least it passes the time that is agonizingly wasting away while my tuition dollars are being tossed into the trash can of Mercy Lakefront enforced ignorance.

As day three is coming to a close, my new friend Aaron begins sobbing uncontrollably. Her practiced pacing had accelerated to a frantic race to nowhere as she screams her tale of woe. Reed Staff attempts to console her but when she is forced to her room a physical battle ensues. All we can hear is the noise of objects being thrown about and her screaming. After a few minutes, she is once again drugged and restrained. She at least can rest for a while.

From childhood's hour I have not been as others were [24]

7:20 AM May 20, 2008. The morning hours are in a way the worst since there is nothing to do. I am fortunate to have 1984 but we are forced to wait for coffee until Breakfast arrives at 8:00 AM. When it does arrive the coffee will be decaffinated. Consequently the pursuit of additional coffee packets is of primary concern. I have already secured a few and learned how to trade food items to get more. Staff is upset since we are supposedly all on special diets. No one cares and we trade food for coffee unmolested. In addition to Orwell I have not found a King James Bible so also have the solace of the word of God in these early hours.
By this time my ‘medication” has been reduced to only vitamins, an inhaler (for my congested lungs due to smoking) and a Nicotine Patch. It seems I am quite healthy.

There is a fifth hearing set in the Eviction case that my Landlord, Mercy Lakefront SRO had brought against me. The Docket Number is 08M1 701680. I can never get to 50 W. Washington by 9:30 AM but will be represented by my able Counsel, Mr. Andrew Doughtery of Cabrini Legal Aid. I have been in touch with counsel nightly since this ordeal began and can count on his skilled representation. Why would Mercy Lakefront try to prevent me from attending this fifth court appearance in their Retaliatory Eviction attempt?

Yet another psychiatrist has been assignment to my case. After an initial conference with her I am given no encouragement or news as to when I can resume my Paralegal classes. No one seems to care about the time and money that is being wasted. Why should they? It’s not their money, it is $9,400.00 in Perkins loans that I will have to repay. Single white males are on their own when it comes to financial assistance in Illinois. Fortunately, an agreement has been reached on ‘medications’ and mine is an extremely mild sedative which is of no concern. I do not like to take any medications but this small intrusion will do no harm.

I am growing increasingly concerned regarding the welfare of Meow and Josephine, my two adorable felines. A new intern (and a real looker) named Beth is at the Front Desk of out unit in the morning so I have managed to get her ear and she has promised to help. She is real beauty so being surrounded by such pulchritude is at least some consolation when considering my mounting losses. The crime of this theft of my studies is particularly acute since we are in an accelerated term at Roosevelt. In this academic setting, we do twelve weeks of work in six weeks time so all assignments are double what they normally would be. I have only two weeks left and time is rapidly slipping away. Will my honors level grade point average suffer as a result of this? No one cares and since my jailers never made honors in their live I can hardly expect any empathy. Perhaps Beth, a grad student at U I C will come to my aid.

3:55 PM. The hardest part of this sordid nightmare is finding someone who will listen. Since I have now been portrayed as a “Mental Patient” my proud academic achievements mean little. I can’t call the Police from Mental Hospital for help and anyone I do understandably views my pleas with a skeptical eye. All “staff” seems to be apathetic or concerned with other matters. We do not even know who we are being order about by and no one dares to ask. My new psychiatrist is Dr. Yetunde Johnson has only seen me for five minutes. This hardly seems to be an adequate amount of time in which to do a diagnosis which is controlling my very liberty. With my release only a distant vision, my full day of classes on Wednesday at Roosevelt University shall once more be wasted and assignments are piling up. There must all be made up and I will have to miss much sleep if I want to maintain my high grade average. No one cares and I can only turn to prayer.

I have made the acquaintance of another inmate who is a current Uptown shelter resident. I told him about my years amongst the homeless and the odd bonding of the desperate was born. He is being released after only two days. Why am I being held after three with no end in sight? Another young man who had been admitted has been released after only two days. Both are Negroes while I am White. Something is amiss here.

A Yoga session begins at 4:00 PM and is led by the ugliest broad I have even seen. Considering all possible adjectives this woman was just plain ugly. The art student crowd, Jessica and her busty friend, seem to love the mediation so I look on in mild amusement. The hero of 1984 is finally coming to grips with what Big Brother has done.

5:30 PM. I was stunned to see a campaign worker registering new voters. I know that Chicago Democrats are notorious for dirty tricks when it comes to the election roles but looking for new votes in a mental hospital seems more than strange. It seems to be legal so goes without any comment.

7:10 PM. I reached Mark Brown at the Chicago Sun Times and let him know that I am keeping this journal in order to a.) tell the truth about Mercy Housing and b.) let Illinois citizens know what their mental hospitals are really like. Will any of this hard truth even see the pages of the Chicago Sun Times?

Although this is not prison we have been told by staff that is the next best thing. Since this unit is mostly female and rather tame danger is not present. Only one patient seems hostile. He is a tall and think young man of Polish extraction who had asserted that he has a Ph.D. and is a teacher as well in response to my remarks about teaching for the Chicago Public Schools. I have seen his type before in my work with Alcoholics Anonymous. In an overheard conversation he revealed that he was “in construction” – this means that he is a day to day contract laborer who likes his vodka. He is the kind that cannot accept how low he has sunk so must invent titles and stories. Unfortunately he appears rather upset at my incessant flirting with all of the young ladies in the unit since they don’t seem too interested in his company. He’s tried to physically block my way a few times but I just walked around him and told him to “KISS MY ASS!”. I am an old pro in this arena since I used to live amongst gang members. It keeps him subdued but he is increasingly frustrated.

Is that all there is?

7:06 AM May 21. I have almost finished 1984 and the inevitable fate of the hero is depressing. Only one staff member seems to understand the irony and I worry for the future of American literacy. All we can do in this time is to wait for breakfast and look out the windows. Most are still in bed but the wise have already taken their daily showers and are striving to prove that they are ready to be released. Four of our number have already won their freedom so those who remain hope and strive for good behavior.

It is absurd. My only crime was the demand that a malfunctioning intercomm that had robbed me a vital rest be repaired. Since this same irritant had been ignored for nearly two years my anger was justified. No one cares and I have been cast into the role of mental patient. What is worrisome is that this episode will remain as a part of my history. I have no criminal or other sort of record. I am a boy scout and proud of it. After 57 years of living a clean and honest life, a cabal of criminals have used the tyranny of the Illinois Mental Health Laws to sully my reputation. This will require time and money to repair. Will the Good Sisters of Mercy aid in helping to remove this stain from my reputation? OF COURSE NOT _ I AM WHITE!
There are the hours that we meditate on such matters.

Aaron is avoiding me at meal times and seems rather embarrassed at our obvious comradeship. I still speak with her but her smiles have vanished. It is wise to keep a distance since I really do not know how serious her illness is. Jessica benefits and even got a few pieces of candy last night. She has noticed my shyness and is compensating for it with action. We now have another young Phillipino girl so flirting is never far away. I have found some good art pieces in National Geographic for Jessica and she is flattered with all the attention being paid to her. Flirting is fun and at least it passes the time.

4:20 PM. I called my attorney and was finally able to reach him. Court was simple set for another continuance and he is trying to find a way to get me out of here. [xii] He has other cases and this is not his area of law but has spoken to other attorneys so I can only wait and hope.

I received a call from fellow RU Paralegal Student, Walter regarding the welfare of my beloved cats. He had stopped by my north side apartment and reported that they were fine and had adequate food and water. He also pledged to pass on my plight to my fellow paralegal students. My instructors already had been advised by our Director.

Now I could at least stop worrying about my beloved Kitties.

If ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!

7:10 AM May 22. I arose early and took my morning shower. I had decided that cooperating in this insanity was my only hope of returning to life in the outside world. This meant attending some of the dumb therapy meetings that were held throughout the day. The Polish drunk is still being obnoxious but I’ve managed to intimidate him quite well. 25 years of living amongst Spanish street gangs and three years of homelessness taught me enough street smarts to be able to deal with punks like that. This one is talking about “getting a shotgun” when he gets out so I’ll have to be cautious about location information. I believe he is serious.

10:00 AM. This is now Day 7 of my unlawful imprisonment. Though I have made many phone calls and spoken with my attorney and a friend regarding the kittens I am remain as powerless over my fate as on Day one. Thanks to Walter Rogers and Mercy Lakefront SRO I have now missed four classes in an accelerated term that I have already paid $2,100.00 for, a mid-term and only God knows how many assignments that will have to be made up. If I express any of these realities to staff here in Reed it is viewed as “Aggression” and will only keep me imprisoned longer. The best course is to play along and get out of here. The legal action will have to wait until I am once again free.

After being imprisoned here at Reed for seven days now I now understand where Mercy Lakefront got their MO – their policies towards tenants are taken from the mental hospitals. The art therapy, community meetings, group therapy, etc and all transported from the state institutions. The only things that are important are:

a.) Clean your room
b.) Tale a shower
c.) Shut up and don’t ask any questions

I attended a rather lame NAMI-style meeting for the mentally ill. As someone who has chaired hundreds of AA meetings at the old Logan Square Group #5 Group I access any 12 step style meeting with a critical eye. This one was really bad but no one seemed to care.

After the 12 step fiasco another group had us play some dumb card game. The object was to answer certain questions and advance a token on a play card we were holding. The winner was awarded the highest self-esteem price. I was the winner.

4:05 PM. The lassitude and general ennui of patients here is depressing. This atmosphere is also dangerously contagious and requires a strong will to resist since it threatens to invade the depths of one’s soul.

7:55 PM. A pale sun is setting framed by the high tension power lines that border Irving Park Road. Free citizens of the Land of Lincoln are going about their business as they drive down the highway and here I sit after seven days. It is ironic to realize that so much life and energy is only a few hundred feet away while we the inmates stare out the windows of this prison by any other name. Staff had been overheard stating that the only place worse than this is the Cook County Jail so I should count my blessings. If they could have, the Merciful Operators of Mercy Housing would have me locked up there. [xiii]

The sad saga of broken lives and dreams that I witnessed in my years amongst the homeless is awful but the broken minds that I have all around me is the worst. Loosing a hand or arm is a tragedy but even these terrible loses can be ameliorated. When one loses a mind you have lost it all. Beginning in 1965 my grandfather was hospitalized in the old Chicago State Hospital or Dunning as it was often called. He spent the next five years floating in and out of various wards [xiv] until he finally died of Cancer of the Mouth in a then-new hospital just across Oak Park Avenue. Most of the men and women had simply grown too old and were no longer wanted by their families. It was truly sad. I knew now how he must have felt. It was an odd consolation but comforting.

I’m so glad that Jesus set me Free [xv]

7:15 AM May 22. It is now Day eight. How this ordeal has stretched on this long is a mystery. The three day, five day and x-day promises have all been forgotten. I am going to miss the fifth class, Legal Writing in a few hours at Roosevelt University. Why?

After breakfast I attended yet another self-help meeting. This one was chaired by Social Worker Pete Werner who was the one individual that was familiar with Mercy Lakefront SRO. I never found out why but suspect that other residents were victim of the same unlawful imprisonment that had befallen me.

The object of the meeting was ACCEPTANCE. We began with a breathing exercise to relax us all. In through the mouth, out through the nose. Elevator music was added and we were to allow out minds to clear of all disturbing thoughts. The next activity was to draw some clouds on paper. We were to use the clouds as receptacles for any disturbing thoughts. Any though that intruded on our peace was place in a cloud and we were to let it float away.

I asked “Pete” if this was the JELLYFISH lesson. Though he understood we had a minor disagreement regarding his philosophy of life. Anger and righteousness were to be shunned. I postulated that there is sometime a justifiable rationale for these emotions. Pete agreed but stated it was not healthy. I let it go at that.

05/23/2008 7:05 AM. This is the start of week number 2. There is no reason for my continued confinement. I will miss my fifth class in just a few hours. Where will this end?

10:00 AM. I have been informed that I will be release this afternoon. THANK GOD. This nightmare shall soon end.

I signed the required forms and find that the Diagnosis is “Adjustment Disorder with disturbance of Conduct”. This means I BECAME ANGRY WHEN TAKEN FROM MY APARTMENT WHILE STUDYING FOR A MID-TERM ON THE FEDERAL RULES OF EVIDENCE AND CONTINUED TO COMPLAIN ABOUT MY CONTINUED UNLAWFUL IMPRISONMENT.

I was given a bag full of pills and finally released after lunch. The release form made an appointment for “Counseling” with some mental health clinic on the North side. I just wanted to GET BACK TO MY CLASSES AND FIND OUT HOW MUCH I HAD MISSED!

I walked out of Reed Mental Health and took the bus back to my Mercy Lakefront SRO apartment. I was given a bag filled with medication and an appointment slip for some mental health clinic on the North side. I left the dope at the bus stop and threw the appointment slip in the trash. I just wanted to get back to my classes. When I walked back into my apartment building no one said a word. It was as if nothing had happened. I went to the library the next day, logged onto to Blackboard [xvi] only to find out that I had missed five assignments plus a mid-term examination.

Mercy Lakefront would like the sordid mess and their crimes to be forgotten but they have another thing coming. I’m not about to let this go without an awful court fight.

Walter Rogers was responsible for the eight day unlawful imprisonment

HE CAN BE REACHED AT:

(312) 446-4664
wrogers@mercyhousing.org

Rogers also needs a GOOD LAWYER so if you’re good at defending TORTS get in touch – he’ll need your services soon.

A week later I received two bills for $635.00 and $968.00 from Sweedish Covenant Hospital for the “Emergency Room Services” they had provided when I was sent there by Chicago Lakeshore Hospital. I delivered both to:

Mr. Larry Mayes C/O
Mercy Lakefront Supportive Housing
247 South State St, Suite 810
Chicago, IL 60604-2053
Phone: 312-447-4500
Fax: 312-447-4750

Mercy Lakefront is responsible for it all so they can pay it. (and take it out of Walter Roger’s Salary)

With only a week it was rough but I made up all the work I had missed plus the mid-term. I passed but could have gotten honors grades had this not happened. I made honors in 2 out of 3 course last term. Mercy Lakefront’s apes never made honors grades in their lives and never even got a degree so they could care less. Most of the degrees of Mercy Lakefront’s Monkeys come from the COOK COUNTY JAIL!

a.) These events happened in Chicago Illinois barely a month ago.
b.) These abuses happened right here in the good ‘old USA.
c.) These things can happen to you.

Praise the Lord and God Bless America
http://mercylakefront.blogspot.com/

[1] As Justice Cardoza put it
[2] . People v. Manis, 213 Ill. App. 3d 1075, 157 Ill. Dec. 749, 572 N.E.2d 1213 (3 Dist. 1991).
[3] People v. James, 199 Ill. App. 3d 316, 145 Ill. Dec. 221, 556 N.E.2d 839 (4 Dist. 1990).
[4] Ilegal entry
[5] I am also now receiving the following -
Diag Code V 68.09 305.1
Date 05/15/08
DR NO 004
Patient Name George Weinert
PS 23
Service Code 99275
Services Emergency Room Visit
Payments $625.00
Account No 001 60322
[6] This is a common tactic employed by the Africans who infest the Social Services Welfare Wagon. Since they deal primarily with criminals and mental patients it is useful to them if the client can be portrayed in like fashion; i.e. if the ‘caregivers’ can somehow engineer jailing a resident or (in the case here) having him confined to a mental hospital they have managed to paint their victim as a criminal of nut. This is useful since they can then use coercion, intimidation and threats of a repeat performance to control the abuse victim.
[7] .. In re Stone, 178 Ill. App. 3d 1084, 534 N.E.2d 213, 1989 Ill. App. LEXIS 154 (1 Dist. Feb. 9, 1989). This is accompanied by another billing for $958.00/
[8] People v. Stone, 178 Ill. App. 3d 1084, 128 Ill. Dec. 193, 534 N.E.2d 213 (3 Dist. 1989).
[9] Schneider v Bahler (1983, ND Ind) 564 F Supp 1449
[10] Employment, Training and Education
[11] TITLE VI--NONDISCRIMINATION IN FEDERALLY ASSISTED PROGRAMS
SEC. 601. No person in the United States shall, on the ground of race, color, or national origin, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any program or activity receiving
Federal financial assistance.

SEC. 602. Each Federal department and agency which is empowered to extend Federal financial assistance to any program or activity, by way of grant, loan, or contract other than a contract of insurance or guaranty, is authorized and
directed to effectuate the provisions of section 601 with respect to such program or activity by issuing rules, regulations, or orders of general applicability which shall be consistent with achievement of the objectives of
the statute authorizing the financial assistance in connection with which the action is taken. No such rule, regulation, or order shall become effective unless and until approved by the President. Compliance with any requirement adopted pursuant to this section may be effected (1) by the termination of or
refusal to grant or to continue assistance under such program or activity to any recipient as to whom there has been an express finding on the record, after opportunity for hearing, of a failure to comply with such requirement, but such
termination or refusal shall be limited to the particular political entity, or part thereof, or other recipient as to whom such a finding has been made and, shall be limited in its effect to the particular program, or part thereof, in
which such non-compliance has been so found, or (2) by any other means authorized by law: Provided, however, That no such action shall be taken until the department or agency concerned has advised the appropriate person or persons
of the failure to comply with the requirement and has determined that compliance
cannot be secured by voluntary means. In the case of any action terminating, or
refusing to grant or continue, assistance because of failure to comply with a requirement imposed pursuant to this section, the head of the federal department
or agency shall file with the committees of the House and Senate having
legislative jurisdiction over the program or activity involved a full written
report of the circumstances and the grounds for such action. No such action
shall become effective until thirty days have elapsed after the filing of such
report.

SEC. 603. Any department or agency action taken pursuant to section 602 shall be
subject to such judicial review as may otherwise be provided by law for similar
action taken by such department or agency on other grounds. In the case of
action, not otherwise subject to judicial review, terminating or refusing to
grant or to continue financial assistance upon a finding of failure to comply
with any requirement imposed pursuant to section 602, any person aggrieved
(including any State or political subdivision thereof and any agency of either)
may obtain judicial review of such action in accordance with section 10 of the
Administrative Procedure Act, and such action shall not be deemed committed to
unreviewable agency discretion within the meaning of that section.

SEC. 604. Nothing contained in this title shall be construed to authorize action
under this title by any department or agency with respect to any employment
practice of any employer, employment agency, or labor organization except where
a primary objective of the Federal financial assistance is to provide
employment.

SEC. 605. Nothing in this title shall add to or detract from any existing authority with respect to any program or activity under which Federal financial
assistance is extended by way of a contract of insurance or guaranty.










[12] GET WHITEY!!!
[13] (20 ILCS 105/3.06) (from Ch. 23, par. 6103.06) Sec. 3.06. "Services" means those services designed to provide assistance to the aged such as nutritional programs, facilities improvement, transportation services, senior volunteer programs, senior companion programs, supplementary health services, programs for leisure-time activities, housing and employment counseling, benefits advocacy, and other informational, referral, and counseling programs to aid the aged in availing themselves of existing public or private services, or other similar social services intended to aid the senior citizen in attaining and maintaining self-sufficiency, personal well-being, and maximum participation in community life.
[14] Who is crazy enough to hold a Bachelors of Music Composition, De Paul University, 1976; a Masters of Music Composition, Roosevelt University, 1982; ½ of a Masters in Computer Science, Illinois Institute of Technology, 1984 and is a current Honors Level graduate student in the Roosevelt University Paralegal Certificate Program
[15] McKinney v. George, 726 F.2d 1183 (7th Cir. 1984).
[16] People v. Orr, 176 Ill. App. 3d 498, 125 Ill. Dec. 885, 531 N.E.2d 64 (4 Dist. 1988).
[17] People v. Shaw, 153 Ill. App. 3d 939, 106 Ill. Dec. 749, 506 N.E.2d 456 (4 Dist. 1987).
[18] In re Whittenberg, 143 Ill. App. 3d 836, 97 Ill. Dec. 855, 493 N.E.2d 662 (4 Dist. 1986).
[19] Though any such degrees are nowhere to be seen in offices. Rather odd no?
[20] Mercy Lakefront actually offers residents a course in “Janitor Training” and through NAMI a related facility offers classes in “Dishwasher Training: - now that’s dumb!
[21] “Think CTA Trains are bad? Try living there.”, by Mark Brown. Chicago Tribune, Page 06A, May 8, 2008.
[22] The Africans that “Manage” Mercy Lakefront SRO units pay for nothing. They get “WHITEY” to pay all the bills in government monies and embezzle the remainder via charitable contributions
[23] Our Mercy Lakefront SRO unit had at least two residents that had been diagnosed as being exposed to TB. Staff insisted that ALL RESIDENTS be vaccinated. I refused since it is the SICK who must be isolated to keep us all safe. But don’t tell ‘de brudders!
[24] Alone, by Edgar Allan Poe, 1829, First printed in Scribner's Monthly Magazine, September 1875
[i] It is common knowledge amongst residents that drug dealers and prostitutes operate with relative impunity in many Mercy Lakefront SRO units. They are ‘brudders so they get a pass from “Management”
[ii] The malfunctioning intercomm and a psychotic night desk clerk had rouse me from a sound sleep at 3:30 and 4:00 AM on two nights in the week prior. Though it was reported nothing was done and the situation only grew worse. Though the intercomm had been muffled the same psychotic desk clerk was loudly banging on my apartment door only a few nights ago at 2:30 AM. This is MERCY HOUSING!
[iii] It is also home invasion along with a few other crimes that are being researched
[iv] Since most got their only ‘degrees” In Stateville Penitentiary
[v] American Jurisprudence, Second Edition (AMJUR FALSEIMP § 3) False Imprisonment, Jack K. Levin, J.D., Westlaw, last updated May 2008. [v]
[vi] For you STNG Fans

[viii] [FN5] N.Y.—Broughton v. State, 37 N.Y.2d 451, 373 N.Y.S.2d 87, 335 N.E.2d 310 (1975).
[FN6] Mich.—Clarke v. K Mart Corp., 197 Mich. App. 541, 495 N.W.2d 820 (1992).N.J.—Sanducci v. City of Hoboken, 315 N.J. Super. 475, 719 A.2d 160 (App. Div. 1998).Okla.—Delong v. State ex rel. Oklahoma Dept. of Public Safety, 1998 OK CIV APP 32, 956 P.2d 937 (Okla. Civ. App. Div. 1 1998).
[FN7] U.S.—Curley v. AMR Corp., 153 F.3d 5 (2d Cir. 1998).
[FN8] U.S.—Ramirez v. U.S., 998 F. Supp. 425 (D.N.J. 1998); Neal v. City of Harvey, Ill., 1 F. Supp. 2d 849 (N.D. Ill. 1998); Martinez v. City of Los Angeles, 141 F.3d 1373 (9th Cir. 1998).
[FN9] U.S.—Rose v. Town of Concord, 971 F. Supp. 47 (D. Mass. 1997).
[FN10] Ala.—Lindsey By and Through Hodges v. Camelot Music, Inc., 628 So. 2d 314 (Ala. 1993).Cal.—Asgari v. City of Los Angeles, 15 Cal. 4th 744, 16 Cal. 4th 89b, 63 Cal. Rptr. 2d 842, 937 P.2d 273 (1997), as modified on denial of reh'g, (Mar. 17, 1997).
[ix] Brave New World, Aldous Huxley – this is a reference to Soma
[x] This was not the first time. My own home parish of 45 years had me escorted from the Chapel of Our Lady by the Chicago Police Department for the “Crime” or praying a Rosary and trying to keep warm in a winter where I had no heat in my home. The Accounts can still be found at the Homeless Usenet Echo
[xi] [FN18] Cowdrey v. City of Eastborough, Kan., 730 F.2d 1376 (10th Cir. 1984).
[FN19] Santiago v. Fenton, 891 F.2d 373 (1st Cir. 1989).
[FN20] Bradway v. Gonzales, 26 F.3d 313, 29 Fed. R. Serv. 3d 997 (2d Cir. 1994).
© 2008 Thomson Reuters/West. Volumes 33-34B © 2008 Thomsom Reuters/RIA. No Claim to Orig. U.S. Govt. Works. All rights reserved.
[xii] I was surprised to find out that my Jailer Rogers had not come to court. I called him from Chicago Lakeshore Hospital the first night of my unlawful imprisonment, told him what I though of him and invited him to come to court and bring the tape. Why didn’t he? Perhaps they want to hide something.
[xiii] And I would probably meet some of our former “Case Managers”
[xiv] I remember the “Farm Ward” the best – it was located on the far western edge of the CSH property
[xv] Any Bible Church veterans here? I first learned via Chicago Victory Church but it is a common hymn
[xvi] An Internet system that Roosevelt, De Paul and other universities use to keep track of classes, course work and assignments on line.

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Friday, April 20, 2007

Introduction and Index

The Valley of Death

By George M Weinert V
This book is Dedicated to my sainted Parents George and Josephine, Meow, Lazarus and Felicia ,and all of the wonderful people that helped me to survive three and half years of the nightmare known as ‘homelessness’ My undying gratitude must always go to Jesus, who brought this humble sinner through the valley of death.

Praise the Lord and God Bless America,
George M Weinert V

© George M Weinert V, 2004

Contents


Chapter I: Real Life (For the Homeless)

Chapter II: Genesis

Chapter III: TommyCat, Tommy, Tommy, TommyCat!

Chapter IV: Where can I sleep tonight

Chapter V: Hope and Disappointment

Chapter VI: A New Beginning?

Chapter VII: The Beginning of the End

Chapter VIII: The Homeless Yuppie

Chapter XIX: The Day of Infamy

Chapter X: CPS Sub Service

Chapter XI: The Resurrection

Chapter XII: The Resurrection Continued

Chapter XIII: The Real Solution to Homelessness

Chapter XIV: Attack of the Cowards

Chapter XV: Dissention, Discrimination and Defeat

Chapter XVI: The Saga of a Typewriter Commando

Chapter XVII: Values on the Trail

Chapter XIX: Thoughts From the Front

Appendix I-X
© George M Weinert V, 2003

Introduction

I recall reading stories in the newspaper in the early 1980’s and seeing stories on the evening news about homeless men and women who were sleeping on lower Wacker Drive in the dead of winter. Sitting in the comfort of my living room, with a hot cup of coffee and cigar, attempting to imagine the life of the homeless seemed beyond comprehension yet I recall feeling a sense of not only compassion, but an ominous foreboding that I was at a loss to understand. Never did I imagine I would become one of the desperate diaspora that were pictured in such dire straits, but a within a few short years I would join them in the nightmare and desperation of the homeless.

There are many books on the homeless, but the vast majority of them are authored by university researchers, doctoral candidates, or journalists looking for a new angle that sells. Most I’ve seen don’t seem to capture the reality of the homeless. The books that are extant that recount real life experiences seem largely devoid of a comprehensive narrative and tend to rely on a hope that the reader will somehow understand, or so it seems to this author. Attempting to envision the existence of the homeless is somewhat like imagining life on Mars. This is why I’ve chosen to record this long journey. I pray the reader can gain an understanding of this alien world in order to foster a better understanding and a compassionate rapport between those unfortunate enough to be caught in it and the real world. The few accounts from actual homeless men and women invariably suffer from a lack of organization, cohesion and often proper grammar so I sincerely hope that the sad saga contained herein corrects some of these failings.

Having actually lived through this incredible nightmare I hope to fill these lapses and have attempted to paint a picture of the desperate and often-hopeless plight of those who become entangled in this awful web of poverty, loss and despair. I may have overlooked the latest demographic data and the estimates made on percentages of the Homeless population may not be in agreement with the latest ‘studies’ on the issue. The saga related herein is of a real life and near death odyssey into the dark and foreboding world of the Homeless and the ultimate Salvation through Faith in Our Savior and Lord Jesus Christ.

As you read this brief tome, I pray that you shall try to envision yourself in some of these dilemmas – this is somewhat like asking the reader to imagine life on Mars, but if you’re sensitive and imaginative enough give it a try – it’s a real trip. (as we used to say back in the sixties!)

Those poverty stricken unfortunates you see on the evening news, or perhaps lined up at the local soup kitchen are the lepers of 21st century America and the saddest part of it all is they are invisible to most of society. The purpose of this book is to ask the reader to look at them with the compassion and understanding that Our Lord felt for Lazarus and, to seek the truth of this plague on our society and help those who are caught in this awful desert of despair in whatever way you are able.

The exploitation and abuse of homeless men, women and particularly the young goes mostly un-reported and un-noticed but it is very real and an abomination before Almighty God none the less – see Appendix X and the sections on the Day Labor Services for additional details.

The good men and women of God that work tirelessly 365 days a year such as Sr. Marie and Brother Leo at St. Vincent De Paul, Fr. Manny at Franciscan Outreach, the good folks at St. Stanislaus Kovska, St. Thomas of Canterbury, the Uptown Salvation Army Center and a holy arm of helpers in the Windy City all deserve the gratitude of Chicagoans as they do the daily work of Jesus Christ here on earth.

I’d like to thank the folks at Chicago Health and Franciscan Outreach, my good friends at Lincoln Park Community Shelter, and especially my dear friend and counselor, Mr. Joshua Bougie who made much of my recovery from homelessness possible. The greatest thanks must go to my late father, George M Weinert Jr. who insisted that I attend church regularly, taught me to rely on God and get the best Catholic education available, as well as my sainted mother, Josephine (nee Prangl) who instilled in me a love history and literature at an early age. My eternal gratitude and undying love also go to my best girl, Felicia for her loving companionship throughout the entire writing of this manuscript. (scratches, love bites and all) I owe the greatest debt to Mercy Housing for saving me from this nightmare and providingthe safe and affordable Housing they literally saved my life.

But first and foremost of all, this is a story that is written with the Faith in God that has kept me alive and been at my side though the Valley of Death, as Psalm 23 so aptly describes it. I owe the greatest thanks and praise to my dear friend Jesus, who has always been at my side and acted as my protector and guide through the Valley of Death. As a reward for this Faith, the good Lord has granted me a rare gift indeed: the WISDOM to understand this remarkable journey of Faith and relate it to others.


Let us recall the words of King Solomon:

Yeah though I walk through the Valley of Death I shall fear no evil,
For Thy Rod and Thy staff shall comfort me.
Surely goodness and Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
And I shall Dwell in the House of the Lord Forever.

Psalm 23

Praise the Lord and God Bless America, George M Weinert V
“Righteousness exalteth a nation, but Sin is a reproach to any People” (Proverbs 16:34)

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Chapter I

Chapter I: Real life (for the Homeless)

We hear a lot about Islamofascist Terror daily but you can find much the same not far from your home. Walking into a dark alley when it’s 25% outside and looking for an open garage to camp out in for the night it pretty terrifying. Sleeping in an abandoned garage covered with gang graffiti and hoping you’ll live through the night is real terror. Living in the midst of guns, drugs and murder is the epitome of terror and the worst part is that you have no one to protect you. Every winter homeless men are found dead. They were just trying to make it through the night and made some bad choices. Many of them were drunk or stoned and did not even feel the cold as it sucked the life out of them. Some just had nowhere else to go and paid with their lives. This nightmare can drive you insane and the saddest part is that many stay that way. I was Blessed by Our Lord and relied on the His Words in Hebrews 13:5 – “I will never leave you nor forsake you” – Jesus was always with me.

Do you understand what it means to be “Homeless”? Have you seen them begging change? Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ was homeless. When Jesus said that “the Son of Man hath no place to lay his head” he was talking about homelessness. I’ll try to paint a picture of some the incredible trials and tribulations that this awful nightmare entails.

A home is the place where you eat, sleep, spend much of your free time, stay with your family put – it is where you LIVE - For you it’s a given; who considers the possibility of being WITHOUT a home?

When, where and how have you experienced the homeless?
· On Television News?
· In Time or Newsweek articles?
· In a piece in the Sun Times or Tribune?
· On a PBS Special one night?
· When you pass them on the street?
· When they beg for a little spare change?
· Do you find them repulsive, disgusting, pitiable or strange?
· Do they seem odd and mentally ill?
· Do they look and smell bad?
· Do they frighten you?

Examine your real emotions – now, be honest – it is vital in order to reach real understanding.

The odds are that your experience with homeless folk is ephemeral at best and (if you are being honest) you probably have answered yes to at least two of these questions – and this is the tragedy of the homeless.
You probably spend most of your waking hours worrying about your job, finances, friends and family – these matters form the foundation of your existence – they (along with your house or apartment) are the FOUNDATION of your being – your HOME. There probably are periods in your life when you’ve been without some of these things as well – a job, a car, a phone or your own apartment. This happens and is a part of life, and the accumulation of these things compromises most of your waking hours. The DRIVE TO SUCCEED (at whatever you do) and EARN THE REWARDS that it brings dictates a gradual part to these material comforts. It’s normal and expected to expect these things But have you EVER BEEN WITHOUT ALL OF THEM?

Try to picture this:

· Where do you shave, shower, wash up and go to the bathroom? Normally at home, of course. The homeless are confronted with this daily dilemma – shelters provide a bathroom and may provide multiple showers, though I’ve stayed at some with only one (for up to 60 men in one night): - so what is a inconsequential operation (like shaving or showering) often is transformed into a major logistical feat and consumes hours instead of the few minutes it normally would. Public bathrooms are an attractive option to this nightly ordeal but if you want to use this option, you had best get there during hours when few people are around or you are going to invite the scrutiny of security guards and be asked not to return.
· Where do you put your clothes? At home of course. The homeless have NOWHERE to put their meager wardrobe (Since most shelters are simple ‘overnight’ establishments) – if you can find a friend or church member that will allow you to keep some bags for you it is a true blessing. Even if you can do this, that friend is going to have to allow you to come to that place and periodically change. What are you going to do if you want to look fresh and clean each morning? You are simply out of luck.
· Where do you keep your valuables and possessions? Why At HOME of course. The money in your wallet stays in your drawer or on the dresser and if you are fortunate to have enough savings it is unwise to carry it around so you normally keep it in your bank account. The homeless are forced by simply necessity to keep their always-meager funds on their person at all times. If you’re fortunate a friend may be able to hold larger sums for you and if you’re really lucky you can start a small bank account – most of the homeless are not that fortunate. Any radios, CD players, stereos, jewelry or other items of value must be carefully guarded. Overnight shelters (by their very nature) often house men who don’t always believe in the laws regarding theft and it is not at all unusual for items to be stolen. If your property has been taken, there is normally little help – save for the Police or a street fight, neither of which are attractive options since a Police Report will not get your items back, (and you have no insurance to file a claim with anyway) and a fight is only going get you locked up or seriously injured. So you must carefully guard anything of value at all times.
· Where to you go when you get sick, have a toothache, or a headache? The Doctor of course. But the homeless barely have enough money for carfare (and usually walk from place to place) so funds for medical care are out of the question. Fortunately, organizations like Chicago Health Outreach exist for the benefit and care of the poor and destitute and the Chicago Department of Human Services along with many others exist for basic medical, optical and dental needs at no charge to the patient. For serious medical problems, Cook County Hospital is the only option, and this guarantees a long walk and a day’s wait or even longer.
· Where do your put your food and groceries? In the refrigerator of course which is At HOME. The homeless easily find plenty of food pantries (in Chicago there are hundreds) but normally cannot take advantage of these resources; they must carry all they own with them from place to place.
· Where do you go during you waking hours? To work for most. For many of the homeless, unemployment is the anathema that seems unshakable. Is this because they are unwilling, or unable to work, or just because they are too lazy? I’m sorry to say that there are still many folks who hold onto there stereotypes and this add to the huge gap between the homeless and people in ‘stable’ housing and employment situations. When washing up, putting on clean clothes and looking sharp (Or simply presentable) in the morning is a major feat getting and keeping a permanent and full time job is an exercise in futility for far too many. The initial obstacles of hygiene and cleanliness must first be surmounted. These routine tasks, which are givens for most , are often major accomplishments for the homeless population.

You have probably seen the sorry spectacle of a homeless man or woman pushing a shopping cart down the street, often brimming with their meager inventory of worldly goods. Those carts normally function as closets, dressers, pantries and safety depositories all rolled into one portable unit. These same common vehicles of the destitute can frequently serve a dual purpose as well since a number of the homeless collect aluminum cans, bottles, scrap metal and other items which they then take to recycling centers for a reward of a few dollars. For a lucky few these function as toolboxes and a place for working clothes as well. This schema however generates yet an additional problem – where do you put your ‘buggy’ when you go to the shelter? Most find a ‘spot’ close to people they know and leave it there. There is not much they can do save to hope it remains safe until the next morning. If your cart (and whatever of value is in it) is rifled or simply vanishes you are out of luck – the Police would not even consider filing out a report on a stolen shopping cart left unattended and it’s very difficult to secure them in any way at all.
The picture this writer is attempting to paint is of the unthinkable – attempting to exist without a BASE – devoid of a FOUNDATION – like the hole in the donut - without a place to rest, sleep, relax – with nowhere to call YOUR OWN – DEVOID of the simple necessities that we all take for granted – WITHOUT A HOME.
The homeless are the destitute Diaspora of the 21st century and are invisible though they are as obvious as the nose on your face. So is there a way out of this labyrinth of hopelessness?
Sure – just “GET A JOB (ya bum)!” – this is the simplistic approach taken by far too many in our society. But DOING IT (ending this vicious cycle) is as not as easy as it sounds.
The first thing that the homeless must somehow find is a supportive environment. A few of the ‘transitional’ shelters provide these sorts of full-service environments, where all the pre-requisites for Recovery from Homeless and (if needed) Recovery from Drugs or Alcohol are available.
Chicago’s Lincoln Park Community Shelter is central to this story, It began with this very idea in mind and provided all that was required for the man or woman that had been caught in the awful web of the homeless to get up and get out. Working in cooperation with organizations such as Jewish Vocational Services and others job counseling, resume preparation, fax and email services as well as telephones were made available to anyone wishing to take advantage of these comprehensive services..
I was lucky – with an education, skills and experience it was relatively simple to adjust from the atmosphere of ‘the street’ to that of the professional world. What happens to folks who do not have those advantages and what if you do not have a decent education or no marketable job skills or have been ‘out there’ for so long that normal life is like a distant daydream?
For the people in most shelters (which are ‘overnight’ or ‘warming centers’ in the winter months) the ‘day labor’ mills are a convenient tool, though in reality the conditions can be quite brutal and frequently dangerous. While I had been in Humboldt Park there were a number of these “Daily Pay” offices, offering ‘temporary employment’; normally specializing in manual labor; much of it was quite difficult and often dangerous. Most of these places operated two shifts and require that the job seekers arrive at 5:00 AM for the first. In a large, bare room, equipped only with wooden benches and little else these desperate men wind up waiting until 7:00 AM or so when the first ‘call’ for the day’s work is made. If you go there for the first time, expect to wait four hours and not be selected for work at all – a second of third day is mandatory simply to be considered for selection. Approximately half of these men are only interested in making enough money to buy a few rocks (Crack Cocaine) or all the booze they can afford and will only return when their money is gone but the other half compromise the seriously unemployed who have exhausted other avenues and are at the end of their rope. These places have been around since the Industrial Revolution began and continue on in their melancholy daily routine of despair and abuse. I was fortunate to have only a passing acquaintance with these early morning meat markets of labor but witnessed hundreds of men living through this daily grind and only slide deeper into the hopelessness and frustration that is the unshakable companion of so many of the homeless. To be frank, there are some real dirt bags hiding amongst the homeless and this criminal element adds to the problems. The temptation to sell drugs of peddle sex is ever present and a path taken by far too many. Thank God there are thousands of Good men and women that provide the Word of God and Hope along with a bed and a meal. I’d be dead without these angels of Mercy and will cover the stories in detail in later chapters.
For those fortunate to get (or have) a job [1] the difficulty is saving enough money to get out of the vicious cycle of poverty and despair. Many opt for the type of daily rent flophouses (which is henceforth politically corrected to “transient hotel”) that I stayed in for a while but this creates yet another problem – considering the wages they are able to earn. When one adds in the costs of food, clothes, transportation and the simple comforts of living it is common to spend nearly all of your meager wages and only look to a continuing cycle the next week. This vicious cycle of the working poor and marginally homeless can continue unabated for a lifetime without the proper degree of guidance and intervention. This bad dream is exacerbated by the reality that this group has little, (if any) value as a political entity so the ‘powers that be’ see little value (save for the humanitarian aspects) in devoting much time, effort and money to find a solution. The economy of the housing market in Chicago and other major cities has caused a large percentage of the “Transient Hotel” housing units to vanish in the last few decades and the availability of low cost (subsidized) housing for those who are in a ‘transitional’ financial state has largely disappeared. This marketplace reality has created a serious void in the affordable housing market for all who fall within the category of the ‘working poor’ but presents an acute and viciously brutal dilemma for the newly as well as the ‘marginally’ homeless. For the thousands of men and women who become trapped inn this nefarious cycle of indigence life becomes a simple matter of Daily Survival with:
· Daily Pay
· Daily Rent
· Daily Funds
And the maddening part of it all is that even the most meager level of income will disqualify you for the vital services offered to those who are still homeless. The Illinois Department of Public Aid is notorious for ‘slashing’ food stamp benefits when and if the income level of its clients improves and the frustration and the attendant aggravation it creates causes many of the indigent and poor to abandon this system and rely on food pantries and charity. Living in this temporary state between homelessness and a stable life can make one feel like the proverbial hole in the donut. While there are a literal plethora of ‘programs’ designed to aid the working poor and truly destitute many are beyond reach due to an miniscule income which is marginal at best but hardly sufficient to support anyone desiring a normal and stable life. The problem is bad enough for single folks but with the infusion of a significant group of families and children the chasm between shelter and stable housing has gotten even wider. When we add in the addition of HIV Positive folks this societal burden only continues to multiply – but there is hope, and a ray of light indeed appears at the end of this seemingly endless tunnel of frustration and despair.
The Uptown Community on Chicago’s north side has been a magnet for the homeless for decades, largely due to the presence of the Salvation Army at Sunnyside and Broadway. From the 1960’s onward a veritable cornucopia of shelters, soup kitchens, food pantries and related social services have been abundant in the area. [2] This area with its neighbors Lakeview to the South, Edgewater to the North and Andersonville to the West has also traditionally been awash in SRO [3] Hotels. Since 1972, Chicago has lost 70% of these affordable housing units, at a rate of 1,000 per year. [4] If this dire situation had been left unapprised, the city’s remaining 10,500 SRO rooms would have vanished by 2000. The disappearance of these low cost units would have resulted in the need for an equal or greater number of shelter beds to compensate for the displaced low-income population.
In 1983, the City of Chicago Council legalized shelters, paving the way for the use of public funds to provide shelter beds and required services; charities and church-based groups generously increased their support for these services as well. In 2002, over 1,500 beds were available with approximately half of these year round. [5] Another 800-1,000 beds are available at temporary ‘warming centers’ which are open from November through May and operated on a contract basis with the City of Chicago. While this increase in the number of shelter beds was a welcome development for the city’s indigent, the number of homeless individuals had far outpaced it and grown to over 30,000. [6] The homeless population far outnumbered the number of available beds and this dire situation was continually exacerbated by the continuing loss of the SRO Hotels that provided an affordable domicile for the poor of the Windy City. This led to the start of Lakefront SRO Corporation which provided a truly workable alternative.
In addition to providing low cost (subsidized) housing, Lakefront’s philosophy is intended to additionally provide comprehensive supportive services in the areas of social needs and education, training and employment. The concept is well planned and quite comprehensive, offering a personalized social worker as well as job/employment counseling if it is needed and offers residents a fully staffed environment. Additionally, the location of most units, in or near Chicago’s Uptown district provides for a veritable cornucopia of social services for those willing to seek them out.
Social Services throughout the city are unfortunately dependent on the educational level and experience of those providing the service; this is a common problem with caregivers servicing the poor in major cities. The dedication and sincerity of the care giver (the social worker here) is another factor to be considered and this is often the weakest link in any agency providing services to the homeless and poor. There is tremendous opportunity for abuse, graft, corruption and simple denial of services. When the ‘social worker’ adopts the attitude (as far too many sadly do) that the aid or assistance they are providing to their clients is a BIG FAVOR that they can arbitrarily give or deny to their clients frictions often result. Since the caregiver too often is aware of the desperate circumstances that the homeless are (or have recently) been in the temptation to be a REAL SOB is often simply exacerbated. Fortunately for all, this anomaly is rare, but NOT ALL “Social Workers” get involved with this line of work for purely altruistic reasons and some are simply in this line of work UNTIL THEY CAN FIND SOMETHING BETTER. In all fairness, the social worker is a human being, of course and has good and bad days. The unfortunate reality of this is that a ‘bad day’ for the caregiver can become a genuine catastrophe for the client, who normally remains totally powerless over the outcome of events that often effect what can services that are crucial to their very survival. This is a sad but actual fact and the homeless (and formerly homeless) [7] learn to handle and one that often keeps them away from certain ‘professionals’ that are far more bother than they are a source of aid.
Employment services suffer from another set of problems when dealing with this population– one size no longer fits all and the wide variety amongst the population that comes to units like Lakefront SRO [8] in 2003 requires individualized attention regarding the specifics of their employment strengths and needs.
The Illinois Department of Public Aid and the Illinois Department of Employment Security are notorious for these simple solutions and most of the folks who get involved (or are required to) drop out of their “Employment” Programs [9] rapidly when they discover that their ‘case workers” could care less about their education, skills and employment history and are content to push them into demeaning menial labor. [10]
The truly sad reality is that many ‘counselors’ assume that since you are poor (and perhaps homeless) you are unskilled and uneducated and many simply refuse to even deal with evidence to the contrary since they do not know how or may actually be envious of a client’s education and experience. Since the ‘clients’ are often at the mercy of ‘case workers’ no one listens and no one seems to care.
It’s easy to see how these lazy attitudes amongst Social Workers and Counselors creep into the system. While most of the homeless are just folks caught in an untenable situation, there are also some class A dirt bags. In any given soup kitchen or shelter you’ll find a healthy sampling of newly released convicts, career criminals and even fugitives on the lam. The longer you’re in the system the more you learn how to manipulate it. Some chronically homeless collect large SSI benefit checks that they spend on crack and hookers only to appear back in the shelter line as soon as the money runs out. In order to be honest it’s imperative to admit this undesirable element is present. Most of them belong in prison, a loony bin of worse but currently policies do not address these issues at all. Overall, it is a lot better to be receiving benefits than to go without so most folks do not rock the boat and learn to live with ‘the system’. If you’re good at it, some actually learn how to profit from this and can do nicely – but it that is your only goal in life – why bother?
Lakefront SRO provides a stable environment, professional social services and job assistance to those who need them and after the literal insanity and true life-threatening dangers of “the streets” those who are fortunate to become residents have the chance to re-build our lives. This comprehensive environment is a blessing indeed and offers those recovering from the nightmare of Homelessness a true opportunity to once more re-join mainstream society. This is indeed the REAL SOLUTION – but most of it is UP TO YOU.
Homelessness is a real trauma, though most folks don’t even understand what is happening to them at the time – the homeless are so preoccupied with issues of daily survival that time for reflection on their inner thoughts and emotions is simply not available. After a typical day “on the Trail” one is so tired from all the walking, waiting and related hassles that a few hours in the Arms of sleep is the only thought you have so meditation is not really an option. The Passage into “Stable Housing” requires a smooth and carefully guided transition, support and continued support and The SRO must be designed to provide for all of these vital stages of this traumatic transition and re-entry into traditional societal roles.

[1] Yes – about half of the homeless are employed – at least part, and many full time but the low wages they earn are not sufficient for the types of rent payments that exist in the big cities.

[2] Roughly bounded by Montrose on the South, Foster on the North and Ashland Avenues on the west
[3] Single Room Occupancy
[4] See the 1985 Study by the Jewish Council on Urban Affairs and the Community Shelter Organization on this issue
[5] The summer months, however pose a particular period of hardship since the facilities that are open are confined to Uptown, the West Side and the far South Side of Chicago
[6] In 2003 this same nightly homeless group is estimated at 80,000
[7] Who have become ‘grizzled’ and know how to deal with “The System”
[8] Collectively know as “Transitional Housing”
[9] “Welfare to Work” is a prime example of this phenomena
[10] Thee “Earnfare” program of the Illinois Department of Public Aid is notorious for this sort of approach and many simply ‘drop out’ after learning the realities of it.

Chapter II

Chapter II: Genesis

I inherited a home from my father in 1989 and a substantial amount of cash. I was doubly blessed since I not only had a great father but he was my Best Friend and had often said to me, “Son, if you ever have the opportunity to begin your own business and work for yourself, do it! You will never be happy working for someone and if you have the chance to go into business for yourself do so.” My father passed away in November of 1989, leaving me with a home and a sizable cash reserve in the Bank so I decided to follow his advice. I must be honest and say that after I had made a nice contribution to our Church, to provide for a monument for my parents, I turned my back on the good Lord who had made me such a fortunate young man. I wasted a fair amount of money on good times and women and thought that the good times would never end. Though I had relied on the Church for food and solace my new found wealth caused my devotion to vanish. Though the Lord had always been at my side, I turned my back on Him. Despite a diligent five year effort at establishing a business, along with tens of thousands of dollars that were wasted, this fateful decision did not work out and I lost it all.

My father, George M Weinert Jr. was the best friend I had ever known. I was a welcome surprise since my late mother, Josephine (Nee Prangl) only had one ovary and the chances of her conceiving were slim indeed. This did not stop my father from trying, and six years after he returned from the offices of General Douglas MacArthur in the Phillipines Little Georgie came into the world at 5:45 AM on June 15, 1951. The loss of my mother in 1981 had been an earth-shattering experience but the loss of my father in 1989 was devastating, especially since he died in my arms. I was completely lost and had nothing at all to hold onto. My father had been diagnosed with lung cancer, but I only found out a week before he passed away.

As my father lay dying in the Emergency Room of Belmont Community hospital the only thing to read in the waiting room was a Holy Bible. I read a Chapter of Genesis and then was told that my beloved Father had passed away. I went in to sit with him for a while and buried him in the next days. I was devastated but soon found Mother Angelica and the Eternal Word Television Network [1] while channel surfng one night. I was amazed and comforted to see a group of Catholic praying the Holy Rosary. I knew that I was facing a real crisis and realized that the Lord would be my refuge so kept watching. I returned to EWTN and that Rosary again and again in the next few weeks and finally learned how to pray the Joyful, Sorrowful and Glorious mysteries which 9 years of Catholic Education had never taught. [2] At the same time I came across one of the Bibles we had used in Grammar School and began to find a new beginning as I read:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.

Though I had plenty of money, a house, a car and a lot of promise I still had an awful feeling that Disaster was approaching and felt there was no way to stop it.

In the house were the books and all of the texts of my Catholic Education. I searched most and began to re-educate myself about the Faith of my fathers. These precious texts and the words of EWTN would bring this lost soul back the Love of God that was lying dormant but I but had no idea that I was about to embark on a three year journey Though the Valley of Death.

The reader may wonder why a life-long Roman Catholic did not turn to his church – it’s a very long story, but suffice it to say that 39 years of experience with the parish I war born into told me that this would be a total waste of time. This is indeed a sad commentary on some Catholic parishes, but it is the truth.

Six years later in 1995, my nascent business attempt failed and my cash reserves were exhausted. Attempts to secure full time employment proved fruitless: I was over-qualified and middle-aged which is a fatal combination in the contemporary job market. At this point I applied for Government Aid and found out that the only help I could hope to get was in the form of $159.00 per month in food stamps. This I gladly accepted and realized that any viable help was not to be found at the Illinois Department of Public Aid. It was a real shock, but I was just the wrong color and the wrong age.

After explaining what was becoming a truly desperate situation to the folks at Public Aid, I was stunned to find that the “social workers” I had so diligently described this dilemma to did not seem too concerned. Having been fortunate for most of my life, the experience of abject poverty was a shock to my middle class psyche, but at this West Side office the majority of the clients seemed like old pros. Though I naively assumed that acute poverty, lack of employment and the potential loss of a home that I was experiencing was a big deal, the professionals I met at the Public Aid Office on the West Side seemed to view my plight as routine. After some initial queries regarding potential employment the possibilities indeed seemed dim, since my musical, computer and academic background would not prove particularly propitious considering the janitorial, phone sales and security guard positions that seemed to be available. I concluded that this office was not a viable option for potential employment. Here I was flat broke and desperate but still overqualified!

Fortunately I inherited a home filled with almost all of the goods that my family had acquired since first purchasing it in 1954. (my father joking referred to this as “a lot of old s**t’) My sainted and dear mother, Josephine had grown up as the daughter of a poor German immigrant family during the Great Depression and had decided to “Not throw it away, you may need it someday” and over the course of many years, I discovered that she was right. The family treasure was relegated to our shed or attic, where they hibernated until their eventual edemption. Since this was usually a long time, we had a lot of old junk in these areas. The sale of these items, 10 to 20 dollars at a time was sufficient for purposes of food and smokes but payment of the utility bills proved impossible. Selling these prized items that my parents had assembled over the course of a lifetime and had entrusted to me for posterity was heart breaking and I actually cried on a number of occasions but had little choice. Since my father had often spoken of having a garage sale, this seemed much the same, only this event was simply extended over a 2-3 year period and allowed me to retain the truly irreplaceable family items until the bitter end. By this time, I had begun attending Mass again, though not on a regular basis to supplement my daily rosary and litany. The Lord was once again trying to send me a message but I was not yet prepared to listen to His words. I tried to console myself with the words of Matthew 6: 19 "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth,where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. 20But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. I knew that my treasure was slipping away but had not yet committed to my Treasure in Heaven. It almost cost me my life.

The winter of 1995-1996 arrived and there was no money left to pay the Gas Bill so the heat was shut off. Since I awoke early I began to attend the 7:00 AM Daily Mass at our church for comfort, solace and sometime just a place to get warm. Fortunately, this winter was rather mild, and though living in a home with no heat or electricity in the dead of winter proved a formidable task indeed I had the good fortune of remembering my good friends at Alcoholics Anonymous, Logan Square Group #5 only a few blocks from my home, This is where I would go to get my morning coffee, socialize and attend AA meetings, stay sober (I am an alcoholic who was in dire danger of a slip after 4 years of sobriety) and stay warm enough to live through another day. When darkness fell, I would walk home, crawl in a cold bed under all the covers I had been able to find, with my Little “Meow” and gratefully sleep through the coldest part of the day. Meow thought this was a pretty good idea and the only problem was getting to sleep despite her purring. I was aware of the gangs and drugs that were all around me and realized that I would be walking through all of this but had no choice. Just for a lark, on the first day I walked the mile to Logan Five I wore a 10 gallon cowboy hat that my father had purchased out of the Sears Catalogue when I was 11 years old. I continued to wear it, and suddenly found that my Latino neighbors were accepting me as one of their own. I also found my old Spanish phrase books and began to Learn Spanish – pero solamente poco a poco a primiervo. (but only little by little at first) The cowboy hat became a permanent part of my wardrobe and I shall always wear one.

This was my first experience with what has come to be known as ‘street smarts’ - the intuitive ability to survive and potentially fatal dangers on the streets of the city. I spent all of my college years, those in grad school and teaching walking from the house to the garage and no further due to a very real terror of street crime. This was constantly re-enforced by the plethora of reports of crime that fill the news media nightly. The gang members on the corner had a reputation for not only drug sales, but as a very violent group, so avoiding them became a high priority and it stayed that way for many years. Since I had no choice when the cars finally were gone, walking was necessary so I just pressed on and prayed that I would be safe. The words of the 23rd Psalm, “Yeah, though I walk through the valley of Death I will fear no Evil” kept running through my mind as I began to realize that death was all around though I remained miraculously safe through it all. My guardian angel was always with me.

We had an AA “Old Timer” at Logan Square, Group #5 AA by the name of “Big Ray” who I had known since the mid 1980’s and would often discuss various matters regarding my struggles with him. One day I mentioned all of the walking and he ridiculed my minor complaints as he informed that he often would walk halfway across Chicago just to get to a meeting at our Club. He noticed that I was obviously lost and searching for something so the subject of prayer came up. Big Ray told me that he PRAYED while he took these long walks and I must admit to a degree of shock. Ray was a huge man and had a reputation as a real tough guy but he understood that protection came from God. I immediately adopted this habit, even after I had passed the gang members on the corner. I had frequently prayed the Holy Rosary in the years after my father’s death and now, with the aid of EWTN, had discovered it once more [3] and soon found that ten Hail Mary’s a block got me to Logan so this liturgical formula worked just great. After daily Mass in the morning, at 7:00 AM I could say a Rosary on the way to the club, and another on the way back home when I left in the afternoon. I concentrated on the Sorrowful Mysteries.
I THANK GOD FOR MY GOOD FRIENDS AT LOGAN SQUARE group #5 for all of their help.
I THANK GOD for my adorable little Meow with their her body heat of 102 degrees who helped me by snuggling close to generate enough heat to live the night. I didn’t realize that everyone was not sympathetic to my dire plight and an attack soon came that I never expected.
I have been a life long Catholic and was baptized, attended school and received all of my sacraments at St. Philomena Catholic Church on Chicago’s Northwest side. My parents were married in this parish, and were both buried there. Their parents were also married and buried in this parish, dating back to 1900.
My grandfather was an usher in the same parish for 50 years, Aunt and Godmother had been a stalwart in the Legion of Mary for 25, my father and mother had both been active parish members since the 1920’s and when both died, sizable monies were donated to St. Philomena for masses and contributions. My grandfather, aunt and parents attended Sunday and at times daily Masses at this church and were always generous when the collection basket came around. There is today a chalice at this church, which is inscribed “In Loving Memory of George, Josephine and Marie Weinert” for which I donated $1,000.00 in order for one or our new priests, Rev. James Heyd to have his own chalice to celebrate mass. The reader will understand, I trust that why I went to this church as a life-long member in distress desperately seeking some sort of aid. I had been taught since an infant that my church and its priests were pastors, guardians of the flock to whom we could go to seek refuge and help. Sadly, this was not to be the case.

My taxes were also not being paid and I realized for the first time that I was in danger of loosing the home I had lived in all of my 46 years so in 1996 I took my plight to the Pastor of St. Philomana Parish, Rev. Robert Coleman. I made a special appointment with Fr. Coleman in which I detailed my desperate situation and explained my dire fear of loosing the home. When I asked Fr. Coleman if he could direct me to some help, or if he knew of anyone in the Church, the Archdiocese of Chicago, in our parish, or in our ward (31st Democratic) he coolly looked straight at me an said, “No”. I thanked him, put on my coat, walked the two blocks back home and crawled under the covers with the kitties to try and live another night. “So this is the help I well get from the Church that has been telling me all of my life that I can come to them for help eh?”, I reflected the on the way home through an already blustering and biting Chicago October night. Little did I know that this same Holy Roman Catholic Church would later reach new depths of spiritual bankruptcy in their hypocritical treatment of this poor and soon to be homeless man;

During this time I began to spend a half hour daily in our “Chapel of the Holy Rosary” which was open and also had heat which was welcome since I had none at home-the ‘chapel’ could only be entered with a password and some of my fellow parishioners and life long friends had supplied me with the code. Within a month I was informed that “you are not welcome here” by a Ms. Norma Rivera, the Parish Secretary. When I protested that I had been baptized, had all my sacraments at St. Philomena, Ms. Rivera. informed me they would simply change the code and thus deny me entry. They abruptly did this and a few days later and an old friend of my late father, “Louie” gave me the new code so I continued to visit the chapel and pray the rosary. Within six weeks, the episode was repeated, the code was again changed and once more my friends supplied with the new entry code so I could continue to join them in prayer and worship.

In the next six months this scenario would be repeated five times. Though I was attending daily morning Mass at 7:00 AM certain members of our primarily Mexican Parish Community seemed to feel that I had committed some sort of crime by being poor and was not welcome in this chapel (I was also a WHITE MALE who had been resident in this parish for many years so I was viewed as an “Anglo” and hence an alien – in my OWN HOME PARISH!) . In February of 1997 on a cold blustery late afternoon I ran into one of these self-appointed guardians of the chapel as I was going in to say my prayers; she angrily informed me that I must leave, brushed me aside and slammed the chapel door in my face leaving me out in the alley in the middle of a cold icy snowstorm. This banal hostility was inexplicable but I was not aware that a few of these “Good Catholics” were spreading VICIOUS AND MALICIOUS RUMORS alleging that I was a DRUNK (who was poor because I was always drinking) and often came to church INTOXICATED (though I always visited the “Capella de Nuetra Senora”(Chapel of Our Lady) on my way home from Alcoholics Anonymous meetings).

One Tuesday afternoon in May of 1997 I was quietly sitting in the chapel praying the rosary when Ms. Rivera. entered and rudely ordered me to leave or she would “Call the Police”. I told her to “Go Right Ahead”, and left to sit on the church’s front steps and finish my rosary. The Police were summoned and when they arrived were somewhat confused and embarrassed (Since I knew the offices that had shown up from AA where we occasionally had to summon the Police due to some AA Members who were NOT SO SOBER) but advised me to leave. I did but returned the next day to find the code had been changed once more. Within two weeks some of my old friends from our Sunday Mass had given me the new code yet again and I resumed visiting the chapel to pray the rosary further arousing the ire of the “Chapel Police” who had decided that I NO LONGER BELONGED In “Their” Church. Within a month the Police were once again summoned to eject me and prevent this heinous crime of Rosary in the First Degree and within a few weeks my friends for decades had supplied me with the new code for the fifth time.

I knew that the personnel at St. Philomena felt that I was a penniless bum and that it was their right to treat me in whatever way they so wished but after 47 years In that parish, and 90 years of my family’s active involvement I had no intention of allowing them to get away with this sort of hypocritical and TOTALLY un-Christian conduct WITHOUT it becoming widely publicized. I have been active on line since Christmas day of 1981 so wrote the account of this episode up, went to the Library to get on line and then proceeded to plaster this story all over YAHOO GROUPS at the Large Catholic Forums and included the names, address and phone of St. Philomena Parish. I found out a while later that when people (including the Cardinal’s Office whom I had also contacted) called Ms. Rivera. told them “He is drinking in there so we had to throw him out” – which was simply incredulous and a heinous lie. The FUNNY PART OF THIS story is that a year earlier, Rev. Robert Coleman (our former ‘pastor’) had announced that he WAS AN ALCOHOLIC from our Pulpit and was going to a hospital in Minnesota for “Treatment”-which was even FUNNIER since the OLDEST AND LARGEST AA CLUB IN CHICAGO was only six block away and I was going up there daily. I told “Reverend” Coleman about this a few times, but he was not interested since he viewed me as a “bum” who was broke and jobless. I understand that “Reverend” Coleman dried out and pray that he can keep the plug in the jug. In retrospect, I really am now grateful for this experience – St. Francis had to pray for suffering and persecution and I got all of mine Free of Charge! I had not been re-introduced to the Holy Man of Assisi at this time, however so took a bit of a different approach to the dilemma.

For the next month I MADE SURE that every Catholic Forum and BBS I COULD FIND HEARD ABOUT THIS: I had been THROWN OUT OF THE CHURCH I ATTENDED FOR 40 YEARS AND THREATENED WITH ARREST TO BOOT – and when Ms. Norma Rivera was confronted with it, SHE LIED AND ST. PHILOMENA PARISH LIED WITH HER ABOUT THIS SHAMEFUL EPISODE! – the ‘Priest’ who ordered her to do this (Fr. “Scott”, who was acting as the “assistant pastor”) later went to study in Rome as well so that’s how much the Cardinal cared about the needs of his “lost sheep”. Even today a friend of mine on the Net still has a copy of some of the Messages detailing this DEPLORABLE CONDUCT BY A CATHOLIC CHURCH. Ms. Rivera went on to other things and got her sister the job she was doing – did someone say “Nepotism”?

ONCE A RUMOR BEGINS (especially in a community that is largely illiterate and uneducated as our Mexicans at St. Philomena were) it is quite difficult to counter and takes on a life all it’s own. I also could not fathom how these supposed “Catholics” could adopt an attitude of exclusion since I had been taught that “Catholic” Means UNIVERSAL but the Mexican Community (who is poorly educated and largely illiterate) had decided that the Church I had spent over 45 years in now BELONGED TO THEM and any “Anglos” were to be forced out by any means necessary and our “Clergy” supported their efforts. As they did this, they sanctimoniously continued to parade to church, pray to the Virgin and seemed totally oblivious to the hypocrisy that they were guilty of. I recalled Christ speaking of the Pharisees so often in the New Testament and began to understand what he meant when he spoke so harshly of these fraudulent ‘believers’. So the CATHOLIC CHURCH I had belong to all of my life and my family had been with for 90 years NOT ONLY CALLED THE POLICE ON ME and had me thrown out but also LEFT ME TO FACE THE LOSS OF MY HOME AND ALL ELSE ALONE – and LIED TO PEOPLE ABOUT IT AS WELL! I eventually contacted the Cardinal’s office and the “New World” but they apparently chose to side with the liars and frauds at St. Philomena in order to save any ‘embarrassment for “Mother Church” so I was forced to abandon the battle (and in fact was threatened with physical violence at one point by another “Good Catholic”) but resolved to MAKE THIS VILE HYPOCRISY KNOWN WIDELY when time. I choose to relate this not for ‘revenge’ but to teach, as Jesus did – there are many false Christians and we must always look at their deeds, not at appearances and mere words.

This rejection was devastating, especially since I was in such a desperate condition. I understood that JESUS would scold these types of polyester Christians with the same, “Woe unto You, Ye HYPOCRITES – Snakes, serpents, brood of Vipers” that he had used on the Pharisees in Matthew Chapter 23 so though my ANGER (actual rage at this time) at the CHURCH festered my Faith in the Lord remained unshaken. “Priests” and Lay Church Personnel are HUMAN and MAY (And often do) SIN and in fact BLASPHEME The Church (look at the continuing problem with “Gay” Clergy and the ongoing child abuse scandals for an example) but FAITH in Our Lord can transcend these mere mortals. I remembered Hebrews 13:6 and knew that “The Lord is my Helped, what can man do unto me?” I continued to pray my rosary and visit this same chapel until they finally installed a new security system which required a special card (just to ensure that I would be locked out) but CONTINUED To visit the Chapel on Sunday before Mass when it was open to the Public.

ALMIGHTY GOD DOES NOT CARE WHERE YOU PRAY (though I’m fairly sure that he draws the line at urinals) or HOW YOU PRAY (though many Christians would vehemently dispute this) – HE WANTS YOU TO WORSHIP, THANK AND PETITION (Talk to) HIM and KNOW that HE is the one in charge of things. Recall the Lord’s answer to Job when he said, “Now gird up your loins. I shall ask you questions and you will answer if you can. Tell me, where were YOU when I created the heavens and earth?” – (see the Book of Job, Chapters 38-41). [4]

I really did not know where to turn now so the day after I had met with Fr. Robert Coleman saw a trip to the offices of Alderman Ray Suarez of the 31stt Ward to seek some form of emergency aid in dealing with the loss of heat. The workers at the ward office told me about the CEDA Program which is designed to offer financial assistance to the poor in meeting energy bills and directed me to the Northeast Austin Organization and Mr. Tom Hose who was a seeming angel but would blossom into a true Devil.

The Northeast Austin Organization was located in the basement of St. Peter Cannisuis Roman Catholic Church, the next parish to the west which the folks at St. Philomena and Fr. Coleman did not bother or did not wish to let this life long parishioner know about but there was to be much more to this story in a few years. I had asked if anyone knew of a sources of help but was now being ignored.

Unbeknownst to me, The Northeast Austin Organization with Mr. Tom Hose and Mr. Ricky Carter worked to STEAL THE HOMES OF THE POOR via predatory lending practices (as they did with mine) in cooperation with GREENTREE MORTGAGE but the ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH simply looked the other way (or bothered to check the sincerity of the Northeast Austin Organization) and MADE MONEY on this human misery as well. I would discover this awful truth far too late but had been left with no choice at all.

Tom Hose seemed very helpful and got me the proper forms and seemed quite interested upon learning that I owned my home wholly and had no outstanding mortgage. He strongly urged me to consider taking out a “Home Equity Loan” using the House I owned as collateral. I did not understand this at the time, but Tom Hose was acting as a front agent for a shady finance company, which trapped poor homeowners into short-term loans at exorbitant interest rates and often was able to foreclose on the property as well (today we call this ‘predatory lending’) and his somewhat mysterious enthusiasm regarding a ‘loan’ was actually in envisioning the considerable profits he knew that he could easily make. Since I had never borrowed any monies, had been taught since youth that this was a bad idea and also understood the danger of loosing the house I decided this was a last resort. Within two weeks I had the money, the gas and lights were back on and Meow and I had survived the winter of 1995-1996, Praise God.

The summer of 1997 was promising and some employment as a PC Consultant did materialize but was tragically short lived. I wear glasses, and mine had broken during the winter and there was no money for a new pair. While driving to this job on the second day, I was almost involved in serious accident so that put an end to that dream. After that, the old jalopy I was driving experienced serious difficulties and I junked it. With no auto, no telephone, no email or fax job hunting became nearly impossible.

The summer passed without any serious crisis but by this time I was running out of things to sell, and my friends at AA were really tiring of my “Can ya spare 75 cents?” line so feeding myself along with Meow created an additional concern as fall inexorably approached. My good friend Phil at the St. Philomena Food Pantry (who was a long time parishioner and had resisted the Mexican invasion of our church) proved an invaluable help in this need with their bi-weekly food pantry and supplied many cans of tuna and pink salmon for my hungry little Meow. It was a strange situation where Norma and the Mexicans seemed to despise my presence while the older Europeans who had live there for life understood and helped all they could. The wildest part is that these were the same women always parading to the Chapel to show the world how Holy they were! I began to understand how Jesus felt about the Pharisses.

The fall of 1997 was a repeat of the last year with the loss of heat and electricity. CEDA once again came to the rescue in the form of emergency energy assistance and thus provided the last family Christmas I was to enjoy in my home. When I once again saw Mr. Tom Hose at NAO and he again urged me to get a ‘loan’ on the home and I once again declined due to my fear of loosing the largest (and only) asset I still had. By the end of Jan. the heat and lights were once again off and I could only hope and pray that God would keep Meow, the kitties and I alive and somehow find a way out of this awful mess. While waiting for assistance with the utilities at a CEDA office in the loop, I recognized Bob Petty of Channel 7 Eyewitness News and briefly spoke with and was stunned later in the day when the ABC TV Channel 7 truck pulled up in front of my unlighted and unheated home. I was using an industrial kerosene tube heater that my next door neighbor had lent me to warm the house so the photos they took, along with a brief interview to illustrated the plight of those with no heat [5] made the 6:00 PM Eyewitness News. To my amazement, though the plight had been well documented the only help that materialized were a few small checks from my few surviving relatives (and may God Bless them for that) but nothing really changed and it seemed that the dye was cast for ultimate doom with no way out. I had no one to turn to got solid advice and nowhere to get it, so was essentially at the mercy of anyone who claimed to ‘offer help’ out of this dire predicament. Since the phone had been disconnected months before, and I was normally broke, my only means of communication was via the internet and at AA. If I could not walk there seeking any assistance proved beyond reach. Most of the folks at Logan were helpful, but none had been home owners and few had anything above a high school education. I had nowhere to turn for help.

I was prepared to tough it out until the weather improved as we had the year before but received a Tax Sale notice from Cook County due to my non-payment of City of Chicago real estate taxes and realized the situation was desperate. A few friends and ads suggested that filing Bankruptcy would provide a way out and save the house so I bummed some change and called a few legal offices only to be told that since I was unemployed I would have to find a way to come up with a small deposit of only $1,000.00 to begin the proceedings: of course this proved impossible. Facing the choice of loosing the home, or somehow filing bankruptcy I re-doubled my efforts to find employment with a lot of walking, but it was a waste. I tried Macdonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Walgreen’s, Jewel, Osco and every other place I could walk to or email. I was running into the “Overqualified’ brick wall wherever I went and if that did not prevent consideration. I tried the “Earn Fare” project of the Illinois Department of Public Aid. When it became obvious to me that they were NOT AT ALL interested in my 18 years of computer experience and Graduate Degree and coursework I knew that program was a total waste. I continued to send out resumes at the Library via EMAIL and got plenty of return calls but none led to a job. My CHURCH had turned its back on me (Though they continued to allow me to go to their “Food Pantry” for my hungry kitties) felt hopeless.

I didn’t understand what was happening or why but knew that the Lord had a reason for it all. I remembered that the good Sisters of St. Francis used to tell us that we should ‘Offer your suffering up for Jesus” when I was in grammar school so prayed and did a lot of ‘offering up’. My earliest memories are of my father reading me Bible stories before bedtime, and I often thought of the stories of Jonah in the Wale and the 40 year wandering in the desert that led Moses into the promised land. My faith was growing stronger by the day and helped to keep me sane.

By Feb of 1996 the City of Chicago was suffering a bitter cold snap, with temperatures well below zero and my greatest fears began to materialize: the water pipes in the house began to freeze and then burst. It was at this point that I realized the ‘loan’ which had been proposed to me was the only viable choice so I returned to NAO and Tom Hose to make the necessary arrangements. Frankly, I was terrified at the thought of loosing the home but knew that the Lord would see me through whatever was to come and remembered the words of St. Paul in Romans 8:31What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? I knew that the Lord was with me so did what had to be done, hoped and prayed.

Though I had an easy time getting the Title to the House, other documents would be required for the loan, such as Employment verification and tax returns. These were non-existent since I had been unhappily unemployed for a number of years. Mr. Hose informed that this major concern was ‘no problem’ and could be handled as a part of his services for arranging this loan. How he intended to do this I could not imagine, but he assured me that “everything would be handled” and all would be well. The water pipes continued to freeze and burst nightly at my home as I continued to spend my days attending daily mass and in AA meetings and with friends at Logan Square, Group 5. I had the City come out to turn off the Water at the “Bungle Box” but they could not find it and said they would return – they never did. One terrifying night in mid-February of 1996 the main water pipe burst around two in the morning. This caused a torrent of freezing water to pour into the basement where I was snuggled up with my little Meow and her nascent litter.

Miraculously, the bed was situated in the front of the basement and the pipe that had burst and was gushing freezing waters was in the rear and I still had 35 cents in my pocket, which was an unusual occurrence during these desperate days. Though it was after 2:00 AM, the Good Lord was with me as always and I found a rare public telephone in a tavern (the others on the street had all been removed to prevent their use by our local drug dealers) and desperately called the Water Department, praying that someone would answer in this dire emergency at this late hour. My guardian angel was really with me and I was able to reach the Water Department almost immediately. Miraculously, a city truck from the Water Department was only a few blocks away since it had been a very busy night for frozen pipes: they came over within five minutes and immediately found the water shut off valve that the workers from the city had not been able to just a day earlier. They then shut off the water at the ‘bungle box’ and ended the torrent of water flooding the basement. I climbed back under six covers with my Little Meow and thanked God for our good fortune. There was a lot of water in the rear and I felt somewhat like Noah climbing into the Ark with his animals but it soon froze over and we finally rested. Now there was no gas, electricity of water at all in the home that I slept in at night but I thanked God that He had kept us all safe. The words of Psalm 103 and these Reasons to be Thankful echoed in my soul: Praise the LORD, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the LORD, my soul, and forget not all his benefits

The next morning, I hiked back out to NAO (a two mile walk through the ice and snow) to inform Mr. Hose of the latest developments. Upon hearing of this close call with disaster, the proposed loan was somehow ‘accelerated’ and within another two weeks I was told the ‘Closing” was imminent and I’d have the needed funds. I understood the dangers of losing the home so had agreed to all in the hopes of a new beginning. Two weeks later, I hiked back out to see Mr. Hose and was summarily informed that I could only get a Seven Year “Home Equity” loan at 13.99% due to my credit history, I was then introduced to a “Ricky” Carter who would help finalize the deal. Something really smelled here but what choice was there?
Faced with the potential of a new start, and considering the needed repairs of the house in combination with the forthcoming tax foreclosure, there was no choice. The rejection of these terms, though they were obviously predatory would have resulted in:

· Loss of my home and remaining material goods
· Loss of a place to sleep and live
· Loss of a home for my beloved MEOW
· Loss of all hope and acceptance of total defeat

Upon considering these life-or-death decisions and with about a minute to decide, I signed the required forms. I was driven out to the “Finance Company” which would finalize the details and present the check. I sat silently and prayed the Rosary kept in my tattered coat pocket.

After half an hour, and a good deal of officiousness, I was presented with a check which was around $38,000.00. Mr. Hose was a bit perturbed since a separate check had not been written to him and another set of arrangements were made, resulting in another check that was a few thousand dollars less. We drove back to the NAO offices and I was informed that Mr. Hose had not yet gotten his ‘Percentage” (cut) which would require that I write yet another check: in order to complete the ‘deal’ I recall laughing, leaving his offices and then walking the two miles in the dark through the ice and snow back to the house and my anxious kitties while fully expecting to be shot in the back.

The kitties and I were living without any water, electricity of heat. I had been in touch with a company named Chicago Heating that had cared for our heating needs and immediately contacted them and had them come out to the home to determine what repairs were needed to the radiators and plumbing. Since they were regular advertisers in our Church bulletin and my father had used their services often I assumed that they would provide a fair job at a fair price. I was wrong

I was told that the home would require a TOTAL rehab for plumbing, and a new heating system thus replacing the now cracked pipes and radiators with a forced air system the bill would come to around $23,000.00. Since the only choice seemed to be death in the cold I signed the contract and gave them a $5,000.00 deposit to begin the formidable task. When I related the story to a friend of mine at AA who was in the Heating and Plumbing business a few days later he informed me that the job in question could be done for about $8,000.00. By then I had already signed the contract and the rehabilitation began.

The Lord had brought us safely through the storm His word had provided salvation and I remembered John “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.” I knew that He would be with me always and now we had a new beginning.

[1] http://ewtn.com/
[2] Thank Vatican II for that one
[3] http://www.ewtn.com – Eternal Word Television Network - Catholic Cable Television

[4] All references are to the New American Bible, standard Edition
[5] It was the week before Christmas, so People Gas was making an extra effort to get the heat back on for people wherever possible

Chapter III

Chapter III: TommyCat, Tommy, Tommy, TommyCat!
This chapter is a love story between the author and his family of cats. I have been always been blessed by God to have the BEST BREED – All-American ALLEY CATS! [1]

While days were still rosy and hope alive I was sitting in my den which had been converted into a small office one Sunday afternoon. Around four I heard the anguished cries of a stranded cat. Since stray felines were common in the area this was of little concern. It was late August of 1992 and the cries of despair continued for a few hours, bringing me out on the back porch to find the source of all the commotion. My initial search proved useless for there was no sign of any injured cat though the tortured wailing continued. Around 7:30 p.m. I looked again, and found a tiny, baby kitten who had fallen down the back basement stairs and was unable to climb back up. She was surprisingly tiny, seemed quite frightened but INCREDIBLY LOUD! I picked her up and brought her into the house with me.

I have always been an animal lover, and as a child had dogs, fish, hamsters, rabbits and even a fully grown duck at one time but had no idea of what to do with a cat. I called my friend dear friend Sylvia Bott, who had cats all of her life seeking advice. She informed me that I could give her some milk, make sure that she was not injured and then put her back out In the yard if I did not want to keep her with me. During the conversation, the tiny animal had snuggled up in my lap, fallen asleep and begun to purr. After concluding the conversation, I looked down at this sleeping little doll and knew that I could not put her back outside and had suddenly found a new friend. I had fallen in Love with this beautiful little baby and would later come to understand that Jesus Himself had sent this little angel to bring great joy into an empty heart.

The kitten slept for about an hour and when I finally had to walk the few steps to the bathroom began to wail in agony when I put her back into the chair. She was all alone, looking in vain for her Mommy and terrified. We had a lot in common.

Upon returning, I placed her back in my lap, but she was still not content and continued to wail, “MEOW!”. I said to her, “Well, OK it looks like we’re gonna be roommates now so what is your name?” – to this she responded, “MEOW!”, “MEOW!”, “MEOW!”. I thought, “Ok, that’s your name.”. Thus, MEOW became my best friend and best little girl. She was very tiny and I was seriously concerned for her very life. It seems that an evening of warmth and some milk soother her considerably and the following morning when the now exuberant baby kitten bounded onto my chest and proceeded to bite me on the nose. I began to have second thoughts but all of her tiny adventures soon proved adorably beyond belief. When I took her to the vet a few days later for her first health check up, I distinctly recall him scolding me, “She’s just a Baby!” and was informed that she was only seven weeks of age. I was now a mommy too.

Within a few days little Meow had enough confidence to start exploring her new territory and soon found out that climbing into my bed to snuggle up with her newly found mother was much nicer than sleeping alone. The first time she snuggled up to my chest, she also found my little finger and began to nurse on me since she was looking for mommy. She did not seem to mind that this behavior produced no milk at all, but was purrfectly content with this arrangement.

In the next three years Meow proved to be a source of endless joy and a great companion. Since she had become very dear I watched her like the proverbial hawk and spoiled her to the best of my ability. She continued to grow in size, exuberance and love as we formed an eternal bond. She had toys all over the house, but save for an old burlap sack filled with catnip, she generally preferred her big toy: ME. My little Meow became my joy and provided countless hours of innocent play and was always a great morale booster. When she was about a year old, I decided it was time to introduce her to the outside world, so equipped her with a long tether which allowed her to explore our back yard while remaining safe and under my watchful eye. After three or four sessions like this, she decided there was nothing outside the house that was very interesting so opted to remain a dedicated house cat.

About a year and a half after I first found her, I wrote
Meow
(Dedicated to the Prettiest Girl in the Whole World)

A bright and sunny day it was, it yes indeed was that;
And ‘round about four, or maybe before, I swore I’d heard a cat.

And so I ventured forth a bit to see what I could see,
It’s near I thought but vainly sought, for nothing was to be.

But on and on the clatter went, and oh the day was pretty,
I soon surmised the sparkling eyes of a tiny, baby kitty.

It seems the wanderlust of youth and the skills of a baby had landed,
Her turned quite around and suddenly she found, she wss hopelessly, hopelessly stranded.

And so I stopped to pick her up, and she fit in the palm of my hand, And the kitty and I, though she still did cry, entered into a brave new land.

So into the house and up the stairs we ventured past the flowers,
But she soon cried, “Meow” and then, as now she went on for hours and hours and hours.

“You’re going to be all right” I said. “You’re going to be just fine.”
But she thundered “MEOW” and Oh, Holy Cow, she just whined and whined and whined.

She’s a heck of a gal, and my best little pal, and I’ll never understand it now, But I asked her name, she just though it a game, and sternly rebuked me, “Meow!”

And so “Meow” became her name, and she follows me all around, It’s been over a year and she always endears and we’re both so glad she was found.

So often as I ponder things, I oft now ponder how,
I took all the strife, and lived all my life, Without my little Meow.

During the two winters with no heat and light mentioned in the first chapter Meow and I were huddled up beneath four or five heavy blankets just to generate enough warmth between us to make it through the night. If for some reason I did not see her in the dark when I finally came in and crawled into bed, she would be vigorously scratching at the covers a few minutes later in order for me to let her into our tiny man-and-kitty heated incubator. I recall fondly the one night, when the water pipes were bursting when it was so cold that I wore a heavy ski jacket and bundled her inside, against my chest and zipped it shut to keep her warm; in the morning when I unzipped the coat, she looked up at me quizzically, as if to say, “Is it time to get up ALREADY?” Sadly I would bury her in this same coat three years later.

By the spring of 1996 the pipes were being repaired and workers were going in and out for about two weeks carrying needed supplies. Since My Little Meow was there, I asked the workmen to be sure to shut the back door when they left since I might still be up at Logan Square AA where I was spending most of the day. One morning when the work was almost completed I awoke and started up the stairs for my morning coffee and was greeted by the sight of two cats. When I got upstairs I noticed that the back door had been slightly ajar all night and a stray tomcat had wandered into the house. Since Meow had been in heat this was not surprising so I contacted the vet who two weeks later checked her out and verified that she indeed was not pregnant. (Meow was an awful tease!)

We now however had a new feline friend who would visit the house daily in hopes of courting my Little Meow. The poor guy also had no where else too go to look to for a meal.

He was a tom cat, so I called him “Tommycat”. The next day as I was going out of the back door to the garage Tommy showed up and ran when he saw me coming out but once I had finished my shopping and returned he still was hanging around and only retreated to the far end of the porch as I walked into the house. Tommy was large for a male and also one of the dirtiest cats I had even seen and looked sorely in need of just about everything. I got an extra can of Meow’s food and went out on the porch with a dish to offer him a meal, which he hungrily accepted. The next day I looked for him at the same time, and when I called, “Tommycat! Tommy, Tommy, Tommycat!” he excitedly came running. On the third night, Tommy surprised me by hopping into my lap and snuggling as if we had been old friends. Stray or feral cats are normally (and quite understandably) quite frightened of humans but folks who have extensive experience with felines will confirm that at times they just seem to “know” things and Tommy knew that a mutual affection was growing between man and cat. (he also had ‘street smart’ and knew where to get a good meal!) It seemed that no one had ever brushed, cleaned or bathed him.

Tommy continued this nightly routine but Meow was not entirely pleased with this new competition. Adult female cats are not just terribly territorial but very jealous and little Meow fit the bill. She expressed her continuing displeasure by scratching my hand badly on a number of occasions when I came back in after feeding our nightly visitor. Tommy and I became fast friends and once he was cleaned up and brushed a bit and had the addition of a nice collar he was a quite handsome and affectionate fellow. I could hear nightly catfights in our gangway so it was apparent that he was also fighting with other male cats in the area that were interested in mating with my Meow. On two occasions he showed up looking like Joe Louis with a bloodied snout and even a piece of his ear missing as well so it was obvious that he was FIGHTING FOR HER! I attempted to bring him into the house for his nightly meal on two occasions but Meow was not too pleased and always attacked him which was hysterical to watch; she was only a third his size but a real tiger.

The third time, Tommy darted down the stairs hid in the basement shed behind over 30 years worth of boxes and bag. He stayed there for three days until I finally found him and he ran out of the back door. But the Lord indeed works in mysterious ways as this turned out to be the break we all needed. Tommy had however already left some of his markings in her territory during his entrapment so there was hope for a happy ending.

The next week, Meow went back into heat and when I came home she was rolling around the dining room floor. I walked out on the back porch, called, “Tommycat, Tommy, Tommy, Tommycat!” and Tommy came running for his meal, but I picked him up and brought him into the house where I presented him to Meow. After more than two months of this mating game of flirting, fighting and cajoling they consummated their love inside of 30 seconds. It was funny – after months of the mating game it was Slam-Bam and they were through. In a strangely human fashion, once the act was complete their level of calm and relaxation was astounding: I was tempted to ask Tommy them if they wanted a cigarette.

True to form, my little Meow returned to her proper feline senses after a half-hour or so and promptly chased him out of the house for the night. In the seven months that Tommy was with us this would be the normal pattern: Meow would allow him to come in to eat, stay for a few hours and then chase him out for the night. Two months later Meow became a mommy.

I came walking home one afternoon in August from the Sunday 4:30 P.M. AA meeting and was quite surprised that Meow did not greet me at the door when I entered. After searching all over the house for her I finally spied her nursing three little babies under my bed downstairs. This situation was ideal: I knew that she would go to the spot she felt was safest and was somewhat fearful that it would indeed be in bed with me but she made the obvious and most logical choice.

The kittens were:
· Schoentzie (Schóen is German for “Beautiful”) and it was Americanized with the ‘ie’
· Napoleon (who I was convinced at birth was a male but turned out to be a female and it was too late to change her name)
· Adolph (who had a cute little “Hitler” moustache)

Meow was a great mother and I was amazed at the care she gave these tender young ones. For the next eight days she kept the babies where they had been born, then elected to move her litter into the easy chair I sat in nightly to watch Television. Fortunately I was able to move to the sofa and watch Meow and the babies as well as the nightly news. Adolph soon proved the most adventurous of the litter and managed to get into a number of hard-to-reach places which he had to then be rescued from and the babies continued to grow in size and appetite. Tommy attempted to inspect his new progeny on one occasion but Adolph responded by vigorously punching him in the snout and at the tender age of only three months, this small kitten also decided that the chair his father normally lounged in would now belong to him. Though I tried and tried to have Meow and the kittens welcome him as a full member of our family the best we could ever achieve was a standoff with Tommy in the office with me as I worked in my office with the Internet and Meow downstairs with the babies. Of course, after the 10:00 PM news it was time for him to leave.

As winter approached Tommy took to climbing into the garage at night and if my car window was open, he could be found snuggled up in the front seat as well. On the few occasions I attempted to end this stalement over territory, Meow made her displeasure obvious so this arrangement continued until December of 1996.

Tommy and Meow mated once more and for Christmas of 1996 Meow presented me with yet another litter and we added:
· Satin Doll
· Leibchen (German for “darling”)
· Ludwig
· Sophisticated Lady
· Killer Joe

Though he had now fathered eight kittens in total Meow still would not allow Tommy to remain indoors at night and would make her displeasure obvious by chasing him to the back where he would wait to be let out of doors. This enforced nightly exile continued until mid December when the bitterly cold weather forced my intervention and Tommy was kept indoors for a week or so at night. Meow seemed willing to tolerate this as long as Tommy was forced out of doors in the morning.

I let Tommycat out one morning in mid January and when I called him that night he did not come running up the back stairs as was his habit. Two weeks of walking all over the neighborhood, calling, “TommyCat, Tommy, Tommy, TommyCat!” were to no avail. Tommy never returned and I never found him. He was a loner, a survivor and a damn good fighter so I guess we were a lot alike which is why I’m not ashamed to say that I shed more than one tear when I finally realized he would never again return to the only home he had ever known.

By March of 1996, the work on the house had been completed and with new wiring, a heating plant and considerably less cash the search for a way to pay off the loan and get things back in order was on in earnest. I gave Chicago Heating another check for $5,000 for a total of ten to complete the task and never contacted them again. They phoned a few times, demanding the rest and I told them to sue me for it if they thought they had a valid case: they NEVER DID.

I was still driving a 1984 Pontiac Fiero automobile that was on it’s last legs and after it’s persistent overheating could no longer be controlled was forced to buy an old junk which I got for $800.00 from my friend Nelson. Since the Fiero was a nice car I contacted a barrio mechanic who was living next door named Danny Irrizari in an attempt to get it running without major cost. Danny informed me that for $300.00 he could buy the needed parts, do the labor and get this auto running once again.

After the initial $300.00 the Fiero indeed ran but very badly. Since I was driving the old junker I opted to wait until a better time to get it fixed up and purchase an old junker from my friend Nelson. Sadly, Nelson neglected to let me know that he had been using a special oil additive and when I decided to change the oil this would up badly damaging the engine. I did change the oil and had severe problems with yet another car. I was told by Shell mechanics that this old junk needed a new engine so I had not one, but two junks that were not running. Since the Fiero was still in the garage, Danny told me he could get it running for just another $500.00. The next week he said he had discovered the car needed a new manifold which would be an additional $300.00. I got $50.00 for the old junk that had cost $800.00 six weeks earlier. (And of course the Moral of the Story is: SCREW YOUR FRIENDS – YOUR ENEMIES ARE TOO SMART!)

After another month of this, and about $500.00 more in various ‘parts’ that were supposedly needed I contacted the city, filed a complaint and went to the Daley Center for a “Hearing’. Though I had presented all of the cancelled checks and ‘receipts’ that were involved in this swindle the city told me that there was not too much they could do, since I was dealing with an ‘unlicensed’ alley mechanic so I was out of the money and the Fiero was not running at all.

Danny showed up a few days later, and informed me that he could indeed get the car running and make up for all the lost time but had to tow the car to a garage out south. Not knowing where to turn, I agreed. Two weeks later the car was missing and so was Danny. When I inquired about him in the neighborhood I was informed that he had gone to Puerto Rico. I was informed a few weeks later by the Chicago Police that the Fiero had been towed to a pound and decided to leave it there and just forget the whole affair. After some investigation in the area I was informed that “Danny” had a long history of such auto swindles and left town in order to avoid the pending collection of some funds he had taken under similar false pretenses from some people that planned to administer the justice he duly had earned to him without the aid of the law.

By this time the money from the Saving “Loan” was nearly gone but the bills had to be paid. I was sending about 100 resumes per week out via email and fax and averaging five calls per days regarding potential employment. Out of these communications, about 10 interviews resulted but none resulted in a job offer.

On August 24, 1998 I was sitting on the front Porch with Meow and the family. A large Rottweiler named “Macho” came down the street and sauntered into to say hello. “Macho” had a habit of getting loose and I had found him and brought him back home on a few occasions so we were old friends. “Macho” lived with a cute small Daschund named “Goldie” and she had followed him the few doors down to say hello as well.
Goldie came up to greet me and “Satin Doll” (One of Meow’s kittens) was nearby. Goldie proceeded to not only attack her, but to viciously rip the poor girl to pieces right in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a cat lunge at Macho who was now in the front grass and he bit it on the neck, felling the animal. I though it was our large male, “Adolph:. When Goldie was done and her family finally came to get her, I walked over into the grass.

There I found my “Little Meow” lying dead.

I was in a state of shock. Since Satin Doll was now just a bloody mess, I put her remains in plastic and put her out in the garbage. I was going to also leave Meow with her, but I just could Not leave my “Best Girl” out in the garbage can.

I brought MEOW back into the house, put her into the coat that she had slept in with me the previous year during that final terribly cold winter and the kitties and I had a small wake . MEOW had died defending her home, her family and me as well. While she was lying there in state I PROMISED HER THAT AS LONG AS I LIVE I WILL CARE FOR HER OFFSPRING and I have kept that promise.

The Electricity had been shut off in June so that night I sat downstairs and cried my eyes out; for some reason the other 8 cats in the house were nowhere to be seen. I called out for them but they continued to hide all night long and I did not see them until the morning when it was time to leave for Logan.
Early the next morning, I awoke before dawn (so as not to be seen-the neighbors knew what had happened and were watching me) and went out into the backyard on 1920 N Tripp Avenue and buried my best girl. (she is still there as I write this)

The next day I saw “Macho” as I walked past his front yard. He came to the fence to greet me as was his habit, but was hanging his head and knew he had been a “bad dog” though I said nothing. I had the large hook knife in my pocket that I normally carried at this time and briefly entertained the idea of revenge but when he lapped me on the face I understood that he was asking for forgiveness. I also understood enough of these animals to know that MEOW had in fact attacked HIM and he was simply defending himself. I also remembered that God has told that “Vengeance is MINE” so I hugged him through the fence and learned what “Forgiveness” truly means - we are the best of friends to this very day. While I was filled for a moment with grief and anger the love that beautiful dog showed me touched the same love I actually had for him and the awful pain of loosing my Best Girl subsided. I opened my Bible and read "Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

That night the kitties again were frightened and still hiding but about 1:00 AM Adolph, Meow’s Oldest male (who was my “Big Boy”) crawled up in bed with me and began to groom me; he knew his mother was gone but wanted to tell me that he loved me and I do believe he was trying to comfort me. A week later Adolph would become the first victim as the family and I lost all but our Faith in the Lord.

By October 29, 1998 The mortgage company sent a ‘crew’ out and when I came home from Logan found that the entire contents of the front part of the first floor of the house had been thrown out into a dumpster that had been pulled in front of the house – including all of my clothes, books, computer and supplies.
I called the Chicago Police and had it stopped that day but The mortgage company was back a few a days later. I called and begged for another week to get my property out and store it somewhere and The mortgage company gave me only two days.

I tried to climb up into the dumpster to at least get my clothes out but fell back due to a bad foot, which I suffered in a shooting in 1985. My neighbors were all too ‘busy’ to help out and since I had no place to put things the clothes, books, records, and the memories of 45 years stayed in the dumpster. In retrospect I could have tried harder to get the clothes out but at this juncture the shock and hopelessness of the situation was beginning to slowly but surely sink in.

It took them nearly a week to ‘clean out’ the entire house, but by November 1, 1998 it was all gone. Each day when I got back more had been thrown out and I was powerless to stop it. The “Crew” knew I had nowhere to go and did not throw out the bed downstairs until the end of the week. They put a new padlock on the front door and left but since I could get in through the back I continued to stay there and I slept in the empty house for a week, but they finally padlocked it completely.

Now I and Meow’s nine kitties were truly sin casa o hogar (homeless) and I was forced to ask “Where can I sleep Tonight?”

[1] Technically, these are normally “American Shorthairs”

Chapter IV

Chapter IV: Where can I sleep tonight?

After the house was locked up at the end of October, 1998, I was eating dinner with Vicky and her daughter. Vicki T. was an old friend from AA and had invited me over to dinner one night in May a week after she moved into an apartment building just a half block from the home I was about to loose. The dinner was great, we all had nice time and she invited me back the next night, and the night after that – it was a open invitation so I went over each evening to dine, socialize and relax for a while. I ate dinner thanks to Vicky T. and her generosity from May until October, until I finally was locked out of my home. The garage was still open so I camped out with the cats for a few nights and we kept warm with kitty heat though it was really getting chilly. The kitties and I had been here before so we huddled together to keep warm. Though Meow was in kitty heaven, she had been buried just a few feet away so the whole family was together in spirit.

.I stayed at Vicki’s one night on the couch and was offered a ‘deal’ by her neighbor downstairs who had an empty room and spare bed. “Rick” lived with his ‘wife’ and two young children in a totally bare apartment in the same building directly below Vicki so since this was only a half block from my former home and at least offered some hope I jumped at the chance. The cats were scattered about the alley but since a back porch window on my former home on N Tripp Avenue was still open they were still going in and out of ‘their’ house. I made sure they were well fed and cared for and tried to figure out how to proceed. “Rick” knew I had no money or job, but offered this ‘deal’ in exchange for unrestricted use of my Illinois Link Card in order to get food for his children. To this I humbly acquiesced - I had no choice.

Since Vicki lived on the next floor I could still eat with her and her daughters while things settled down. This ‘deal’ was ok until my Link Card benefits ran out and I was locked out of the house a few times. Fortunately, I only had to go back to the empty garage only a half a block away behind my home one night due to this, but that was enough (it was quite chilly that particular night) – the overhead door was also coming off so it became impossible to close and something had to be done and really fast. The kitties were happy to have me with them, and I taught them how to pray the Rosary as we all snuggled up together on a piece of cardboard we had laid on the cement floor. It was pretty cold, but we had our mutual body heat and the Love of God to keep us warm.

I had a large brass crucifix that had been on my father’s coffin that I attached to a chain and often wore around my neck to announce my Christianity (Catholicism) to the world. In the month prior to the loss of the house, I had spoken with a Latino gentlemen named “Ray” on the next block who had a large sign in his front lawn that proclaimed “Jesus will Save You” accompanied by a number of Bible Verses – one side was English, el ortra en Espanol. (The other in Spanish). The building I was camping out in was directly across the alley and also was experiencing a problem at this time with drug dealing being conducted out of one of the apartments and it was also a well know hang out for a well known Street Gang. “Ray” and I had spoken before regarding the gang and their drug dealing, so when we met, I explained the dire situation I found myself in to him Unbeknownst to me, Ray had previous experience with men who were recovering from disasters and had helped bring them to Jesus so I was definitely talking to the right man.

Ray then told me about a “Recovery Home” called Chicago Victory Church – a place he had sent other homeless and destitute men for Christian “Salvation” and urged me to give it a try. This ‘Church” was located in a large auto dealership and garage that had formerly been Grand-Spaulding Dodge (My father had purchased a car there once) and offered “Total Recovery” to Drug Addicts, Alcoholics and the Homeless. “Total Recovery is Possible” was their slogan – which certainly sounded reasonable though I had never heard of them at all but I sure needed to recover.

I was still spending most of the day at Logan Five and my friends at AA suggested the Salvation Army, and “Bill’s Family” – the Salvation Army was on Chicago’s West Side about four miles across town and “Bill’s Family” had a reputation for THROWING FOLKS OUT IN THE STREET when they got behind on their rent. They would take folks in with no income, but if you did not start working or going to “Day Labor” Services within a week or so you would be back out on the street so this hardly seemed attractive and there were also the CATS to consider. “Day Labor” was not an option due to a gunshot wound in my left foot which rendered me unable to stand or walk on that foot for any extended periods and I had already tried Osco, Jewel, Macdonald’s and KFC so was at a loss as to where to turn. Jesus was already with me, and a ‘program’ that emphasized his teaching certainly sounded grand, though some of the elements of their ‘salvation’ plan seemed a bit strange. It was certainly worth finding out about, so Ray drove me over for an initial interview and a potential shot at real salvation.

When we met with the “Pastors” at CVC my MAIN CONCERN was with the cats – Those 9 cats were now homeless also and had no one to care for them. My friends at AA told me “FORGET THE CATS! They’ll be ok - they can always find something to eat” and “You have to WORRY ABOUT YOU!” – and though I knew there was some truth in that, I PROMISED MEOW THAT I WOULD TAKE CARE OF HER CHILDREN FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE and I WOULD NOT GO BACK ON THAT PLEDGE TO MY LITTLE MEOW! Additionally it was getting cold and the kitties were looking at a winter outside they would have to live through so feeding them was the least I could do and I elected to make this a primary consideration. Each time I walked out of the garage at the Old House I passed Meow’s grave so her silent presence was a constant reminder of my obligation to her progeny.

After a brief introduction and statement of the problem and the explanation of the CVC “Solution” (which really was ‘no solution’ but Ray assured me that this “Christian Recovery” had been quite successful with others in my situation) it certainly sounded reasonable. I must confess that I was somewhat aghast at these “Ministers” at first – I was expecting some sort of “Godly” or ‘clerical’ presence but the men we spoke with were obviously (Former) gang members who were easily spotted by their speech and “Ghetto slang” and ex-convicts but at this juncture my choices were quite limited. When I inquired about the cats: TO MY UTMOST JOY they told me “BRING ‘EM ALL! We have a problem with mice and rats and we are LOOKING FOR CATS!. The Decision was made.

I managed to round up six of the cats and we piled them into Ray’s SUV and got them into the “Church” that afternoon. I was warmly welcomed, presented with a Bible and kept ‘under observation’ (as were all newcomers to the ‘home’) for a week on the second floor of the old truck garage. I soon became known simply as “CATMAN” and felt quite proud that the special relationship I had with the kitties had been so highly noted.

The conditions at CVC were nice for a ‘recovery home’ and the food was always plentiful. Since I was a.) New, b.) Educated and c.) of possible use to the ‘ministry’ I was kept closely watched at all times. This was fine with me, for it was not all-intrusive, I enjoyed reading the Bible and by the second night the cats had found me and were all close by.

A large area of this cement garage [1] had been equipped with a hundred or so home-made bunk beds and was known as the “Home”. A smaller area in the rear served as a kitchen and dining area and packed deli-style sandwiches were the standard fare at night. The large former auto showroom on the first level had been converted into an auditorium and served as the main ‘church’ where the various ministers conducted their three hour nightly services. These assorted ‘ministers’ seemed to understand that their captive audience had no way to escape their lengthy lessons so normally played their mastery over us to the very end of the available time.

Days began with a wake up call at 5:30, which was followed by morning “Prayer” Service from 6:00 – 7:00 AM. Coffee was not available, and I was experiencing caffeine withdrawal so found any possible way to get a cup of coffee. The Days were spent in the normal thrice-daily ‘services’ which consisted of a half-hour of hymns, followed by an hour or so of sermonizing and the remainder of the time was to be devoted to Bible Study and prayer. After the morning service and breakfast, all residents assembled in the main building where boxes of M&M’s were passed out to those who were deemed fit enough for a ‘route’.

A ‘route’ consisted of a day of somehow selling the case of candy and returning at night with money earned from these sales. I was still too new and seemed to have other uses so never was assigned these duties at all during my five week brush with “Christian Recovery” – CVC Style. Working on a “route” also afforded a chance for the residents to ‘earn’ a few dollars, since they were allowed to keep a small portion of the sales they had made (which they achieved by standing on street corners and asking folks to ‘help the church’). A “route” also allowed for the opportunity to get away from the 24-hour surveillance that was ubiquitous and somewhat smothering everywhere within the “church” and also afforded a few young men the chance to smoke (which was expressly forbidden to all of us) and provide some additional ‘salvation’ to some of the many prostitutes that the Church was targeting as potential new residents. The other available ‘jobs’ within the church were in the car wash, and as building maintenance personnel. Since only ministers and the few ‘leaders’ were allowed any freedoms, all residents were required to always be in pairs and not even go up the stairs along, providing for constant surveillance.

All of the residents of ‘the home” were required to attend the main service after dinner, and they listened (and frequently yawned) as this captive ‘congregation’ diligently pretended to absorb the ‘lessons’ that were allegedly being taught via the assorted Bible Lessons. I kept wondering why these ‘teachers’ of Spiritual Wisdom did not seem to learn how to speak English, since their grammar and use of sentence structure was truly atrocious, but after learning more of their criminal backgrounds, the answers became quite obvious. It was still really amusing to hear these various “Men of God” struggling with simple sentences and words that any fifth graded should have mastered.

The cats found me by the first night and did what they were accustomed to doing and crawled into my bed at night to snuggle and find safety and security. I had observed MEOW with her two litters studiously and now that she was gone her kittens now considered me as their new mother. After breakfast or lunch, we would go back into the “Home” and as soon as I was settled in with my Bible the cats would find me and gather around to snuggle and socialize.

As we entered week two of this new adventure, various other “Disciples” who were also residents of the home began to comment, “Those cats LOVE YOU.” as they walked by. I don’t know if they were just unfamiliar with cats or surprised to see such a close bond between the kitties and myself but it came to be an oft-repeated refrain that I would hear many more times in my three and half year nightmare of homelessness. This repeated praise also kept me keenly aware of my familial obligations and love of the kitties, which they constantly reinforced, with a truly remarkable display of affection.

After a week or so it became obvious that I was the only college graduate in this entire ‘church’ and that the average educational level of the “residents” was about 3rd grade. As we heard more and more ‘testimonies’ of how members had been ‘saved’ it became fairly obvious that only a few (if any) were genuine, while most of these ‘born again Christians’ were only fabricating stories of their ‘new life’ to keep the ‘pastor’ happy and raise their position within this ‘church’. 95% of these men appeared to be former prison inmates or drug dealers/gang members and their ‘spiritual’ rhetoric consisted of a few “Praise the Lord” exclamations, liberally punctuated by profuse rounds of profanity. The tales of shootings, killings and prison life was like a chapter out of “Soul on Ice” [2] and their urban tales of crime and violence sounded like an episode of PBS ‘Front Line’. All of these ‘testimonies’ inevitably concluded with an account of how CVC had ‘saved’ these men (and a few women as well) from a life of crime, depravity and despair (prostitution in the case of the women – who were the UGLIEST HOOKERS I Had ever seen) and after the first 10 or so I began to suspect that a ‘script’ was being used to purposely write these ‘Miraculous Recovery” endings. The predictability of these ‘testimonies’ just sounded far too specious to make any sense. Since most of these individuals had been ‘saved’ to a life of selling M&M’s and living in a slightly refurbished truck garage the efficacy of this “Church” was obviously suspect. “Services” for the General Public were held on Saturday evenings and Sunday mornings, and since there were only FIVE OUTSIDERS at the most, even my fellow ‘residents’ began to joke that the only “Church” was US!

Whenever any talk of life outside of the “Church” developed it was quickly discouraged and it became obvious that there WAS no concept of life OUTSIDE of the “Church” structure. Those who were ready to dedicate their lives to selling M&M’s all day, work 10 hours a day in their Car-wash or become one of the privileged few who were “Pastors” would be guaranteed a bed, food and the promise of years of the same for life. Those who chose to leave were free to do so, but left with NO money, no job prospects and would find that they had also made NO PROGRESS towards solving their homelessness. They also left with NO REFERENCES – though I was not yet aware of it, CVC was a cult and the minute you left, you were regarded as the “Other” and of course the enemy – sad, but true.

Once we were admitted into the “Home” we were advised of the rules:
· No Newspapers of Magazines
· No Radio of Television (save for carefully controlled “Christian Radio”)
· No Books or Reading material (save for the Bible and any ‘sanctioned’ religious material)
· No Phone Calls (Save for Sunday after dinner for a half an hour)
· No Visits from family or friends except on Sunday during and after services

The idea of “Total Recovery” that was advertised on the flyers that members passed out daily “on the route” selling M&M’s was formulated on the concept of TOTAL ISOLATION from the ‘corrupting’ influences of the ‘outside’ and amounted to Spiritual Brainwashing but claimed a higher purpose. If you did not like it, you were free to leave at any time, but were warned that any belongings you did not take with you would be THROWN OUT the next day and you would be totally on your own. Since most of the men in the “home” came from violent backgrounds a strong sense of ‘tier boss’ order was maintained and the ‘leaders’ had been chosen for their former high ranking status as gang ENFORCERS and CAREER CRIMINALS (there was also a former drug pusher, a former “assassin’ for a major West Side Gang, and a pimp who confessed he had murdered a man); this atmosphere of fear was perpetually reinforced by recounting episodes of former gang adventures and criminal activities while rumors circulated regarding the high status these men had enjoyed in the criminal world of the ‘street’ (often including their gang affiliation and rank) before they were “Saved” and joined the “Church”.

I had never spent any time in prison but had read about these sorts of stories ‘from the joint’ in the late 1960’s and must confess that observing these ‘former’ felons in person was truly fascinating. There were a few fist fights and a lot of verbal confrontations, but (since everyone was frightened of being tossed out into the cold and had no other place to go and it was winter to boot) the enforced “Terror” of the rigid rules were sufficient to maintain order and at least some semblance of “Christian” conduct amongst the ‘residents’ of the ‘home’.

After a week or so in this environment it became obvious that the vast majority of the ‘members’ were folks in exactly same desperate situation I found myself in who had nowhere else to go and no one left to turn to. All of the residents appeared to be ex-convicts or former and recovering drug addicts. The residents of the “Home” made up 99% of the membership of the “Church” and at the “Public Services” that were held on Saturday and Sundays and if five to ten people from outside of the “Home” attended it was a sizeable number and rare event. Obviously the “Church” was the Recovery Home and the “Members” were the temporary and transient residents plus the handful of men who were “Pastors” and all were under the leadership of “Pastor” Fernando Rivas who seemed to enjoy two to three hour ‘sermons’ but remained aloof to most of the ‘residents’ of the “home”.

When my education and computer skills became known, I was introduced to “Don” who was also involved with PC’s and we discussed the idea of a Home Page on the World Wide Web and in fact plans were made for the establishment of what could become the world premiere of CVC on the Internet. During this brief period a few ‘leaders’ got wind of the idea and prepared some written “testimonies” which detailed their life of crime and drug addiction, their ‘salvation’ via God’s Word (according to CVC) and their resultant life of dedication to the Church. These ‘testimonials’ were presented to me in hand written from and I was stunned at the abysmal level of literacy that was apparent – spelling, grammatical and punctuation errors were abundant and I’ve seen 2nd graders who had a better command of writing skills. After a considerable amount of editing and correction, we went to the Library and printed a few of the testimonies out. The ‘leaders’ were as excited as kids in a toy store at the thought that their ‘story’ was going to be broadcast WORLD WIDE via the Internet and began to vie for a position as the “Top” teller of tales of ‘recovery’. At this rate we had about ten leaders who wanted to extend their ‘leadership’ into this new venture and I could see that the idea was rapidly degenerating into chaos so elected to allow the men involved to proceed with their jejune fantasies and concentrated on spending more time with the cats. I simple refused to do any more work on this project, and was amazed that I was not thrown out into the street on my still-unsaved ear.

I really can’t say why (though the lack of coffee and cigarettes probably had a lot to do with it) but after 4 ½ weeks of this routine, I knew I was going nowhere and told them I was leaving and would be back to get the cats. I had realized a few weeks earlier that these “Christians” were as phony as a three dollar bill but was somewhat stunned when, in TRUE CHRISTIAN FASHION I was told that “all my clothes would be thrown out’” in a day and a few of the “leaders” kindly informed me that they would simply KILL MY BELOVED CATS as soon as I was gone – I knew enough about the threats of street thugs to know a bluff when I hear it - I had gone from an ‘insider’ working on an ‘important church project’ to ‘the other’ in a matter of minutes and things had to be done in a big hurry. I left on a cold Monday morning in early February and went to see my old AA friends at Logan Square Group #5 where I knew I could at least get some hot coffee and bum a few smokes courtesy of our many munificent members.

The Lord works in mysterious ways indeed; while I was sitting enjoying my coffee, and wondering how to get the cats safely out and where I could stay that night an old friend of mine named “Manuel” walked into the doors of Logan. I had not seen him in about five years and we got to discuss old friends in the Program (AA). We had some good stories to swap since I had become briefly involved romantically with his former landlord – a notorious female member [3] named “Sandra” who had decided to ‘help’ in my homeless state, then “fall in love” with me and finally threaten to “Kill” me within the space of six weeks. This was my first experience with the phenomena of Multiple Personality Disorder and was quite an education on this unusual mental condition so we had many amusing stories (and a lot of good laughs) to swap regarding “Sandra’s psychopathic adventures and old AA Friends. After a few hours, the discourse turned back to our mutual dire condition regarding poverty and housing and we share our mutual miserable threnody.

Manuel was also homeless and told me about a new “Warming Center” that had just opened at North and Pulaski Avenues – 4 blocks due south and five blocks east of the home I had lost only a few months earlier. Learning of a Shelter that was within a reasonable walk was truly a Gift from God since all of the others were literally miles away, which is impossible to deal with in the ice and snow of a Chicago winter. After our long conversation, I walked back down to the 1900 N block at Tripp where I had lived for 47 years and made arrangements with my friend Julio to drive back over to CVC the next day and get the cats. - I was fearful for their safety and made their rescue a high priority. I had no other place to go and did not know what to do so I walked down to this “Shelter” at the appointed time, which was 5:30 PM.

I was not too sure about the exact location (though I knew the general quite well) of this “Shelter” and had no idea of what to look for, but when I saw ten guys standing in line and milling around I joined them. Much to my joy, however, my old friend Manuel had told me that “You’ve got a Guardian Angel on your shoulder” that morning so I pressed on in Faith and met my first “Shelter” buddy – “Shopping Cart” Bob who was kind enough to give me a few smokes. The wait was not too long and we all gratefully crowded into the door in order to get out of what was by now a bitter cold night.

The name of the “Warming Center” was “Sharing Hope” and it was located at 1505 N Pulaski Rd in a long, narrow building that had been vacant for many years. Only two years earlier I regularly did my banking on this same corner and was grateful to still be “in the hood” since I knew the entire areas like the back of my hand after 47 years of residence.

It was near December 20th and there was a light snow falling in a chilly Windy City breeze. I had arrived about 20 minutes early since I was somewhat unsure of the procedures and had no idea at all of where I would be and what sort of people I would be with. Standing in line waiting was a new experience, especially in a biting wind with a group of men who appeared desperately in need of almost everything. “Bob” and I were the only two whites in this group, while the majority were Negroes with a few Latinos, which was quite surprising since this is such a heavily Latino area. The idle chatter of men in the line was liberally peppered with profanity but no one seemed to mind this much at all. A thin wooden door opened promptly at 6:00 PM as we all had shelter if just for one night.

Despite earlier reservations and a great deal of uncertainty regarding this first night at a “Shelter”, the ‘intake’ process was remarkably simple: once the door opened, we entered and all signed the roster for the night, were given a meal ticket and entered into a long narrow room with mats on each side for total of about 45. The room had been a beauty parlor for many years and in fact still had a special sink, designed for shampoos on the wall, though all other items had been removed long ago. Once we entered the main hall, the nightly “Showers” Began and since showering was really the only “Rule” all gladly complied and lined up to sign the “shower list”. This list was then called out by a volunteer resident to begin showers immediately, in order that all could be completed by 10:00 PM when it was time for lights out A warm meal was served around 6:30 PM preceded by a brief Prayer by a Staff member or the “Pastor” of the Shelter – Mr. Louis Perez. By the end of my second week there I had assumed the duties of saying this nightly Bible Reading plus grace and soon acquired another nickname, “The Preacher”. Once dinner was done by 7:30 PM or so we were free to watch the large screen TV, read, snooze or go out front and smoke if we had cigarettes or could bum one.

I can recall that when the lights finally went out that first night I prayed fervently while thanking Jesus for my good fortune. Just a few hours earlier, I had no idea of where I would be that evening, or of what would become of the kitties, but with God’s help I was now set for at least as long as it would take to “Get back on my feet” and find some way out of the awful dilemma that I was sinking into. I was particularly grateful that I had found a Real Christian who would protect and guide us. After the traumatic experience of Chicago Victory Church, and the rejection and expulsion by my fellow parishioners at St. Philomena Parish, I will admit that my faith in humanity and the people around me was badly shaken. I knew deep in my soul that it was the Evil in their souls that had caused these “Christians” to behave as they had, but my faith in churches had been badly shaken. I also remembered that Jesus had said, “I will never leave you, nor forsake you” but must confess that at times I was beginning to wonder if He was just too busy to worry about me and my problems. The Lord closed that by saying, “That ye may Boldly Say The Lord is My Helper! What shall I fear?” [4] and I held that thought as slumber engulfed my weary soul.

Two days later I managed to get a ride from my former neighbor Julio in order to go back to Chicago Victory Church and get the cats back. After arriving, I discovered that the “threats” of the convicts and ‘saved’ gangsters were forgotten and the cats just had to be rounded up and moved. Sadly, Napoleon, one of two from Meow’s first littler was missing and we had to leave without her – she would be there for a year until I would see her once again but the other four were just fine so I rounded them up with a new and with the aid of Julio’s pickup, we went back to the “alley” behind the home I had lost where they re-joined the few I had been forced to leave behind. The family all gathered around in back of the home we had all lost, had a communal meal and hoped that we could survive the winter to come. Little did we know that one of the largest snow storms in Chicago’s history was about to engulf us in a sea of white.

This winter of 1999 was mild until the end of January when we were hit with a monster Storm that deposited about 24 inches of snow on the city. [5] The blizzard began on a Friday afternoon, and when we got up Saturday morning there was five feet of snow blocking the front door of our humble homeless shelter. Once we shoveled a path to open the door, it became obvious that the snow had effectively shut down the entire city since few cars could negotiate the streets. The drifts in front of Sharing Hope were 5-7 feet high since a few snow plows had already made their way down Pulaski Road, pushing tons of a very wet and heavy snow in front of our only escape and nearly burying us.

It was 7:00 AM on a Saturday morning and the only way to make any progress at all walking was to get into the main streets, which had been plowed earlier and were at least passable. The strong winds had created snowdrifts of 5-8 feet high in places and the sidewalks all had at least 3 feet of snow so this was the only available option. I had nowhere else to go but Logan #5 and since I was penniless and running out of cigarettes began the short eight-block journey north on Pulaski from North Avenue to Fullerton. This particular morning that trip took about an hour and as I narrowly escaped being run down by cars twice since all were going out of control, especially at the corners. It continued to snow quite heavily throughout my long trek but there was nowhere else to go so I continued on and observed the blizzard and nearly deserted city. The problem of where to go in this wintry danger was obvious but survival in this blizzard superceded any chance to worry about it. The storm actually had transformed the city’s streets into a beautiful Christmas postcard and was actually quite serene. With no coffee and no place to go, however, I decided that there would be plenty of time for appreciation of this beauty later in the day so pushed boldly forward. The condition of the roads made it obvious that the city had been shut down so there was not much to do but find others in the same situation and hope for an improvement in a few hours.

I finally arrived at Logan Square Group #5 at 3951 W Fullerton near 9:15 AM only to find 4 feet of snow had blown in front of the door and is was locked which meant that John, our custodian had also been unable to get there due to the storm. This massive blizzard had also closed all the stores so the only alternative was to wait in the Shell Gas Station on the corner which was not only open, but doing a brisk business in rescuing stranded motorists and dispatching tow trucks.

Fortunately, I knew the folks in the gas station since I would often buy cigarettes there and a feeling of camaraderie soon began to develop amongst all Chicago residents since we soon realized that we ALL had nowhere to go. We began to help each other in whatever manner we could. The Radio was on and kept issuing reports of the severity of this blizzard and urged all to ‘stay home’ – which I found exceedingly amusing for some macabre reason on this truly memorable morning. I would have gladly followed their advice, but circumstances deemed it impossible; I had no home.

By 10:30 AM or so a few of the ‘regulars’ from AA had also arrived and we all were waiting in the gas station for John S. to arrive since he was the only man with a key to the hall upstairs where we had our meetings. After a few furtive calls to Tom D., who was then the ‘chairman’ of the club (and was also snowed in though he was only 12 block east) we finally decided to try again for the normal Sunday breakfast.

I had nowhere to go, but thought that I might be able to make it down to check on the cats, feed them, and then go over to our Chapel of the Holy Rosary and just wait till the evening arrived since there was heat there but this proved impossible. The sidewalks were filled with snow that was two to four feet deep and the drifts in the street had accumulated to eight feet and higher at the corners – nothing was moving at all. Though the house where the cats were was only two blocks away, the snow had piled into massive drifts and the streets were impassable since none had been plowed so I decided to head back to the area of the Shelter and seek refuge in a nearby restaurant if they were open. This was the FIRST DAY I DID NOT FEED THE CATS.

I struggled my way back to North and Pulaski and by the time I got to Sharing Hope Center was overjoyed to find that they had opened at noon for homeless like myself whom they knew would have nowhere to go in the wake of this awful blizzard. I Thanked God that Pastor Louis was there and made sure that we all got a hot meal, and told us to just relax for the rest of the day. Outside, there was plenty of wet snow to be shoveled just to make a path to the street and corner so a few of us got busy. The winds continued to create massive drifts and the city looked a lot more like the Antarctica than the Chicago I knew and loved. We all settled in to swap stories, snack or snooze and could only wait and hope.

By mid-afternoon, the city was acknowledging that the streets were impassable and plows went by a few times in order to verify their claims that the Department of Streets was attacking the problem vigorously. Chicagoans all remembered the great snow of 1979 that brought Michael Bilandic to an ignominious defeat at the hands of Jane Byrne so the City trucks were quite evident and made a brave effort though it was largely in vain. Though the main arteries were passable by Sunday night the side streets and sidewalks were another story entirely for they remained clogged with snow for another two weeks and even longer in many of the lesser traveled areas of the city.

On Sunday morning I got back up to Logan Square #5 to find the snow had been cleared from the door and the club was open. Upon going upstairs, I found our John S. who had yet another harrowing tale to tell of the awful effects of the weekend’s blizzard, but (true to form) our Sunday Morning Breakfast was being prepared, so I volunteered to help in exchange for a welcome free meal and my usual gallon or so of hot coffee.

Despite the turmoil and utter confusion that the blizzard had wrought on the Windy City the meeting went forward and the busloads of recovering alcoholics arrived as usual. Since by this time I was a true “Loganite” I stayed all day and helped to organize the tables and clean up the large hall. The city was slowly starting to recover, so on the way back to the Shelter I tried to make it down to the “House” (the home I had lost) to check on the cats but found that the streets were still impassable and the massive snow drifts were even higher than they had been the first day of this blizzard so I abandoned this effort again. And this was the SECOND DAY I DID NOT FEED THE CATS.

By Monday morning, most of the main arteries had been plowed and the city was prepared to begin the massive task of clearing the side streets so I left Logan early and tried to get to the old house one more time. I was very worried about my dear kitties out in the alley in all of this snow and with no food. I fought my way down to the house, and though it required wading through the 4-foot snowdrifts in the alley, I eventually got there to find a desolate scene. By this time, there were a few brave motorists that had gotten through, so at least there were deep ruts in the alley and a place to stand without being knee deep in a snow drift.

When I arrived at the rear of the house, I called the cats but there was no response for a few minutes at all. My family was gone but I kept shouting, and two of the girls, Schoentzie and Leibchen, emerged from the garage. I put out their food, and continued calling the rest. After a few minutes, Killer Joe, Sophisticated Lady and Ludwig appeared at the back window of the house since they had found a small hole in the rear window and climbed back in for shelter. In a sight unequaled in my experience with Cats, they (one by one) climbed through that small hole in the window, waded on the top of the six foot high snow drifts in the yard and finally made it out to the narrow ruts that had been plowed out in the alley by the passing truck tires. It’s just sad that is was so cold we could not continue this happy reunion.

I placed their tuna and 9 lives on a plastic bag in the snow and they hungrily devoured the welcome meal.
After a few moments amongst the massive snow drifts and checking that no one had been lost, I headed back to the shelter but Sophisticated Lady decided that she wanted to follow me to wherever I was going. She AMAZINGLY followed me six blocks before abandoning the effort and returning to the house and her family – she continued for four nights and finally dropped the effort. I felt terrible, since I knew how lost the poor girl felt and how much she wanted to go with me but I was powerless for the present to do anything about it. I missed the kitties too. Fortunately, I was also able to feed them since they were quite hungry. I made up my mind that I NEVER AGAIN WOULD MISS another day of seeing and caring for them – NO MATTER WHAT!

By Tuesday things were beginning to return to normal but most of the sidewalks would remain covered in a few feet of snow for weeks to come so I learned quickly how to walk in the street. The city had plowed most of the main arteries and businesses were beginning to open again but the sidewalks were hopelessly clogged and would remain so for the next two weeks. The morning walk down Pulaski Road was easier and getting through the alley to feed the cats had become possible again but I noticed that our Schoentzie had vanished and began to worry and search for her in the massive snow drifts since she was Pregnant and near “Her time”. After four days of daily searching, a former neighbor informed me that a cat had crawled into their garage and delivered a new litter and asked if it was one of mine.

After this information was provided, I fought my way through a five-foot snowdrift and managed to get into this unused garage only to discover there was no electricity. I guess Schoentize knew that the only human crazy enough to tramp around in this awful snowy mess would be her human so she got up and trotted over to find me and give me a good snuggle. This left the puzzle of locating her litter, which could not be solved in the dark so I left some food for her and left to fight my way back up to the shelter. I thanked God that I had found her and asked for His help in finding the rest and, though it took four more days, the littler was discovered with the aid of a flashlight a neighbor lent to me. There were five beautiful babies – I thought of Baby Jesus at Bethlehem laying in the manger as I greeted them in the dark and gave them their first blessing.

The storm had so badly pummeled the city that most streets remained mounds of deep snow and were impassable. The city had cleared the main arteries and expressways in a few days but the side streets were largely impassable for more than a week and the alleys were really an adventure. I’ll long remember those cold and snowy morning walks from the shelter at North up Pulaski to the Chapel for Mass and then to Logan Five for coffee Most Chicagoans were still walking on the streets two to three weeks after that historic blizzard and the sidewalks did not really clear up until the weather warmed up and it simply melted away. I remembered that Jesus had promised that He would never leave me, and with Faith was able to make it through this frightening winter in the Windy City.

By the middle or March the situation on the streets of Chicago had returned to normal and I continued in my daily routine of:

6:30 AM Wakeup Call
7:00 AM Morning Mass at St. Philomena’s Chapel
7:45 - 8:00 AM hike to Logan Square Group # Five
8:30 – 4:30 PM – AA Meetings and Gallons of Coffee
4:45 – 5:30 PM – feed and spend time with the cats
5:45 – 6:00 PM – Walk to Sharing Hope and get in line
6:00 – 7:00 PM – shower and eat dinner
7:30 – 10:00 PM – relax and perhaps read the Bible
10:00 PM – Lights Out

Cat food and Cigars were a problem but my friends at Logan and next to my former home were always quite generous so I could normally “bum” enough funds to cover those two expenses. Despite the earlier battle of the Chapel, my friends at St. Philomena were often a big help as well and the Sunday coffee and donuts meeting after our 9:30 AM Mass would give me a good start on the week. Judy F. was a special friend in these dark days and I shall never forget her kindness. As a Lay Minister in the Church, she really lived the Gospel of Jesus Christ. During this period there was NO direction and NO HOPE but at least the initial shock of the loss of my home and the DREAD of loosing the cats and all else had now passed. A neighbor named Julio had noticed that I was missing and the cats were on their own during my attempt at ‘salvation’ in the Chicago Victory Church “Home” so he started to put out scraps nightly for the kitties and they now had an additional source of food. When I discovered this I was overjoyed and Julio would grow into a good friend over the next few years. And “Julio” was allergic to cats!
In the first week of April my friend Ray informed that there was a dead cat lying in the street a block to the west, so I walked over to investigate the next morning – it was my Sophisticated Lady who had been missing for two nights. A car had run over her head and her brains had been pushed out through her mouth and nose. I picked her up, kissed her as I always did and wrapped her in some newspaper for a hastily arranged funeral amongst the snow and the garbage cans. I cried bitterly as I recited the 23rd Psalm in the alley and warmly recalled her following me for six blocks through the snow just a few weeks earlier. Lady was in Kitty heaven now and we’ll all be reunited one day in Christ. [6]

Through the next two months the “Regulars’ at the Shelter began to develop the unusual esprit de corps of the downtrodden – sharing cigarettes, ‘rolls’ or even ‘shorts’ and a dime or quarter. My friend “Bob” and a few others discovered that they could find a Warm spot and free coffee at Logan Five so began to “attend” meetings in the morning and afternoons and sometime just sit around in order to have a place to keep out of the cold and snow. Since simply ‘hanging around’ the club was known to often provide a healthy environment for recovery from alcoholism, this proved to be no problem, but when it became obvious that recovery was not their interest at all, they were given the ‘hint’ by a few of our “AA Police” and left soon thereafter. Many of our “Loganites” had spent time in the homeless state, so the residents of the shelter were always welcomed despite it all.

On the way to Logan after daily Mass at St. Philomena’s Chapel, I would frequently meet a Latino gentleman named “Louis” from our shelter who was normally sitting on a stoop in the alley behind a liquor store at 7:30 AM waiting for them to open or already sipping on his breakfast – a 40 ounce bottle of beer. Whenever I tried to explain that I was a recovered alcoholic and invited him to join me for an AA meeting but he just laughed at this suggestion and drank some more. Two months later he was found dead in an alley with an empty bottle and emptier pockets – no one seemed terribly concerned about his passing – they seldom do when it comes to homeless men found on the street. Louis was the first homeless man I knew that died on the street and it was a shock indeed – I had no idea of how many more there would be as this awful nightmare worsened and the awful reality is that this lachrymose parade of penniless corpses continues and no one really cares so it simply continues year after year. Would I be next?

At this point I started to understand that we (I was now one of the “Homeless”- THE OTHER) were considered much like the lepers of Biblical lore – people saw us on the street and often even knew who (and WHAT) we were but walked on by, usually faster than they normally would do. The people I had known for years at St. Philomena Parish and even my former neighbors seemed to regard me in a new light – a strange combination of fear, disdain and feeling of uncertainty regarding their proper response. My friend Julio, the guys ‘in the alley’ behind my old home and the folks ‘on the block’ were as kind as they could be considering their own meager budgets but realized that my situation was extremely serious. My former next door neighbor, Gustavo (Gus) and his mother and aunt regarded me with utter disgust and loathing and soon closed up the property of my former home [7] on all sides so I could no longer enter to check on the cats, though it did not stop my feline family at all. I truly was at a loss to explain this new attitude and felt as though I had somehow committed a heinous crime by loosing the house but would come to accept this odd combination of pity, fear and loathing that many ‘normal’ people have towards the homeless soon enough.

Thank God that I had the refuge of Logan Square Group Five during the daylight hours and the friendship and support of people I had known in the AA program for many years. Many of them had experienced homelessness, prison, hospitals and far worse so most understood and were always willing to help out in whatever small way they could. I continued to chair more and more AA meetings as the summer approached and grew to be almost a fixture sitting right inside of the door drinking my coffee and smoking a cigar. I owe special thanks to the late “Wild Bill”, the late “Tony C” and my dear friend, the late “Connie F” for much sorely needed help in many ways in this desperate beginning of the 21st century.

May 31, 2000 arrived and the shelter where I was living was scheduled to close for the summer months. It had been agreed that about 15 of the men would continue to reside there if they could pay a small fee and help maintain the premises. I was flat broke, but when I broached the subject with Pastor Louis, he told me, “Don’t worry about it” and said I was welcome to stay. He was getting 10 older computers and felt I could help to set them up and train the staff and even possibly offer instruction in Computer Literacy for our homeless men. Thanks to the true Christian spirit and blessed kindness of Pastor Louis Perez I was able to sleep at Sharing Hope and survive the record-breaking Inferno of 2000.

This was the Hellish Summer of 100+ degree temperatures in Chicago that claimed so many lives and though I had the good fortune of staying in the air-conditioned comfort of AA all day long the kitties were out in the heat and wearing a fur coat to boot. The litter that had been born in the storm were all overheated and found refuge in Ray’s garage which was at the far end of the alley. During this awful heat we lost a few more of the litter but Meow’s Girls somehow lived and kept cool.

During the start of the summer I would leave Logan Square to head down to the alley and find the cats for our nightly family time and normally sat on the ground with them huddled around me in the alley. My Friend Raphael had recently acquired a new puppy for his children they had named “Nina”. (“Little girl” in Spanish) but, as children are wont to do they had rapidly lost interest in her and went on to other pursuits, so poor little Nina was usually left to her own devices and was not very happy about it. Nina began to run away and seek whatever companionship she could find. I first met her in April and within a week she had decided that she wanted to CLIMB OVER, UNDER or THROUGH the fence to come out in the alley when she heard me coming just for some companionship. Ray first tied her to a tether and she used to loudly make her despair at being left alone obvious to all by howling as she were if in mortal agony – she was still only a puppy and I knew that she was looking for a companion so I would sneak into the yard, and stay with her for a while and talk with her until she quieted down a bit, Ray then tried an enclosure and then locked her in the yard but Nina was not at all pleased with her unwelcome confinement and used to bark and howl like a hound from hell in order to get someone to pay attention to her. She always found a way to get out – how she did this I really was not sure, but her ingenuity and fortitude were truly admirable – she was definitely “My kind of gal”.

Nina always had enough food but it was dry nuggets left in a dish. When I opened the canned food I had brought with me for the cats, she smelled the meat and decided she wanted to get her share. For the first few days, this resulted in quite a few fights and a LOT OF SCRATCHES on her little nose but after a week I decided to get an extra can of food just for Nina. This solution proved quite workable so Nina began to have her nightly meal with the cats and grew bigger and bigger. Much to my amazement, the kitties accepted Nina and after a while they began to play together quite naturally and truly seemed to enjoy each other’s company. The cats, however, always seemed to have the upper hand.

As the fall of 2000 rolled around, Nina, the cats and myself constituted one BIG HAPPY FAMILY that could be found sitting in on the ground out in the alley each night for meals, play and our nightly social.
YEAR TWO OF HOMELESSNESS BEGAN and would lead to HOPE and Disappointment.

[1] AKA Grand/Spaulding Dodge at Homan and Grand Avenue
[2] Eldridge Cleaver, 1964 – a tale of life in the California Prison System
[3] Who had gained her notoriety by announcing that she had stabbed her husband in the chest only a few months before she came to us at Alcoholics Anonymous
[4] Hebrews 13:5-6
[5] Though the Wind on the weekend created massive snow drifts as high as 8-10 feet
[6] Ok, so if you are a Christian who dismisses this as silly consider a simple question – why not?
[7] Gus had purchase the house after the eviction was finalized and it was put on the open market

Chapter V

Chapter V: Hope and Disappointment

Hope indeed springs eternal in the human breast so I continued to send out Resumes via EMAIL at the Chicago Public Library in response to every ad for which I seemed to be qualified. With over 17 years or PC and Programming experience I KNEW that as long as I KEPT PUNCHING something would develop – A JOB. I also knew that my Faith in the Care and Protection of our Lord would one day be rewarded and by June of 2000 I was asked to consult with a firm in Round Lake, Il on a new Ecommerce application they were developing and along with the job came a rental car as well.

It was an incredible stroke of luck for a man who was almost always broke, begging for every dime and living in a shelter but it was real. I signed the contract, sent it back and told all my friends at Logan and down on the block of my old home. A few folks at Logan pitched in and put together $20.00 so I could get through the first week and at least buy some gas. On Sunday I took the CTA out to O’Hare Field and picked up the rental car I was to use and prepared for the big event the next morning.

I had started out at 7:00 AM and though the directions seemed clear I did not arrive at the job site until after 11:00 AM. I also was nearly involved in two accidents on the way and realized that driving without my glasses was now very dangerous. I finished the day after a brief look at the code that was to be streamlined and headed “Home” and got back to the shelter at the usual time.

Tuesday morning I awoke with a bad case of the snivels and realized that trying to drive the required 50 miles with no glasses was not going to work and this was a dangerous situation. The dream of a job and a way out of the hopeless condition that I found myself in was rapidly unraveling and there was no way around it so I spent the day at Logan as usual, fed the cats and called the Consulting Firm involved to tell them I could not continue and arrange to return the rental car.

Though the loss of that consulting job was a tremendous blow I continued to send out resumes via email and continued to receive calls at Logan Square so there still appeared to be some hope as the internet development economy was still going strong. I should have realized that hopes of a job like this was a day dream at this point, but I could really see no other option at this point, since this was the type of work I had been doing for the last 15 years or so. At this point we were back to Square One and I could see NO HOPE AT ALL or even imagine there was a way out of the jobless and homeless condition in which I found myself.

By this time I had managed to once again get Food Stamps from the Illinois Department of Public Aid so with the stamps and the food at the shelter meals were not going to be major problem and I could also manage to feed the cats. At this point I also discussed the jobless problem with the Illinois Department of Employment Security and in fact was sent downtown to speak with a ‘job readiness’ training specialist. The folks in this office were in fact looking for PC Training and since I had a considerable background in this area it seems a logical fit for all. The ‘counselors’ were more interested in getting me into a ‘job readiness’ program and paid no attention at all to my qualifications. After their initial ‘testing’ of my skills my scores were outstanding but I would still be required to become enrolled in a ‘training’ program and no one was paying any attention at all to my education and experience. After a few more two mile walks to their office for more of this sort of thing, I decided that no one was listening so decided never to return. I’d discover five years later that I was a member of a unique group but it did no good at the time.

I had settled into a somewhat predictable routine of my morning hike down Pulaski Road, a day filled with AA meetings, an hour or so with the cats and Nina and then dinner and a safe night at Sharing Hops. By this time about 20 or so of the men at the shelter had been there the previous year and we had developed somewhat of a sense of comradeship. Some of the men worked at “day labor’ jobs, mostly on an intermittent basis but if they were fortunate enough to get a ‘ticket’ they would be assured of steady temporary work for a week, month or however long their supervisors at these Day Labor services saw fit. [1]

Since I was totally discouraged regarding employment at this point, I actually did visit a few of the “Day Labor” offices that had been recommended to me by my fellow homeless residents at Sharing Hope. When I dropped off a ‘resume’ I was quickly informed that the offices I was speaking with were involved with manual labor only. Since I had suffered two severe leg injuries the option of working standing or walking was not available and after explaining this situation I was directed to another ‘temporary’ employment agency that dealt with office and computer workers. I visited there and even was interviewed but never did get any calls so had no idea as to how to proceed.

In September of 2000 Sharing Hope re-opened for the Homeless and I continued to stay there. Early on in the previous year I had begun to lead the Prayers as we all assembled to pray briefly before nightly dinner and continued to pursue my Study of the Bible as well as my daily attendance at the 7:00 AM MASS at St Philomena Church. Some of the Puerto Rican guys I knew from the previous year began to call me “Caballo Loco” (Crazy Horse) and the name stuck with my friends on North Avenue for years to come.
(though it soon evolved into “Caballito” – an odd but very real term of endearment) but I sensed that there was something disturbingly prescient in their recurrent observations.

By this time I was doing a lot of volunteer work at Logan Square Group #5 in the form or chairing AA Meetings. Finding folks to assume this responsibility had always been a problem in the summer months and since I was spending so much time there I was elected by default.

I continued to attend daily Mass, run meetings at AA and discuss the Bible with Pastor Louis and his friends at Sharing Hope and felt that I was growing spiritually and realized that the Lord somehow had other plans for me though I was not quite sure as to what they could be. It’s difficult to explain but I began to understand that material goods, money and all that goes with them were NOT the highest goals we can attain in this life. Additionally, the people that I was surrounded with DID ALL their good work PURELY For the Love of Jesus Christ and I began to understand that God was showing me that HE WANTED ME TO DO THIS WORK ALSO – I just did not know how to do it or what the Lord seemed to have in mind for me. [2]

In a conversation with Pastor Louis about the works of Jesus as they related to the Homeless in early September one evening he STUNNED me by saying, “The Holy Spirit is working in you.” I recall being ASTONISHED that someone whom I admired for his HOLY WORK would say that. The next day I spoke with a few other of my friends who ALL AGREED that I had changed in the last year or more and I wanted to FIND OUT what this meant. I sensed as well that the Lord was working within me, but could not grasp the meaning of it all. I trusted that ‘more will be revealed’, as we stated so often in AA and continued in my daily routine with the Eucharist, private prayer and (at least what I hoped were) whatever good works I could perform for those less fortunate than myself.

During this same period I became acutely aware of the DEPLORABLE STATE of literacy amongst the Addicts, Alcoholics and Homeless men and women I found myself in the company of daily. The “Big Book” meetings at Logan Five - AA made me especially aware of the DEPLORABLE condition of the reading skills of their members who frequently COULD NOT read above a 4th grade level – and these were MEN AND WOMEN in their 30’s, 40’s and 50’s who would DIE UNABLE TO READ. I also became friends with “Mike” the caretaker at Logan #5 and was stunned to find out that he had lived 48 years and was COMPLETELY ILLITERATE – he could not even sign his own name and was forced to just make an “X” for a signature. When “Mike” had to read some mail, or a note he would ask me (in private) to read it for him and had kept this hidden all of his life.

Mike had spent six years in Prison after being convicted of possession of “Child Pornography”. I had affectionately dubbed him “Mikey the Pervert.” When he told me the story of his arrest and conviction he claimed that he was held for two days and questioned about some video tapes while being threatened with a long term of imprisonment. After three days, he was presented with a typed confession which he COULD NOT READ – but was so frightened and exhausted that he signed it anyway. Mike was indigent so every Public Defender he told his sad tale simply did not take him seriously and never bothered to make the case that MIKE WAS ILLITERATE – which would make signing a ‘confession’ (Even with an “X”) impossible and obviously illegal. No one listened and Mike spent six years behind bars.

Mike and I both smoked cigars and were spending a lot of time at Logan Five and as his story unfolded the awful injustice of it became obvious. I repeatedly urged Mike to contact the proper authorities but he was too defeated and discouraged and never followed it up. There had been news reports of a number of men who were imprisoned unjustly and were eventually freed and in fact received considerable compensation for the time they had spent behind bars but though I repeatedly urged Mike to tell his story, and was in fact willing to help him find the right agencies, he kept putting it off. Mike was ‘fired’ one day when the “Board of Directors” decided we no longer needed a custodian, so we lost touch when he no longer dropped by Logan Five. His friends found Mike Dead a year and a half later so the ultimate truth and justice of this sad episode is lost in the black hole that is the history of the Desperately Poor.

The year before I finally lost my home my dear Friend Howard had urged be to become a “Sub” – a Substitute Teacher for the Chicago Public Schools. I had done a few years of part time teaching in the mid 1980’s and he knew that I could find a means of economic salvation and felt I could make a contribution to the Schools as well. I did not listen to him at the time and pursued my computer-consulting career with dire results. When I realized how DESPERATE the Literacy situation was with the poor I decided to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT and GET BACK TO TEACHING when it seemed possible.
I was not sure what it was but knew that something very fundamental had changed and it was important to find out what it was. I also realized that though I had indeed survived and now would be able to continue that things were going nowhere fast and this could not continue.

The papers were filled with the news of the “Dot com” disaster so employment as a computer consultant or in any other part of this industry seemed to be like staying with a sinking ship. Something had to be done and done fast. How I intended to easily make the transition from a homeless man, living in a shelter with no money and no means of transportation to successful urban computer consultant I had not really considered, but since I was convinced that ‘a job’ was the solution to this awful nightmare I continued to send out resumes and receive inquiries. I felt that some miracle would somehow save me from this mess and trusted in God to take care of the insurmountable obstacles.

I did not know what this new connection with my spiritual side meant but believed that it would be worth some time to find out so I elected to go back to Chicago Victory Church and spend a few months in “Prayer and Meditation” and hoped this would provide some direction. I wound with some direction all right, but not exactly in the kind I was ready for.

Through October and November I continued to pray, discuss these matters with friends and felt that a time of reflection and spirituality would be time well invested indeed so once more with Ray’s aid we rounded up the cats, drove over to Grand and Hamlin Avenues and I once more entered into the “Recovery Home” where I had been the previous year which was operated by Chicago Victory Church.

The idea of a period of prayer and meditation was welcomed by the “Pastor” when I briefly discussed it with him but he seemed rather aloof and I would not find out until later that I was not considered ‘worthy’ of talking with this “Man of God” since I had not proven my loyalty to his church, and was still being regarded with suspicion due to my premature exit the previous year.

The practicality of ‘work’ was decided early on in my second attempt at Christian Salvation – the rodent catching services of the cats were urgently desired in the car wash that was operating across the street so my assignment as Custodian of the Kitty Patrol was quickly decided. Since I knew many of the ‘leaders’ from the previous year and had spoken with them frequently things appeared promising. Any mention of computers of Internet services was by now completely forgotten and the operations of the “Home” [3] had returned to normal and new methodologies of preaching were being fervently pursued.

When I left the Church the previous year there was a very dear cat that I was forced to leave behind; Napoleon was from Meow’s first litter and I had assumed she was lost for good. When I walked the three miles back there in the cold and attempted to locate her on three visits I received no help at all from the “Church” members and felt completely powerless, so finally was forced to abandon the effort. I had assumed that she was either dead or had run away but as Don, the Manager of the Car Wash and I were discussing housing and my work duties, I heard a plaintive “MEOW” loudly emanating from the front storage shed. After a few moments, Napoleon emerged and announced her joy at our reunion by rubbing up against my leg and even attempting to climb up my trousers to greet me. I was overjoyed to see her and since her two daughters were also with us the family had been re-united. I felt a great sense of spiritual reward and also knew that I had somehow kept my promise to MEOW regarding her kittens so felt that the decision to re-enter the Church had been the correct one. The next day real life began.

Work in the car wash was difficult – we were up at 5:30 like everyone, and after the required half hour of prayer settled in for whatever ‘breakfast’ we could find – normally packaged sandwiches that had been placed in a refrigerator in the office directly across from the small room where the six of us who were the permanent employees slept. Within a week of my entering the winter of 2000 assumed a familiar Chicago ferocity and the winds began to bring a very cold Windy City Winter upon us all. There was NO HEAT in the Car Wash save for one large overhead heated fan directly above the area where we worked and another large overhead heater in the small room where I and the rest of the ‘crew’ slept. There were about 20 other residents housed in the front of the building, which had no heat whatsoever so we were extremely fortunate. The day was begun by 7:15 AM and cars began to arrive to be washed around 7:30 – this continued until 5:30 PM or so when we closed for the night. Dinner was at 5:45 PM in the “Church” (the main garage across the street at 3333 W Grand Avenue) and we walked as a group together to dine there. Evening ‘Service’ was from 7:00 PM – 9:30 PM or so and the cycle repeated for the next day.

I knew that the lack of nicotine (No smoking in or out of the “Church”) combined with lack of caffeine (no coffee either) would have my nerves in a tizzy and the cats needed food so within a few days and as SOON as we got our first week’s “wages” (which was about $13.00) I had the chance go get coffee, smokes and cat food.

Shopping and ‘laundry’ were done on Sunday afternoon (after we had all suffered through a 3 hour ‘service’ that consisted of a few Bible readings coupled with INCREDIBLY LONG sermons by “Pastor” Rives or another senior member) and this was one of the few times we all had some contact with the outside world and could possibly read a newspaper or see some television news. Our cult like existence in the converted car wash carefully prohibited all outside influences in order not to ‘corrupt’ our closely managed version of Christian “Salvation”. [4]

Chicago Victory Church advertised itself as a “Christian Recovery Home” which offered “Total Recovery” to drug addicts, alcoholics, gang members, ex-convicts and the homeless. Their primary modus operandi was TOTAL ISOLATION from the world surrounding us and TOTAL IMMERSION in the Bible and its lessons, which had been discerned by Pastor Fernando Rivas of course. The morning singing and prayer before breakfast was designed to begin the Day with Prayer and Praise but sadly often degenerated into a popularity contest with the “Residents” who had been “In the Home” the longest leading this morning service as a mark of seniority and authority. This same system of ‘leaders’ was permeated throughout the ‘church’ and since the members who conducted ‘services’ and led ‘prayers’ were entitled to better sleeping arrangements, ample food and an apparently accepted ‘relaxation’ of the rigid rules that supposedly governed all. It was obviously desirable to stay and achieve some level of seniority.

After a week or so I came face to face with the realization that most of the ‘leaders’ of the ‘church’ were ex-convicts and quite poorly educated and knew that any conversation outside of THEIR RIGID (and usually incorrect) interpretation of “Biblical Truth” was fruitless. I also made the mistake of displaying my Catholic Rosary (which I often prayed silently in the hour of ‘prayer’ prior to the evening service) and was warned that Any “Catholic” religious materials were frowned up and would be confiscated if found. The next week I found that this warning was on target when my Catholic New American Study Bible was taken from me (It has been given to me by my friend Judy T at St. Philomena Parish) and I was warned that any further display of CATHOLIC material or prayers would result in my immediate dismissal from the “Program of Recovery”. I was handed a beat up old King James Bible and told it would BE GOOD FOR ME to study a “Real” Bible and said no more. Any mention of the Blessed Virgin, the Holy Mass or Eucharist was considered blasphemous and I was quite startled at the intense hostility (bordering on real hatred) that I felt for Roman Catholic Teachings so decided to SHUT UP about my traditional Catholic education and Daily Mass attendance, hid my rosary and opted for the ‘politically correct’ version to avoid being thrown out on my ear.

Catholics are exposed to Bible readings each time we attend Holy Mass; the First and Second Readings as well as the Gospel are all taken from the Holy Bible and the sermon that follows normally consists of reflections on the words of Our Lord. I’d been exposed to these ideas since my early childhood at home and daily for the eight years I was in elementary school, as well as the Theology I was taught in school so was no stranger to Biblical teachings at all. I was somewhat stunned to find that many of our ‘residents’ in the Home seemingly had no idea at all of what the Word of God was all about and in reality were barely literate. But life in the car wash left little time for Biblical scholarship, despite their stated policy of “Prayer, Meditation and Salvation”.

The Car Wash was always busy after 11:00 AM and since fees were quite reasonable ($3.00 for a basic wash and $5.00 for a complete cleaning inside and out) our days could be hectic. CVC was able to use the ‘residents’ in a fashion that was tantamount to slave labor [5] and could keep their overhead on labor quite low and make a handsome profit. [6] I was assigned the position of “Dry off man” which required that I “shammy down” [7] the water off the cars as the neared the end of the line and was expected to keep the chamois clothes we used for this purpose clean. [8]

By the end of the third week I had worked out a system in which my wages provided enough food for the cats and also could afford to get instant coffee for the week with a few dollars to spare as well. Ray brought his SUV in a few times to be washed and encouraged my efforts and assured me that all would be well. A few of the cats were still back at the ‘house’ (they were now back living in the alley) and a group of men a few doors down who fixed cars in a ‘barrio’ garage along with my former neighbor Julio had also begun to put some food out for them each day so I knew that at least they would be safe and fairly well fed.

After a hard day of washing and drying cars there was little time left for the ‘prayer and reflection’ that I had envisioned and though the “Prayer and Evening Service” was supposed to fill this function. It became obvious that any attempted conversations with the “Pastor” or other “Leaders” were quickly discouraged and would have to wait until I had been a resident for a few more months at least. Though I had studied the Bible throughout Grammar and High School, it was apparent that my Catholic Education was regarded as worthless and nothing but ‘time’ in this new environment would ameliorate my perceived shortcomings.

The Second level of this ‘car wash’ consisted of three large rooms which had become the “Women’s Residence” and any contact between these ladies and the male Church members was strictly prohibited. [9] Another room of this level was dedicated to the ‘Treatment’ facility where heroin addicts were put to recover ‘cold turkey’ and would be fed and confined until their withdrawal symptoms ceased. Medical care was totally absent and even Aspirin was not in use; like other Bible-based “Christians” I had known, the attitude of CVC was that ‘praying over someone’ could cure all diseases and any illnesses were dealt with in this fashion – in cases of severe emergencies or injury the injured persons would be driven to the nearest hospital which was fortunately only six blocks distance since CVC would not call an ambulance.
We were told that there was an addict in this ‘treatment facility’ who was ‘kicking his habit’ cold turkey and urged to stay out of the way at all times.

CVC’s main source of both proselytizing and ‘work’ for the “Recovering’ residents had by this time become the various “Crusades” that were taking place around the city for the first few years and had by this time graduated to “Missionary” work which was taking place in other cities. The previous year the “Church” had purchased four Large Vans that seated 10-12 persons and groups were selected to conduct a crusade every few weeks in cities as distant at Los Angeles and New York. Those residents who had been selected were expected to sell M&M’s and pass out advertising flyers all day (normally in crime and drug ridden areas of a city where desperate new ‘converts’ could readily be found) and sleep in the van while food would be financed through the sale of the candy. A few of these “Crusades” had succeeded in establishing new “Victory” Churches in Milwaukee, Los Angeles and Detroit which provided for additional pools of drug addicts, gang members and transients which could be ‘baptized’ and then brought into the “Church” and spread the idea beyond the confines of Chicago in a type of Pentecostal metastasis . The church members had been going on their ‘routes’ for over a decade and were frequently arrested for obstructing traffic at intersections and most busy areas had been ‘crusaded’ quite heavily as well so moving beyond the ghettos of Chicago seemed to be advisable to ensure future a continuing stream of new converts, donations and ultimate survival. Both the main building of the “Church”and the car wash were in dismal repair and the city was attempting to condemn the property so seeking new locations for the CVC “Mission of Salvation” was deemed highly advisable.

It seemed to me that the ‘leaders’ who had spent years in the “Program” should have accomplished SOMETHING in the time they spent there and at LEAST leave with a job, references, or SOME DIRECTION but this was simply not the case. CVC operated in a true CULT-LIKE Fashion and once a member elected to leave he was an OUTSIDER and the “Other” and was regarded only with mistrust and abject hostility. When I mentioned my lengthy involvement with Alcoholics Anonymous I was informed that such 12 step programs were NOT NEEDED and would not be discussed since JESUS was ALL THAT WAS REQUIRED for the addict/alcoholic to recover completely. Ray assured me that the “Church” had ‘produced some fine preachers’ and ‘helped many to recover’ so I tried to take some solace in these words despite the mounting evidence that I was in the midst of only mildly reformed criminals who had found a final sanctuary from the penitentiary and total societal ostracization.

The alarming frightening aspect of the “Church” was that the only persons who had ‘recovered’ seemed to be the ‘ministers’ and the “Pastor”! All other members at all levels were in an ephemeral and obviously fragile state of existence but did not even seem care much or were simply oblivious to this rather frightening reality. As additional stories of ‘recovered’ members were told I discovered that some men had been in the ‘program’ five, seven and even 12 years and were still out selling M&M’s all day and seemed quite content with this life. Three of the men who were “Pastors’ had their own automobiles, and enjoyed ‘special’ housing arrangements within the ‘church’ [10] as well as the Freedom to come and go as they so pleased. [11] The only “Victory” that was available was to join the church permanently (and if you stayed long enough you could become a ‘pastor’) since leaving was anathema to any future relations. These were the great success stories of this “Recovery” program and I knew that such a future was not for me.

One of our fellow residents who had just returned from one such “Crusade” and was leading ‘Bible Study’ Services and been a “leader” (a sub-minister who led “Bible studies’ and enjoyed certain ‘special’ privileges) for 3 years announced that he was leaving the Church the next day. After it was revealed that he would be leaving with NOTHING but what he had entered with and did not even know where he would sleep that night I began to question the wisdom of my continued presence in this “Recovery” program. I recall quite vividly his leaving one cold and snowy Monday morning in mid February at the crack of dawn with a large bag containing his Bible and meager belongings not knowing where he would go or how he would survive that night. This sort of future did not seem at all encouraging and my doubts continued to deepen.

At this time I also had the chance to meet with a few young men who had decided to ‘join’ the church and find the CVC version of ‘Christian Salvation’ on some of the out-of-state crusades. It was revealed that some had regretted their decision and wished to return home, but since they were PENNILESS and JOBLESS had no way to get back if their families or parents would not send the required monies (and most would not since these young men had often antagonized everyone and were considered ‘bad’ kids). They were STUCK in the “Church” and would be shuttled from Home to Home until they were fed up with the whole thing. We also heard stories of men who had decided to “Join” the Crusade on the spur of the moment, changed their mind a day or two late and were unceremoniously let out by the side of the road and told they were free to walk a few hundred miles to get back home. The news had done a number of specials on ‘cults’ in the previous years and the more I saw of this “Church” the more I began to realize that I was caught up in one where the only way out was a total separation. Fortunately, I had somewhere to go that at least still had some semblance of ‘home’ and at least some friends to go back to but is was obvious that many or my fellow candidates for CVC’s version of ‘salvation’ had nowhere to go and no one that would help them get back or welcome them when they returned.

The Car Wash had been part of a large Automobile dealership at one time (in fact my father had purchased my second car there when the building was a part of Grand/Spaulding Dodge) and had been abandoned. Since the weather outside had gotten cold we all discovered much to our surprise that the heat had been turned off to most of the building. The lack of heat in most of the building soon began to wreak havoc. In two days, the main water pipes burst and put an abrupt end to any additional car washing. This was truly a catastrophe since the Car Wash was THE big money maker in the CVC operation. Within a day the Water problem had been fixed and business resumed but the broken pipes had caused considerable damage to the front portion of the building (where other residents were sleeping in the cold) and required extensive mopping up and cleaning. My suspicion that something with this “Recovery” home was radically wrong became slowly confirmed at watching the ‘residents’ sleep in this building with no heat which was also endangering their health. This odd vision of ‘recovery’ began to appear more psychotic and potentially lethal as each day went by. There were rumors that a few of the men had suffered frostbite and the involvement of the Chicago Police seemed imminent – within a few days, the heat had been restored and no one mentioned it again.

CVC inherited the prison and gang ideology of ‘the street’ that teaches you not to ask too many questions and mind your own business. It was obvious to all that something was terribly amiss in this ‘Church’ but any discussion of it, or any questions as to the advisability of allowing living conditions to get to such a hazardous point was out of the question. Asking too many questions, or implying that there was some problem with the leadership of this ‘church’ was guaranteed to earn a harsh (and normally profanity filled) rebuke and a threatening response that strongly indicated that such weighty matters as the physical safety of the building were far beyond the reach of our lowly minds. No one really knew what was going on, and the intention was that it should stay that way. The residents of the ‘home’ all knew that too many questions or conduct that was considered undesirable could result in getting summarily tossed out on their ear, so no one questioned the decisions or policies of the inner sanctum of ‘leadership’ and a thinly veiled system of terror kept things rolling along year to year.

Along with the reunion of Napoleon I had brought Leibchen, Ludwig [12] and Corazon with me so a full three generations of our feline family gathered around me for their nightly meal after we returned from Dinner in the “Church” directly across the street. There was another family of cats on the upper level of the car wash but we never had any contact and it wasdiscouraged. One evening in mid January a cute orange tiger-striped kitten approximately five months old elected to investigate the new cats in his domain and spying the food elected to dine with us. After an hour or so the church member who was caring for these kitties came looking for him and promptly brought him back upstairs – but they HAD NO FOOD for those cats on the upper level. The next afternoon the kitten returned and began to hang around waiting for a meal. When their dinnertime arrived he ate with our family, and my cats accepted him since they had all been mothers and seemed to realize that he was but a kitten looking for some food. [13] I soon discovered that his name was “Main” and be joined our family nightly much to the consternation of the keeper of the cat family upstairs. The church member who was caring for the cat family on the second level of the car wash kept coming downstairs and retrieving him, but little “Main” was smart enough to know what side his bread was being buttered on so he would always return to my girls in a few hours. Finally, everyone just gave up, and he was adopted into our all female clan of cats.

In the next few weeks little “Main” became quite affectionate and became a dedicated lap sitter in the time before bedtime which was when we could all gather together. The cats stayed in the garage as the five of us who ran the car wash retired into the one heated room for bed but little “Main” decided in a few days that he would be happier if he joined me overnight in the heated room. The cats were EXPRESSLY PROHIBITED from sleeping in our ‘bedroom’ but since he was a kitten no one paid much attention to him as he trotted in behind me each night. He began to spend the night snuggled up against my chest under the covers. My little Meow had done exactly this same sort of snuggling, and at the same age as well so a close bond of affection grew between us as the heat we generated warmed us against the harsh and brutal winds that whistled just a few feet outside the overhead door. I had always felt that God had put Meow and I together in 1991 and I began to feel the same way towards little Main as a wonderful love grew between us in the midst of the insanity that was surrounding all within this den of desperate lunacy.

At this point in time, I had the cats, a warm bed, food and certainly plenty of Bible Readings but knew that SOMETHING WAS HORRIBLY WRONG TOO – and I realized that any “Recovery” for me would NOT BE FOUND if I continued on with Chicago Victory Church. The idea of a period of prayer and reflection was indeed desirable but I realized that a JOB was the real answer to the awful situation I was in and any mention of employment outside of the church was strongly discouraged. After a while it became apparent that the ONLY JOB that could be imagined in this environment was to PERMANENTLY join the ‘church’ as a “leader’ and continue its role of preaching and recruiting new members. I knew that I could never agree with this sort of religious victimization and kidnapping of the unfortunate and realized that the time was coming to get out for good and never return. Additional horror stories began to emerge regarding members who wished to leave and the cult-like philosophy coupled with the “Barn Boss” style of management (which had been inherited from so many years spent in prison) were not going to be helpful for any substantive progress .

The work was difficult and the days were long but I soon gained the respect of the five other men on our team by being the best ‘dry off man’ around. The rest of the crew were black, but no one cared. One evening after we had crawled into bed just before lights out, the largest of the men loudly pronounced, “George, you is a Good Nigger!” We all had a great laugh at this but it was nice to know that I was accepted as a fellow ‘brudder’ in this threatening environment.

There were rumors circulating that investigations were under way by Law Enforcement and Governmental Agencies into just what this “Recovery Home” was doing but the scam of the “Church” seemed to be fairly secure for the time being. The Chicago Police deposited some newly released prisoners on a few occasions so it seemed that the “Church” was regarded as something between a half-way house and a dumping ground for small time criminals who were not wanted anywhere else. I couldn’t help but wonder why someone had not reported some of the incredible incidents in this ‘church’ to a good investigative reporter, but was hardly in a position to do so at the time myself, so opted to let it go for the writing of this tome. Under the circumstances nothing I could do would ameliorate these abuses and I doubted that anyone would listen to someone in my desperate condition so decided to file this sad tale away for future investigation. It was pretty obvious that most of the ‘residents’ felt the same way, so this metastasis of misery continued from year to year. Whatever was going to happen, I knew that a total annulment of my brief ‘salvation’ was needed to preserve my sanity and cleanse my conscience.

The last week of February of 2000 was “Good” in the car wash and my wages were $25.00 for the week. I had now been a resident of CVC for nine weeks and realized that any ‘recovery’ was only possible if I (as all other residents) was interested in joining the “Church” for life and hedging all bets on a questionable future so I decided to put a quick end to this latest attempt at reconstructing a life. I got my money on Saturday night, and Sunday morning left and told my fellow ‘residents’ I would be back later for the cats as I left this lachrymose pretext of ‘salvation’ forever and vowed never to return.

The nine weeks of this ‘retreat’ coupled with the four the previous year had made a few things obvious: the only “Recovery” in Chicago Victory Church was the consanguine (and very profitable) cult that the “Pastor” and his ‘saved’ miscreants had established. It was actually a pretty good scam – CVC could present itself to the world as a “Christian Home” that inculcated the “All you need is Jesus” ideology, realize most of its income via ‘donations’ (the sale of M&M’s and candy), enjoy a tax exempt status and continue its malignant mitosis on the slave labor of the ‘residents’. Anyone who wanted to leave was free to do so, but the constant threats of violence and mayhem, coupled with their hopeless situations kept most in line as they continued their dubious ‘salvation’. This grand swindle was working well, and no one seemed too concerned about the plight of the men and women who were kept in this hopeless condition. All things considered, the Pastor and his minions had a great racket and since these career criminals were able to hide under the guise of “Recovery” they continued to get away with it. I’d come to realize in the next few years that there were other such “Christian Recovery Homes” that were also exploiting the dire situation of addicts, convicts and the homeless but Chicago Victory Church definitely deserved the prize for the PINNACLE OF HYPOCRISY.

I recall vividly walking down Grand Avenue that early Sunday morning. It was very cold and a light drizzle was falling so I opted for a cup of coffee at a Macdonald’s just under the Homan Avenue Bridge. Since it was Sunday I knew I could go to St. Philomena, meet with Judy T and hoped for some additional direction so I headed over to our “Coffee and Donuts” and was greeted warmly by my fellow parishioners. While there was a lot of coffee and a few dollars in this effort, I was still at a loss as to what to do next so I found my corrido amigo [14] Julio and secured a ride in his truck to retrieve the cats.

When we got back to the Garage that afternoon, Napoleon and Leibchen were there but Corazon was nowhere to be seen. I continued to look but was told that she had “run away” by Don, the manager so was somewhat upset. Julio was understandably getting impatient so I was resigned to her loss. At this point little “Main” heard the commotion and came scurrying over to see what all the fuss was about. I had about five seconds to decide what to do, so I picked him up, threw him in the truck with my cats and we drove back to the Alley behind the home I had lost.

I realized that little “Main” was still only six months old and knew that his survival outside in winter would require a small miracle but also knew that God had brought him into our family and was protecting all of us and we could put our trust in Him for our continued care. As long as he was with our family he would always be FED WELL and have LOTS OF LOVE – and the cats we had left behind in the ‘church’ were expected to live on rodents and would receive cat food infrequently at best.

When we got back to the Alley behind the House, I got the kitties out, and introduced “Main” to his new environment – I picked him up, kissed him on the nose and intoned, “You have NOW BEEN BORN AGAIN! Henceforth your name shall be LAZARUS!” and he would live up to that quasi-miraculous moniker many times in the next two years.

Schoentize soon found us and the entire family (now minus Corazon) had been re-united. I had the few dollars from CVC, the cats were back at “home” and I was back amongst friends at least so I walked back up to Logan Five for the Sunday afternoon meeting and then headed back down Pulaski Road to Sharing Hope Warming Center for the Evening. Nina did not take too long to offer a wet and sloppy greeting so we soon resumed our usual family gatherings in the alley though the bitter cold kept the time short.

The reader may think me totally insane, but there was a great feeling of joy at being united with all of the cats and Nina. We were all sitting behind Ray’s garage on a cold cement stoop, but we had each other, plenty of food and a great feeling of love existed between us. The guys down the alley who fixed cars were glad to see me back, and I soon learned that the cats had acquired even more friends in their group. They had a large kerosene heater in the garage, and anywhere from 10-20 men would gather round till late at night to drink beer, talk and sing Spanish songs. A few of these men were superb Spanish guitarists, and these impromptu gatherings turned into mini-concerts and happy fiestas on the weekends. The cats were not staying in the abandoned garage right next door to these nightly parties so everyone was happily engaged in a an informal barrio [15] gathering. Though it was rather chilly, we were surrounded by love and no one seemed to mind so the rest of this Sunday afternoon was a joyous reunion and a chance to catch up on neighborhood gossip. As darkness approached I bid good night to the kitties and Nina and hiked back up Pulaski Road to Sharing Hope to secure a mattress for the evening.

The “Guys” at the Shelter greeted me, offered me a few smokes and we settled in for our nightly routine of shower, dinner, TV and bed. At this point I had no more idea than I had the previous year as to how to get out of the awful maze of homelessness that I found myself in but at least knew that a “Christian Recovery Home” was definitely not the answer (at least not CHICAGO VICTORY CHURCH!)– but there would be MORE CHRISTIAN RECOVERY to come before the end was in sight.

The next morning I left the shelter and hiked down to talk to my friend Ray and see if he had any ideas since I was fresh out of new plans and things once again seemed rather hopeless.

One of the salient features of homelessness that is the least understood is the feeling of hopelessness that often borders on despair. When a person actually finds that they are sin casa o hogar (literally without a home or place in Spanish) the logistics of bare survival take precedence and any ‘plan’ or ‘objective’ to move from this unusual condition must take a back seat to the everyday realities of living.

Approximately half of the “Homeless” are usually jobless as well. We have a joke that “Homelessness is a FULL TIME JOB” and it really is: I know men who stay in at Franciscan House (a shelter on Chicago’s near West Side), walk to St. Vincent De Paul for breakfast (in Chicago’s Lincoln Park), have lunch at St. Stan’s (in Wicker Park), have dinner at Franciscan Outreach (also in Wicker Park) and then walk back down to the West Side for shelter for the evening. The cycle is repeated the next day and if this sounds like A LOT OF WALKING try to imagine what it is like doing this 15 mile daily hike in the snow and ice of winter for three months. If there’s any time left for work, it’s a minor miracle.

I had been exceedingly fortunate that all of my long treks barely exceeded the mile from North to Fullerton Avenues and was still able to rely on the network of former neighbors and friends that I had in the area where my family had lived for nearly 95 years so had no desire to go to another part of the city. The CATS were relying me for not only their survival but their daily dose of love and companionship. Due to severe injuries in both feet I would not have been able to endure the long treks that many homeless men and women endure and I was lucky enough to be able to stay in the ‘hood’ and knew that staying close to familiar surroundings an my kitty family could keep would at least keep me sane.
At this point I knew that I was only surviving and any direction or sense of a plan had been entirely lost for the time being. A gnawing feeling of despair began to tug at me but giving up was out of the question:

Jesus had shown me that all of this was for a reason and something told me these were the last days.
I was reminded of this from 2 Timothy 1 But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. 2 People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, 3 without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, 4 treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God 5 having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them. [16]

I had the God given luck to be surrounded by many who could shield me from a journey into despair and the total loss of soul I’d already seen men in this sad state and it was scary but I knew it was not my fate. Pastor Louis taught about the Armor of God in Ephesians 6:10-18 incessantly and I knew I had it on.

THERE WAS HOPE for a NEW BEGINNING!

[1] See Chapter 16 for more on this
[2] And seven years later I still don’t.
[3] The area of the Church were most of the residents lived
[4] A common feature of cults – intended to facilitate a gradual ‘conversion’ – which is only brainwashing in the final analysis
[5] We were ‘paid’ between $10-20.00 for a work week of about 55 hours
[6] On One Friday when the money was counted, the car wash had grossed over $1,800.00
[7] Using a soft Chamois cloth
[8] Which really meant ringing them out and washing them at the end of the day.
[9] I was not really sure why since they were some of the ugliest broads I’d ever seen
[10] Normally a private room somewhere in the car wash or the old auto showroom
[11] A privilege that was denied to everyone else since it was required that we never went anywhere without a partner to watch us
[12] Ludwig was another female cat with a male’s name
[13] Cats who have been mothers will actually allow young babies to nurse on them to survive even if they are not their own so many have a strong maternal instinct
[14] Dear Friend
[15] Spanish for “Suburb” but normally used as “Ghetto”
[16] New International Version Bible

Chapter VI

Chapter VI: A New Beginning?

I left Sharing Hope on Monday morning as usual, attended daily Mass at the Chapel and then hiked up to Logan Five for my gallon of morning coffee and after the 10:30 AM meeting walked down to “the Alley”. I walked around front and knocked on Ray’s thick security door. Though the doorbell had been disabled for more than a year [1] a vigorous and loud door banging could normally result in getting someone’s attention and an answer so I energetically pounded away at the thick security door. In a few minutes my good friend Rafael answered and invited me in.

I was concerned that Ray would be upset since the “Christian Recovery” we both had hoped for turned out to be nine hour days in a car wash and had solved nothing at all so I was happily surprised when he said nothing at all but, “Follow me.” I dutifully obeyed and we walked down the front stairs and directly into the small bungalow that was located right next door.

I was familiar with the house since I’d had dealings with the two older women who had lived there only a few months earlier. The previous summer, my Schoentize had elected to have her multiple progeny under their back porch and I had to climb in for a few weeks to feed her and check on them. The home was owned by two elderly women who were not at all pleased with my daily intrusions into their yard. One day I discovered that these women had filled the nest that Schoentize had dug with water in an attempt to dislodge the intruders. Fortunately they put them in an empty beer carton and placed it out in the alley next to a garbage can that I managed to locate later in the day. They were all safe and survived to take their chances living out of doors. What surprised me about this so was that they had never asked me to move the cats, and the nastiness that they had demonstrated bordered on the demonic so I asked God to even up the score with them one day. I was expecting to see these two OLD MAIDS but was surprised to find that the home was vacant. Felicia, my “Best Girl” and the last of Meow’s progeny that is still with me was one of those lucky kitties.

Ray explained to me that one of the women (the one who had tried to drown the kittens) had died two months before and the other had decided to move into a nursing home so he decided to purchase the vacant house since it was adjacent to his. Rafael had always admired Pastor Rivas and CVC (where I had just left) and felt that part of his ‘calling” from God was to help the unfortunate (and I sure fit the bill!) to recover with the HELP OF GOD and the Word as a guide. RAFAEL IS A TRUE CHRISTIAN. He told me he had business to take care of and would return later so I sat on the couch (which, along with the kitchen table was the only furniture in the house) and dozed until late in the afternoon.

About 5:30 PM the door opened and Ray stepped in with his daughter and surprisingly big NINA trotting behind him. She was OVERJOYED to see me and joyfully bounded into my lap and began to slobber me all over as I hugged her gladly. In two months she had grown from a PUPPY into a VERY LARGE DOG (She was half German Shepherd and half Lab) and I was surprised that she had grown so. It was really at this point that I came to the realization that NOW, along with the cats out in the alley this SOMEWHAT PSYCHOTIC (she likes to bite people) and MISBEHAVED DOG (she does what she wants since she grew up with my cats as her companions) loved me too (which was quite gratifying since I’d loved her since she was a small puppy). I now had a canine member of our “family’.

I learned that Ray was planning to open a “Christian Recovery Home” (along the lines of CVC) and already had three men lined up as it’s first residents – with the addition of my presence making four. After an hour or so and much discussion everyone left (save for Nina who wanted to stay with me for a while longer) and I was left to thought and contemplation. There was a BIBLE on the table in the kitchen and I found Psalm 23 and meditated on the awesome LOVE OF GOD that I had just experienced. It had been a long day (since we awoke at 5:30 AM in the car wash) so I retired early and recall discovering that DOGS PURR TOO (but in a rather guttural fashion – it’s more like a muffled growl) as Nina snuggled alongside me for the night – the cats could wait until morning since I knew that they were right out in the back.

In the thirteen weeks that I had spent in CVC and the many days I had spent at Logan Five in 1999 and 2000 I had read most of the Bible and engaged in many ‘studies’ of the Word of God. Pastor Louis at Sharing Hope had given me a Bible. Three times a day in Chicago Victory Church we had “Readings” and LENGTHY STUDIES were presented nightly as a part of service so I had experienced many RAPID REFRESHER COURSES in the HOLY BIBLE within the space of only two short years. All of this added to the religious education I had been given since being a toddler.

My very earliest memories as a child are of my father reading me Bible stories before bed time – I first learned of Genesis, Moses and Jesus before I had entered elementary school and 8 years of Catholic grammar school, 4 years of Catholic High School and roughly 2,000 Masses (where we read from the Bible in the two Readings, the Prayer and the Gospel) had given me a firm foundation in the Words of our Lord and the BASIC TENETS of CHRISTIANITY so the stories of the Bible seemed to me the most natural ideas in the world, though I soon discovered that my Catholic Education and the ‘Pentecostal’ ideas of The “Word” were often at odds.

All of my religious experiences had been with fellow Catholics and I had never really encountered any anti-Catholic sentiments and was (frankly) STUNNED when I encountered them at Chicago Victory Church. I had been a product of the Vatican II years and we had always been taught to EMBRACE all Christians (and in fact all men and women of Faith) as BROTHERS and SISTERS IN the Lord so was quite shocked to discover that RELIGIOUS HOSTILITY BORDERING ON REAL HATRED still existed. My father worked for a firm that was owned by JEWS and I know some of the children of the men he worked with – we had in fact attended Bar Mitzvahs and other services and were always welcomed as friends. When I was in high school I was friends with a few BLACK MUSLIMS and even PANTHERS. We always had remained on good terms as well so I really DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHY folks could not JUST ALL GET ALONG and FORGET THEIR DIFFERENCES ABOUT RELIGION – unfortunately a LOT OF FOLKS do not see it quite that way. The attitude of these “Christians” was a real shock and the odious opacity of their theology was a mystery indeed. Since the Catholic Church is the OLDEST AND LARGEST ‘Christian” religion I attributed it all to simple JEALOUSY and left it at that.

For a few days I just sat in the house, read the Bible, went out back to spend time with the cats and prayed for the best. About the middle of the week, Ray was ready to get started on our Recovery Home so we drove up to a large computer center and he purchased a MULTI-MEDIA PENTIUM PC with a HUGE HARD DRIVE (On my recommendation) and I was in COMPUTER JUNKIE heaven. I’ve been involved with computers since 1977 when I did a research project at Roosevelt University (with a KIM I at the time) and added my own home model (an Apple II+ with an astounding 64K or memory and TWO 640K FLOPPY DISK DRIVES!) in August of 1980 and had spend most of my daily free hours (and many at work) with a PC so the nearly two years I had spend without one was PC WITHDRAWAL and a CULTURAL SHOCK (to put it mildly).

We had a phone so I installed an AOL CD and was ON LINE faster than you could say “You’ve got Mail”! I had been on line since early 1981 and operated a Bulletin Board for 13 years so know my way around on line services well. With all due respect, PC PROS normally regard the interface of American On Line as “infantile” (I had been a COMPUSERVE and SOURCE [2] subscriber for many years) and exceedingly amateurish but it was really the INTERNET that I wanted to get to so using it as a ‘ramp’ was perfectly acceptable. Since Rafael was interested in establishing a WEB PAGE to promote the Recovery Home I began to assemble the required programs, graphics, files and sundry utilities.

By the end of the first week another young man named Anibal had moved in the small flat upstairs and two other young men had joined me in the home. The other men were paying a nominal rent but I had no money, no food stamps and was unemployed so I began to worry about the future. Ray was also providing me with meals and all food (out of which I also managed to save some for the cats and even a snack for Nina here and there) so I hiked back down to PUBLIC AID one morning and got one of the new “Link Cards” – this was new since I had previously gotten books of food stamps. This provided enough food for me and the kitties (they ate a lot of sardines during this time) and at least allowed me to “Contribute” to this enterprise – which was dubbed “UNITY HOUSE”.

I continued to work on the Web Page as we all read the Bible and attended Wednesday and Sunday Services with Rafael. One of our residents had suddenly been taken ill and hospitalized for few days. I was shocked to learn that he had died only two days later but the three of us that remained continued on in our Program. Ray would often come in the morning and spend most of the day with us, discussing the Bible, listening to religious programs and leaving in the evening. Nina usually followed him but was sent INTO THE BASEMENT and out of the way for most of the day.

There comes a time in almost ANY Relationship where YOU HAVE TO TAKE A BREAK and we all were experiencing this problem so I would go down in the basement a few times a day, while the others were discussing things and SIT WITH NINA on the stairs, just talking to her and petting her – partially because I felt sorry for her (no one wants to be left all alone all day), partially because I simply enjoyed her company (she’s large and somewhat awkward but can be quite affectionate) and also because we ALL NEEDED A RESPITE from each sometimes. After dinner we all pursued our own readings and I went out in the back to “round up” the cats, feed them and spend time with them as well.

By late May it was obvious that the idea of Unity House was in dire financial straits so the decision was made to sell the property and try again at a future date. I had nowhere to go and after five days of ‘camping out in an abandoned garage (which the local gangbangers were now using to hide stolen cars that they were ‘stripping’) I did not know what to do or where to turn. The garage was an old wooden structure that was literally falling apart. The roof leaked in places and the wind swept in under the doors, but at least it was a roof over my head for the night. There was nothing in there save for some old cardboard boxes, which I was able to fashion into a homeless mattress to at least keep some insulation between my body and the ground. Fortunately, the two large doors could be closed for some privacy, and the entrance was in yard. All things considered, this primitive shelter at least was not open to the alley and since the house it went with had been abandoned for a year, no one was likely to come looking to see if anyone or anything was in there – or so I thought. The kitties had found this open shelter many months earlier so were quite happy at my unexpected arrival.

Though the garage was a rather frightening shelter I felt safe and knew that the Love of God was with us all. The Mexican men who fixed cars, played Spanish guitar and sang and sure drank a lot of creveza [3] in were there the double garage next door. They saw me going into the abandoned garage at night so knew what was going on and it seemed fine with them since no one was interested in purchasing the property.

After a few nights, the real danger became apparent when a group of bikers roared into the alley. The kitties and I waited as one got off his motorcycle, cursed quite a bit and proceeded to throw up for five minutes. Fortunately, they went away. A week later, I was startled by two young gang girls (the area gang often used this garage to hide stolen goods) who were a lot more surprised than I when they found me in this deserted spot. They giggled a bit and left but I began to wonder what would happen if someone entered who was not so nice.

Oddly this garage was only TWO DOORS DOWN FROM the garage behind the house I had lost the previous year so I felt somewhat ‘at home’ and secure despite the circumstances. The cats were OVERJOYED of course since they now ALL could climb up with me and our family was once again united in TRUE KITTY FASHION (which means snuggling together in one warm and furry ball). This arrangement would have been ok but late one evening the Gangs found me in there, and after ordering me out (I don’t know if they had a gun or not) told me to “Go back to sleep” when they discovered who I was (since I knew most of these guys since they had been small children) but told me to “Watch our s**t or we’ll KILL YOU!” – but gang bangers say that a lot so you get used to it after a while. [4]

The scary part of this brief period came one afternoon while I was walking though Greenbaum [5] Park. One of the local gang members came alongside of me like an old buddy and casually mentioned, “You’re a member, right?:” I did not know how to reply so said, “Well, not exaactly.” He didn’t seem to hear me and began to brag about the gunshot wound he had received in a gang fight with a rival club last year. He proudly lifted up his tee shirt to display his scar, so I showed him mine too. [6] He seemed suitably impressed, meaning I would be protected but the idea that the local street gang was viewing me kindly was not a welcome development. I’ve been fortunate enough to stay away from crime all of my life, save for two DUI Convictions and did not relish the idea of being asked to join the West Humboldt Park hoodlums.

Ray knew I was sleeping in the garage, and about a week later helped me to secure an old mattress so I would not have to sleep on the cement floor. It was pretty bad, but it was not exposed on the outside and though there was no way to lock the door, at least it could be shut for some semblance of privacy. The men who fixed the cars and had the nightly gatherings were right next door and knew I was in there so this provided at least a small sense of security until 10:30 PM or so. After that hour, it was a matter of praying that some of the violence and insanity right outside would not find me. Since the gang that ‘controlled’ this vacant property (they had assumed ownership since no one was concerned with the crumbling garage or the large house that stood in front of it) did not seem to be an immediate danger, I fooled myself into thinking that this temporary arrangement was somehow “safe” and continued in my daily routine.

In mid June I was walking home from the library on North Avenue, when I spied an old friend from AA. A woman named Sharon was wandering around the park barefoot and since she seemed disoriented and somewhat “out of it”, I spoke with her, and soon realized that I had found yet another ‘stray’ to temporarily shelter. Sharon confided that she had ‘run away’ from a nursing home she was living at and afraid to return – she was also flat broke and hungry. She knew that I was homeless, but asked if she could join me in the garage, professing feelings of nausea and begging me to find her a place to rest. Sharon followed me down to the abandoned garage, laid down on the floor bed, and remained there for the next three days. I really was not sure of how to handle this, so I walked up to Logan Five to see if I could locate a mutual acquaintance for help in this dilemma. On the morning of the third day, I was approached by one of the local gang members who rather jokingly informed me, “We don’t care if you stay in there, George – but NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND TOO!”. – they had found her in there and she was now in danger. Sharon is a paranoid schizophrenic who hears ‘voices’ and answers them too – a condition that is common in alcholics. This malady can come in handy when no one is around for a chat but in her case it was serious. I had known her for more than five years from AA and we all were aware of her psychiatric problems. Most of the time she was a funnier than dangerous but she also had a long history of sudden violent episodes and could be a real time bomb. The men in the garage next door heard her and asked me “Who is she talking to in there?”, so I knew that Sharon needed help fast. What made this crucial was that I knew the medication she needed to maintain some sort of STABILITY was running out, and that without it, she could be very dangerous. By the fourth morning of this strange episode, I got her back up to Logan Five where she was able to get in touch with some folks that took her in and got her the medical help she really needed. I have not seen her since and Pray that the Good Lord protects her and brings her to the help she so badly needs.

One late evening in July there was a GUNSHOT and a LOUD CRASH outside and in a few minutes the Chicago Police began a thorough search up and down the length of the alley in hot pursuit of someone. I pulled the covers over my head and prayed for the best. An officer soon entered with gun drawn, pulled the covers away and hurriedly asked “Did anyone come in here?” – when I replied in the negative he left. He commented to his partner, “There’s just some homeless guy in there.”. The next day I found out that a man had been shot that night only a block away so decided that STAYING IN THE ABANDONED GARAGE would be far too dangerous though I did NOT know what I could do that evening so I desperately asked Ray for help once more time.

It developed that the House we had stayed in was still empty save for a single bed and when Ray heard my tale of danger he told me to “come back later”. I did so and found that the one bed left in the house had been moved into the basement and Rafael told me I was welcome to stay there until the “Closing” which would occur within a month.

I was still attending DAILY MASS at St. Philomena (though they had managed by this time to put a new lock on the Chapel which I never was given the ‘code’ for) going up to Logan for most of the day, doing whatever I could imagine to escape this nightmare and spending considerable time with the cats in the evening. When it began to get dark, at least I could get a good night’s rest in a safe environment and not have to be concerned with the gang violence that was right outside.

Lazarus had survived outside so he was a pretty smart guy and he soon figured out that he could follow me a few doors down the alley after meal time I invited him in for the night and he gladly accepted for a welcome night of snuggling beside me. I had a reputation for this since the cats followed me all over and had been warned “NO CATS!” by Ray but simply could NOT let the poor GUY spend the night alone – I’d let him out in the morning anyway so no one would be the wiser and both I and this homeless kitty would be very happy. This cozy arrangement worked out quite well until September of 2001 when the “Closing” was set to finally materialized. My safe “spot” to spend the night suddenly had vanished. I would be without a place to sleep once more.

By this time it was possible that Sharing Hope would open for a third year so a few days before the “Closing” I sought out some of my ‘essés’ (Spanish slang for “Homey”) on North Avenue to discern the status of the “Shelter”. No one seemed to know and was looking for the same information; we were like the blind leading the blind. A man named “Ishmael”, who had helped to run Sharing Hope was living on the second floor of the building where the shelter had been and after a few attempts I did managed to locate him; the news was not good - “We are not sure of what is going to happen – we’ll just have to see.” I was told. At this point 15-20 other homeless men and I were in limbo and unsure of where we would be for the winter months. King Solomon had taught me to “Trust in the Lord with all your heart” and I knew that SOME WAY God would find a way to keep the kitties and I safe in His Love.

Fortunately the “Closing” did not mean total eviction for Ray told me that it would be a week yet before the new owners took possession of the property which meant that Lazarus and I still had a bed. I continued to visit North Avenue daily but none of “The guys” had any more news than I and everyone was unsure of what to do. The week’s stay of eviction came to an end and I was once again faced with that awful thought, “Where will I sleep tonight?”

The Lord has always given me a Special Guardian Angel to look over me and once again he came to my aid. Since I had been spending a lot of time in the alley behind the house with the cats and the “Guys” all knew me I asked my old friend Julio if I could camp out for a few nights in his yard under a big apple tree he had growing there – he replied in the affirmative so once more I had a ‘spot’ to rest By this time, I was a seasoned homeless professional and understood that a safe and warm sleeping place for the night is really all one needs to survive.
.
Julio gave me a few old blankets and cautioned that “This was only for a few nights” but I was aware that he knew I had NOWHERE TO GO and he was well aware of my persistent poverty since I almost nightly was knocking on his door to bum some change (normally 75 cents, since it was less than a dollar but still could get me a good start on a pack of cigars and would often secure a full dollar from folks who did not have any spare change).

In the many hours at Logan Five I had spent much time reading. I re-discovered the joys and great rewards of books in 1990 after my father died and I was left alone in the house. As mentioned earlier, my father had introduced me to books before I entered kindergarten and throughout grammar school I remained an inveterate reader and would normally keep a few books in the headboard of my bed. My mother had always been a fan of great Western literature and poetry so we had a good selection of the Classics throughout the house and there were hundreds of great books in numerous bookcases with hundreds more in storage. Though I lost this superb library when The mortgage company had tossed all into a dumpster and cleaned out the house I was a regular patron at the Chicago Public Library and usually had four to six books out at one time. I needed a safe place for the books I could not carry in my backpack, so had stored a number of them in Julio’s yard under the tree and covered them with a large tarp. [7]

The First night of camping out under Juio’s apple Tree was FANTASTIC! (though Nina though that she ought to join us which Julio did care for at all) It had been nearly two years since I had lost the house (which was only 3 door south and I could easily see from the yard) and through ALL OF THIS TIME I had not had the chance to stay with the cats all at once. When cats live together in a family unit (and they do – they are NOT all ‘loners” as some people think they are) they snuggle together in a big, furry ball; this is partly instinctive since they do this as kittens to keep warm and stay alive and is also a sign of mutual affection. I’ve always felt HONORED that the cats TREAT ME JUST LIKE I AM ANOTHER CAT – which is the highest compliment of all (although I could do without some of the affectionate scratching thanks so much!). On this first Night Schoentzie, Napoleon, Felicia (who was only a baby kitten and daughter of Napoleon) and Boots (a daughter of Schoentzie) were overjoyed that they could once again climb all over me all night long. Surprisingly, Lazarus seemed a bit chagrined and ignored us for the most part – he was also beginning to disappear for days at a time and seemed to be slowly returning into a ‘wild’ or feral state but there was little I could do but watch.

The Next morning I hiked up to Logan and left early to enjoy time with the cats. About 4:30 PM the neighborhood kids told me there was an injured baby kitten a few doors down behind a garbage can and asked if it was one of our family. I honestly did not know (though I did not think so) but walked down to look and discovered a six week old kitten, orange and tiger-striped whose head was half covered in grease and had both eyes shut by congealed blood. I picked him up but honestly was not sure what I could do for he seemed terribly weak and in need of medical care I could not give. I couldn’t just let him die so I put him in a box I had in Julio’s yard, cleaned his head and licked his eyes clean (which is what mommy cat does for her babies when this sort of eye infection occurs) and prayed that he would live. I named him “Francis” after St. Francis of Assisi. All I had to give was prayer and this was more than enough.

The Lord works in mysterious ways indeed for the next day, when I hiked up to Logan “Wally” (one of our older members) asked me if I wanted a CAT CARRIER he had found in out storage closet when he was cleaning it out – OF COURSE I DID and Little Francis now had a HOME TOO!

My prayers were again answered and little Francis began to show signs of improvement and eat a bit. I did not want to leave him alone so I carried him with me in his carrier for the next few months, as he grew stronger and blossomed into a normal and quite lovable kitten. This practice ALMOST got me kicked out of the Chapel and St Philomena again since I brought him with me to church as well (considering his name I though it was the right thing to do) so he continued to grow stronger.

Julios’ yard was GREAT and I wished it could last forever; the cats and I were UNITED AGAIN and living as a FAMILY and I realized JUST HOW MUCH I HAD MISSED THEM – I secretly hoped that it could go on forever, though the weather was telling me otherwise. I recall vividly laying there with the kitties after dark for a while and watching scores of planes flying over on their way to landing at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport – it was a glorious sight. Julio would give me some food at times and his neighbors were very kind as well. I still had some FOOD STAMPS so could buy Sardines and Tuna for the cats as well so we had our basic needs met for the time being and we were amongst friends who were all ready and willing to help.

One night I found that the front gate had been locked which was a NOT SO SUBTLE SIGN that this situation could not continue forever. Fortunately, Julio did unlock the gate later but I knew that this idyllic camp would soon come to an end It was also getting QUITE COLD on some nights and as October matured the dye was obviously cast. There was still NO WORD on Sharing Hope Shelter and most of the “Guys” had given up hope that it would re-open, though many were still living outside.

A group of 10-15 of the homeless men from Sharing Hope had established a ‘camp’ out of doors in a large abandoned lot overgrown with wild shrubbery. I walked past this site almost daily on my way to the North/Pulaski library and was invited to join them, but the presence of so many empty bottles and the frequent visits of the Chicago Police did not seem terribly inviting so I declined this offer from my comrades in homelessness.

Walking to the library a week or so later, I was stunned to learn that an acquaintance named “Louie” (one of the men from the Shelter who was staying in this ‘camp’ and had slept just a few feet from me for two winters) had been beaten to death by a carload full of gang members in a alley just south of North Avenue so this strengthened my resolve to avoid the life that this “camp” obviously entailed. After a few days, it was revealed that his BROTHER WAS A CHICAGO POLICE OFFICER yet no arrests were ever made to the best of my knowledge; the courts and much of the Social Services far too often seem to regard HOMELESS folks as WORTHLESS so simply don’t wish to be bothered and these crimes against the homeless often go unsolved and little or no attention is paid to them at all. If these homicides or unsolved deaths make the papers at all the story will be buried on page 20, and the media rarely even bothers to report these incidents; this is tragic, but just the way it is. Many of the homeless often have little or no family to help with these investigations and since their associates are often as ephemeral as the life they live. The sad truth is that no one seems to care.

By early September, the City finally demolished this make-shift hobo camp, cleaned out all of the wild growth and began to build the new Campus of Kelvyn Park South High School so this ceased to be an option for housing. The crucial matter of where to sleep during the winter months loomed ominously on the horizon as the evenings grew inescapably cooler. I had been blessed by God to have good friends, good Christians and relatively safe places to stay since I lost the house, but it seemed that my good fortune was coming to an end. Prayer and Trust in God became more important than ever as my doom seemed once again to stare me right in the face. I clung to my faith that “Thou art with Me”.

Nina had decided by now that she was MY DOG (somewhat to my chagrin) and taken to following me to Logan, trotting back home and then finding me again at nigh. She was following me all over. I was still giving her snacks and extra food so I guess she actually had a good idea but she NOW WAS JOINED by a new companion – a HUGE Great Pyrennes who was exceedingly timid and seemed frightened of his own shadow. This behavior was somewhat odd since he was so massive. I gave him the name “Samson” since he was literally the largest dog in the area. It turned out that Ray had taken him from a neighbor so NINA now had a permanent mate. Now they BOTH began to follow me all over and we presented quite a spectacle as these two large dogs accompanied me almost everywhere I went. I attempted to discourage this to no avail and eventually simply gave up. This was, however, a marvelous safety feature since even the GANGS would get out of the way when they saw me marching down the street with these two large animals. Nina had a nasty habit of snarling and even biting anyone she felt was a threat and when Samson joined her it was an intimidating sight indeed so it was rather amusing in the long run. Unfortunately, she decided to bite one of the local gang members and he in turn threatened to shoot and kill her. I prayed that they were a bad shot as while walking down the street with this loveable but somewhat mad dog.

I WAS GOING NOWHERE AT ALL and Julio knew HOW DANGEROUS It could be outside at night (since we were only a half block away from a major drug “spot” on Chicago’s NW Side) – it was TIME TO GO – but go where?

Sharing Hope was not going to open so the only other option was MOZART – a shelter about 2 ½ miles to the East in a crime ridden area (though not much worse than the one I was in) near Fullerton and California Avenues so I decided to give it a try. After an hour I had bummed enough change for carfare so I got on the bus and faced yet another adventure.

When I got off the bus I realized from the gang members sitting on the stoop across the street that it would be advisable to find the shelter line rapidly and simply wait to see what developed. Though this shelter is only one block away from “Shakespeare” Police Station it had a reputation for gangs, drugs and violence and I had never heard any good things . I walked down California Avenue swiftly to stay on the main streets and was somewhat surprised by a drug addict who stopped me on the street and asked me if he could “Get a rock” – I was not aware that I looked like a drug dealer and was not sure of how to respond so just kept walking in the direction of the shelter. By this time I was quite accustomed to the gangs and had plenty of “Street Smarts” but quickly realized that I was now on different “turf” and feared that gang members in this area would RECOGNIZE me from seeing me on Armitage Avenue with their rivals and assume I was a member, and thus an enemy. I was correct and was asked on two occasions if I was a member – a query I wisely ignored.

MOZART was “Pretty bad” as far as shelters go – it was a basketball court filled with mats where you fought for a spot – the water in the showers was cold (with no towels), the staff was rude and threatening, while the placement of matts on the floor left almost no room to walk, the “food” in the morning was PURE SLOP and you knew you were in a very dangerous situation – but WHEN YOU HAVE NO OTHER ALTERNATIVE YOU ”Do what ya gotta do” and so I DID. It was NOT A PLACE I WANTED TO GO BACK TO!

I survived that night and walked the two miles in the morning back to “The Alley” and then up to Logan where I hoped to find some other alternative for shelter – there was none so evening arrived with a repeat performance of:

· Feed the cats
· Bum a $1.50 for bus fare
· Get to MOZART and try to survive the night
· Walk two miles back in the morning

This desperate cycle continued for about two weeks. It was really getting cold by this time and snow was beginning to fall. This made the 55 minute wait to get into the shelter an adventure in endurance. Though I felt like a total stranger in this new environment, on the fourth night as I got in line, an older gentleman that I only knew as "Michael” from AA and Sharing Hope came up right behind me. Michael was in his early sixties and never really had leveled with anyone that I knew of about things. Whatever the cause Michael seemed to drift in and out of the homeless state and would spend a few weeks at AA Clubs and sleeping in nearby shelters and then mysteriously vanish for another few months, only to repeat this vicious cycle the next year. The last time I had seen him, Michael had a few scrapes on his nose, s black eye and was pretty drunk, so it was nice to see him sober at least and in fairly decent physical condition. We had a nice chat about Logan, mutual AA friends and Sharing Hope (since he had stayed there as well in 1999-2001) and both survived the night. Each time I ran into a man like Michael I wondered if this was my fate.

By this time in my saga, I had been homeless for two and a half years and had an excellent perception of the Homeless Diaspora. Folks like Michael, Manuel, Louis and others I saw were caught in an insidious web of poverty, drug/alcohol addiction and mental problems that they were never going to escape from.
I’d seen these ‘hard core’ homeless men from the beginning but normally was psychologically able to keep a distance between my personal situation and their desperate struggle. After what I had seen and lived through, I understood that I was well on the way to this ‘life’ and it SCARED THE HELL OUT OF ME.
I had actually been fortunate up to this point, since I had always been amongst friends and ‘in the hood’ so never was in any real danger or amongst strangers but the MOZART experience brought me into a new phase and it was going to get even worse and the future would look even more frightening.

One night in early December I walked down to Ray’s garage to visit with Nina, Samson and Francis on my way to Mozart (the dogs were back in the garage and little Francis was still in his carrie) – there was a LARGE HEATER in there so I knew I could always warm up for a while before getting back do to this HORRENDOUS and DANGEROUS “Shelter” for the night. I was getting really tried and was in considerable pain from all of the walking since I was shot in the leg in 1985 in a gun accident. Since I also have a BAD RIGHT FOOT due to a serious auto accident when I was 18 so was experiencing increasing pain and really needed a respite – suddenly my good friend Ray walked in:

We chatted for a while, I thanked him for letting me keep Francis there and told him about the problem I was having with my feet due to the three miles daily, in a somewhat thinly disguised hope of getting a ride to the shelter at least and – ONCE AGAIN THE GOOD LORD SAVED ME when my friend Rafael said, “If you don’t mind, you can stay here with the dogs but NO CATS in here!” (which was stramge since Francis was in his carrier and Brother Ray knew it!).

I thanked him and gladly accepted and in early December of 2000 began to share a large couch and an old rug with Nina and Samson but THANK GOD WE HAD A HUGE GAS FIREPLACE. Nina did her part in contributing to the heat by snuggling up against my legs at night, so we all were as warm as toast.

I did NOT know it then but SALVATION and this was the Beginning of the End.

[1] Puerto Ricans don’t like doorbells – at least those in Chicago
[2] And if you can remember the Source, you’re really showing your age
[3] Beer
[4] Actually this is how you know they really kinda like you.
[5] Formerly Schwinn – directly across the street from the old Schwinn Bicycle Factory
[6] The Author was shot in the left leg in a gun accident in 1984
[7] Which only worked for three nights, then a thunderstorm soaked them – costing me my Chicago Public Library card – which is an account that I still have not settled

Chapter VII

Chapter VII: The Beginning of the End

The Christmas of 2000 was spent with Nina, Samson and little Francis in the garage. Ray had a turkey and Don and Mary, who lived a few doors down fixed the kitties and I a large plate as well. My days were still being spent at Logan Five and I would hike home through the snow to the garage and snuggle up with Nina and Samson and read till the wee hours in front of a huge, roaring fire. Little Francis usually accompanied me to church and I would take him out of his carrier for a while at night in order to clean it and spend some time with him. Francis had healed quite well and begun to show some signs of life and was growing into a very cute young kitten, though he understandably remained quite timid.

Francis was getting very affectionate by this time and I began to worry about how the rest of our kitty family would accept him once they discovered the special bond that had developed between us. A few years earlier, one of Meow’s first litter, Schoentizie had climbed under a pile of old bags in the shed and had a litter unbeknownst to me or anyone else and at about six weeks, they began to start climbing out as young kittens are wont to do. Napoleon spied these new strangers in her home territory or lair and did what possessive older female normally do – she promptly killed one. When she came trotting by with a headless kitty in her mouth, my rage at this tragedy boiled over so I threw her out the back door and into the yard. As the evening progressed, I realized that she was only doing what was normal and right for the entire family and the next morning brought her back in which made her very happy. Her territorial instincts would not change, however and she promptly killed the rest. From this I learned how vicious adult cats, especially females, can be when it comes to defending their territory and I feared for Little Francis. This prescient concern was prophetic, but Francis would not loose his young life to a member of our family.

Nina was quite pleased with our new domestic arrangement and since I normally ate in the garage at night began to share meals with me as well – with Samson getting his fare share as well. My “Best Doggie Girl” was spending most of the night snuggled up against me while Samson (for a reason I could never figure out) always elected to sleep on the floor (and by the big garage door too – where it was COLDEST!). Samson tried to snuggle up to me a few times as well, but Nina attacked him and bit him viciously (she is very jealous and has an awful temper) and he gave up on this effort so kept his distance. After a decade of this sort of ‘sibling rivalry’ with the cats I knew this was beyond my control so just resigned myself to this canine rivalry and did my best to treat them both equally.

I soon discovered that I could get a lot more done at the North/Pulaski Library (in terms of job hunting) then I could at AA so began to spend my mornings on the Internet at the library, read some books in the afternoon and then feed the cats on the way back to the garage. I had a telephone once more (a wireless model) and was able to receive calls, though none resulted in any concrete offers of real employment. I still felt that THERE MUST BE WAY OUT (of the mess I was in) and also knew that GOD would deliver me somehow if I would only continue to pray, attend mass and Trust in Him – Read Hebrews Chapter 11 on the Faith of the children of Israel and you will understand.

One evening in early March I decided that it finally was time for Francis to become acquainted with the rest of the cats (out in the alley) as he would have to live with them and was getting too big for the carrier. Though it almost broke my heart (since he was obviously frightened) I opened the door and put him out in the back for a few hours. When I got back from the library, I found him next door – he was too frightened to go too far but at least he had a small start at being on his own with the rest of the family. This slow process of ‘socialization’ was repeated the next day and when I got back at night I found him a few doors further down the alley so things were proceeding well.

The next morning I let him out in the morning, walked to the library (with Nina and Samson dutifully trotting behind me) and returned at night in the usual fashion but COULD NOT LOCATE Little Francis. I looked all over but he was gone. After three months of caring for him this was quite a blow so I continued to look and inquire of my neighbors – the next day my neighbor Miguel informed that he had found a small orange kitten dead (killed by his guard dog) in his yard – that was little Francis and he was dead. The saddest part is I DID NOT EVEN KNOW what happened to his little mangled body – so I cried, said a prayer and went over to St. Philomena (where we had spent so many hours in the chapel) and said a few rosaries for his little kitty soul.

A month before this sad event, I had taken him to Sunday mass with me, and afterwards was sitting with him in my lap as he “Kneaded” on my arm (the pressing of the paws that kittens perform with their mothers) – a friend from Church (who also had cats) came along and, Seeing this, observed, “He loves you.” – once again it was wonderful to hear – I LOVED LITTLE FRANCIS TOO. Violent and sudden death is always sad, but quite common for the alley cat and the Homeless that are their human counterpart. Life does go on, however and no one seems to care or cry too much. I cried more than my share over the tragic loss of our Little Francis.

Don and Mary who lived two doors down from Ray’s were my primary source for morning java and usually dinner as well during this six month period and I THANK GOD FOR SUCH GOOD CHRISTIANS – I’d get my morning coffee from them, go to the library, take care of my email, then return back to the garage – with NINA and SAMSON following me everywhere I went. Don and Mary normally provided dinner as well and would expect a knock on the door from this hungry homeless man around 5:00 PM. Thanks to their TRUE CHRISTIAN SPIRIT I, Nina, Sampson, and the kitties survived this trying winter with their adopted human.

Though the cats were right outside, they were normally scattered somewhere about the alley so when it was time for meals, I had to ‘round them up’. Calling them all by name was impractical, so I began to utilize the “Meow Yow’ song that had become widely known from the popular cat food commercial. The kids in the neighborhood loved it, and would even join in singing, “MEOW YOW YOW YOW, MEOW YOW YOW YOW, MEOW YOW YOW YOW YOW YOW YOW” and as my feline brood heard the commotion they would come scampering out from under various garage doors and yards where they were hiding during the day. Lazarus had his very own “Call” as I recalled the words of Jesus summoning, “Lazarus, COME FORTH!” – and he usually did, when our “Big Boy” was not off on one his amorous romps.

One Friday morning in early May we (Nina, Samson and I) were walking up North Tripp Avenue on our way to Logan Five when a CHICAGO ANIMAL CONTROL truck stopped across the street. A team of five men with large nooses got out and began pursuing two stray dogs on the other side of the street. Neither Nina nor Samson were wearing a collar or leash so I knew they were in BIG TROUBLE – I slapped Nina on the rear and shouted “GO HOME!” (one of the few commands she understood) and as I saw her begin to run, observed Samson being captured by one of the ANIMAL CONTROL officers – I hurried across the street.

Poor Big Boy had his head in a noose that had been tightened around his throat and the Officers began to herd him into their truck. The poor guy whimpered in terror so I pleaded with the man , “He only lives two block down, can’t you PLEASE let him go and I’ll get him off the streets.” – but this was to no avail. “We’ve had enough of these big stray dogs terrorizing people,” he said and Samson was taken off to the “Pound”. I did not know what to do so I went to Logan and asked around – with no luck.

When I got back that night, I knocked on Ray’s door and told him what had happened – he said nothing so I did not know what to do – but I DID KNOW I COULD NOT JUST LET SAMSON SIT THERE. I also knew that STRAY DOGS have two weeks to be ‘redeemed” (which means paying a fine and any other fees) and after that they have ANOTHER TWO WEEKS to be “Adopted” – if they are not – THEY ARE OFTEN KILLED (put to sleep) – I DID NOT WANT TO SEE THAT!

On Saturday, I did not see Ray and no one mentioned it so on Sunday, I went over to St. Philomena, borrowed a few dollars, got on the bus and went down to 27th and California - Chicago Animal Control. After looking through all the cages at a host of scared and stray animals I was ready to leave when I SPIED SAMSON – he was way at the end in the LARGEST CAGE they had but he was ok. It was really sad to see him crying and banging his head against that cage and trying to get out. I told him, “I LOVE YOU BIG BOY - I’ll get you out!” and went out to the front to see what the fee would be.
When I learned that there would be a hefty fee and a fine the situation looked grim, but I was sure that I could find enough help for this noble cause in two weeks to get this poor animal back.

When returned to the garage I went out in the front and found Ray and told him – not quite knowing what to expect. I began to explain how we could get him back when his wife, Iris said simply, “I don’t WANT THAT DOG BACK THERE ANYMORE.” I was TOO STUNNED to say anything for I KNOW that Samson could DIE due to this decision (people don’t adopt HUGE Great Pyrennes Adult dogs – they want puppies) but I COULD DO NOTHING so went back and crawled in with Nina and all I could do was PRAY for Samson. And yes, I cried that night – he was a good boy – a big, clumsy but loveable monster who was quite affectionate in his own way. Coming just a few weeks after the tragic death of little Francis the loss of this big but loveable dog was tragic. I’ll never forget this huge but incredibly gentle giant.

By this time the cats had found yet another source of food; an older Puerto Rican gentleman who walked down the alleys in the late afternoon looking for aluminum cans (for recycling money) had bags of chicken, liver and other meats – Nina found this new treat soon as well so food for my animal family was not really a problem. My link card provided enough for ¾ of the month and happily Don and Mary filled the remainder of our dietary needs until the next.

In early May of 2001 I decided to TRY SOMETHING NEW that had been recommended to me by my friend Judy T. at St. Philomena’s for over a year and attend my first STAIRS Meeting at Franciscan Outreach at Lemoyne and Paulina in Chicago’s Wicker Park neighborhood. At the first meeting, I discovered that I knew the facilitator, Mr. Joe W from many years ago at Logan Five. I also ran into a few other homeless men I had known at the shelter so knew I was in the RIGHT PLACE and that these folks KNEW what they were doing – since they had been at this for 25 years I SURE HOPED THEY DID! (and Thank God – I WAS RIGHT)

One of the problems of the “chronically” homeless (and by this time I certainly qualified for that title) is a feeling of SHEER HOPELESSNESS and UTTER FRUSTRATION. It is particularly exacerbated in folks who

· HAVE A GOOD EDUCATION
· HAVE JOB SKILLS
· HAVE GREAT POTENTIAL

Yet find themselves ENSNARED in an INSIDIOUS WEB of POVERTY AND DESPAIR – though I never got to the latter due to my MY FAITH IN GOD and CHRISTIAN SURROUNDINGS. In my many years in AA and the 12 STEP Program I had learned, and can enumerate an endless list of reasons why drinking and drugging is NO GOOD, HARMFUL and WILL KILL YOU and have had the good fortune to help many addicts and alcoholics on the Road to Recovery, but I must confess (in ALL Honesty) that:

IF THERE IS ANY GOOD REASON GO GET DRUNK IT IS BEING HOMELESS!

Many men and women DO GET DRUNK OR HIGH and DO decide that it is hopeless and not worth the effort, or they far too often become “comfortable” in the life of food pantries, government aid, shelters and “The Street Life”. After you’ve been “on the Trail” for a while it dawns on you that “This really is not so bad”. In Chicago, at least there are MANY PLACES to go for food, clothing, temporary assistance and shelter so this CAN become a quite ‘easy’ way of life though it requires a GREAT DEAL OF WALKING and CAN PROVE TO BE DANGEROUS AND EVEN DEADLY. In the two winters that I had spent in Sharing Hope I had met a few of these men (we even had a veteran of Lower Wacker Drive who had lost a foot due to frostbite suffered one cold winter) who simply had been “on the streets” for so long that they NO LONGER CARED about finding a way out or another way of life.

Society often views the homeless as “Drunken bums” and “Dope Addicts” who are in their sad condition through their own making – and IN A FEW CASES THAT I KNOW OF THIS IS ABSOLUTELY TRUE. However in 90% of the men and women I have known in nearly four years of HOMELESSNESS I can attest that THIS IS NOT THE CASE AT ALL. Out of the hundreds of men and women I have known, stayed in shelters with, ate at soup kitchens with, and STILL SEE REGULARLY I can COUNT ON ONE HAND the number who are in their current state of poverty and homelessness due to ALCOHOL OR DRUGS and have no wish to help themselves. The COMMON IDEA THAT HOMELESS MEN ARE JUST DRUNKEN BUMS AND DOPE FIENDS IS JUST NOT TRUE!
There real bums, make no mistake about it. There are folks who are so mentally ill or so devoid of will power that they can’t get out. The older you are the harder it is and the longer you are ‘out there’ the lower your chances of re-joining mainstream society. This is from real life experience and should be known.

In early June of 2001 I was rudely awaked around 2:30 AM by the sound of sirens screaming by the door. Suddenly, there was a lot of activity just down the alley accompanied by a fair amount of shouting . Walking out there to ascertain the source of the commotion did not seem wise, so after a half an hour or so I just went back to bed on the couch with Nina. In the morning, Rafael walked in and informed me that the abandoned garage where I had slept with the kitties a few months earlier had burned down, and it appeared that the fire had been intentionally set. If it had been a few months earlier, I would have been sleeping in that garage and possibly been trapped in the flames – a sobering thought indeed. The local gang had been storing stolen cars in this abandoned garage and stripping them for parts, so this arson seemed like a retaliatory strike from a rival gang since there were a few competing groups that routinely fought over territory and whatever petty nonsense they could devise. Nothing is ever said about these matters “on the street” and it is unwise to ask too many questions, so I could only be grateful that none of the cats had been trapped, since many of them were still climbing in this decaying structure for temporary shelter each night.

Ray let me know that he was going to rent out the garage so once again it was time to move on and I did not have too far to go – after two months in the abandoned garage again my friend Julio agreed to let me sleep in his yard one more time, with the admonition that it would be ‘just for tonight”.

I had been extremely fortunate since I had so far been able to stay “in the hood”. Since I had to care for the cats the promise I had made to MEOW kept coming back to me each time I considered other places to stay. This time it appeared that the ONLY OTHER CHOICE was Mozart which was in an area that was just as bad but still Latino, and (since there had just been a murder in their shower) this alternative did not seem very palatable.

I was also FRIGHTENED (for the first time oddly enough) of this part of the West Side where “The House of Mary and Joseph” was located. It had been many years since I had visited this part of town, but I recall quite vividly going to ALLIED ELECTRONICS at the corner of Lake and Western avenues in the mid 1960’s (Before the race riots of 1968) and recall HOW BAD the area had been during those years in terms of drugs, gangs and crime so the ie3333333333333333333333dea of WALKING down to a shelter through the areas I recalled from the 1960’s was quite frightening. The fact that this would also require walking directly past some of the Chicago Housing Authority’s notorious “Projects” made my sense of trepidation even worse.

Fortunately, I had learned a great deal about dealing with fear, as well as gangs, drug dealers and crime – and I knew it was BEST TO JUST KEEP WALKING through whatever situation I ran into. Most of the time this was the only choice available, so it was best to just continue moving forward and ‘damn the torpedoes’ since whatever was going to happen would occur anyway and all the worry on earth would not change it. I had also learned by this time that the Gangs, criminals and thugs (Like the Terrorists which they actually are) COUNT on the fact that they INSTILL FEAR in folks – it is vital to their operations. However I KNEW That if I could SHOW THEM NO FEAR I would, in effect, CATCH THEM OFF GUARD and be safe. This is known as being ‘street smart’ and these small tricks do work quite well. While you’re doing this, you Pray silently and Trust in God. As King David prayed, “Yeah though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil – for Thou are with me”, we must “Be Strong” and know that God is with us. As I walked west on Harrison, I passed a storefront church with some folks sitting outside who were please to see my big cross so my initial sense of trepidation soon vanished.

I got on the bus one evening about 5:30 PM and got off at Western and Harrison on Chicago’s West Side. To say that I WAS STUNNED would be putting it mildly – GONE were the GANGS, GONE were the Liquor Stores, GONE were the pawnshops and GONE were the obvious dangers. What I was greeted with was BRAND NEW CONDOS and apartment buildings on both sides of the street – liberally peppered with empty lots – although the Rockwell Gardens Housing Project was only two blocks away. I had to hike three blocks westward on Harrison, but to my utter amazement, this street was completely deserted. The deserted street was a bit unsetting but I soon found the LONG LINE of homeless men, (which is the best way to find a shelter of soup kitchen) and got in line to wait.

I knew that I would a.) have to secure a place in line, b.) have to secure a ‘spot’ (a place to sleep for the night) and c.) had to leave time for unexpected events so got there by 5:30 PM. Franciscan House is located in an abandoned factory a full block long and housed 250+ men and women on a nightly basis. Since it was still summer, this was one of only a handful of overnight shelters in the entire city and I was stunned at the length of the line. There were at least one hundred or more men either standing or sitting on the sidewalk and the shelter would not open for a full two hours. There was a small city park across the street and a number of the men had elected to wait there as well.

Homeless men and women must be amongst the MOST PATIENT ON THIS EARTH – they will

· WAIT IN LINE to EAT
· WAIT IN LINE TO SHOWER
· WAIT IN LINE TO GO THE BATHROOM (at times)
· WAIT IN LINE To GET A TICKET (For whatever) and
· WAIT IN LINE TO GET A BED –

It’s not at unusual to WAIT IN FOUR OR FIVE LINES A DAY. What always AMAZED me was the resolve with which the homeless deal with this – it is a rare thing to see in today’s society. I was fortunate for I CONSIDERED THESE HUMBLING EXPERIENCE A TRUE BLESSING – St. Francis PRAYED FOR HUMILIATION and SUFFERING and monks and holy men have imposed it upon themselves for centuries. I GOT MINE FREE OF CHARGE! If I ever got irritable or impatient, I would try to remember that JESUS NEVER GOT IMPATIENT WITH ME and HAS ALWAYS BEEN WITH ME (although I did not always deserve this care). With at least an hour of waiting on the sidewalk each night I certainly had a lot of time for the exercise of humility.

The only ‘rules” at Franciscan House were NO FIGHTING, NO ALCOHOL OR DRUGS and that was about all – the wait was INCREDIBLY LONG – but we all ‘got in’ about 8:30 pm. A “Dinner” consisting of THICK SOUP was served (as we all stood at counters) and, after hurriedly gulping this down, it was “Lights Out” at 9:30 – which was GRAND since it was “Lights On” at 5:30 AM – so at least we had a full eight hours to rest. We ALSO HAD REAL BEDS. (you’d be amazed at how the tiny things we all take for granted can come to mean SO MUCH when you are without them for a long time) My fear vanished after the first night and when morning came, I walked back to Western and was better able to observe the PHENOMENAL CHANGE that had taken place on the near West Side of Chicago. My fear of the neighborhood vanished in a few days and I soon realized that this part of the West Side was now, in reality, considerably safer than the West Humboldt Park area where I had spent my entire life. There were a few obvious gangbangers around, and a bar that looked like trouble, but experience had taught me that IF YOU DON’T GO LOOKING FOR TROUBLE the ODDS ARE YOU WILL NOT EVER FIND IT so I simply walked past these dangers.

For the next two weeks I managed to get down to Harrison and California and back to “the house” to get to Logan Five and feed the cats (and bum enough money to do it again the next day) so things were under control. Miraculously, I found that St. Aloisious Parish near North and Western had a 7:30 AM Mass so I could at least attend daily Mass and receive Communion before getting back out West for the day. During this time I discovered that some of the men at Franciscan House had been there for 5, 10 and more years – and this REALLY SCARED THE DAYLIGHTS OUT OF ME – these were the CHRONICALLY HOMELESS that I had heard about and I was now right in the middle of it all. This was also the first time that I met homeless men who had lost limbs due to frostbite [1] and heard vivid tales of the same Lower Wacker Drive [2] and Banks of the Chicago River [3] that I had read about years before while comfortably sipping my morning coffee recounted with what seemed to be bizarrely fond memories. It became obvious that these men had been ‘on the trail’ for so long that they could not, or simply did not want to imagine or even consider any other mode of existence. I had seen a few older ‘chronically’ homeless men before, but these were the sad folks that I had read about five years earlier, and now they were in the bed right next to me and in front of me in the line - It was a definite shock. This autopoietic ennui seemed to have them trapped in a web of poverty and despair that they would only escape though death and the brutal realization of this sorrowful malaise hit me over the head like a bucket of ice cold water.

I realized that I WAS GOING NOWHERE BUT DOWNHILL AND FAST TOO - in AA Terms, I HAD HIT MY BOTTOM – and realized that I COULD NOT GET ANY LOWER THAN the House of Mary And Joseph [4] and realized that it was DEFINITELY TIME TO DO SOMETHING TO GET OUT OF THIS NIGHTMARE though I had no idea of what or how this could be accomplished.

I stayed there, commuting back and forth to “the house” (which I no longer owned and was in fact still sitting vacant) for two weeks. I was also attending weekly STAIRS meetings and seeing Josh, my caseworker weekly and he told me about Lincoln Park Community Shelter which would be a lot closer to the cats since it was on Fullerton Avenue in the Lincoln Park area and I would only be required to take a brief bus ride, thus easing my considerable commuting woes. Josh called Barbara, the director of the Shelter and I was told to “Come on down”.

Lincoln Park Community Shelter operated on a weekly basis and their intake day was Thursday so I went from “the House” to their intake, not knowing what to expect. Though this shelter held a ‘lottery’ if there were more men (and women) than available beds GOD WAS WITH ME ONCE AGAIN – there were seven beds, and seven of us trying to get in. There was no raffle that day – we ALL became residents (For that week at least) of Lincoln Park Community Shelter and -

THE RESURRECTION HAD BEGUN and I would soon blossom into a HOMELESS YUPPIE.

[1] Suffered while sleeping out of doors during the dead of winter
[2] A large collection of ‘spots’ for the homeless during the 1980’s until the city fenced off most of the available areas
[3] Another favorite ‘spot’ for the chronically homeless – many near 22nd Street and the Chicago River
[4] It could have been worse, for Pacific Garden Mission has a reputation at the very bottom

Chapter VIII

Chapter VIII: The Homeless Yuppie

Lincoln Park was familiar territory. I had gone to De Paul Academy in my teens (1965-1967) and Lincoln Park Zoo was one of my favorite places to visit for a day of photography (which I did as a hobby for a number of years) and a nice time of solace with the animal kingdom. They seemed to make much more sense than most of the people I had known. I also had attended many AA meetings at LPAC, [1] located at Sheffield and Dickens in this area, just a block north of St. Vincent’s Church so knew the area well.

Once we had all completed the “intake process”, which was new to me (since the two ‘shelters’ I had stayed at to date were simple ‘overnight’ establishments) we were told the initial ‘rules’ – which were quite comprehensive and seemed intimidating at first glance. Since the cats were still down “at the house”, which in reality meant “in the alley” I was now confronted with a new daily hurdle – ‘bumming’ bus fare to get back down there daily to feed and spend time with them and get back to Lincoln Park.

I didn’t realize just how FAR I had descended into “Chronic Homelessness” and how low my goals had descended before I came to Lincoln Park. In the many days I had spent at the North-Pulaski Library I had the opportunity to read a number of books and papers on the homeless and was somewhat stunned by what I found. The many horror stories I found relating horrendous tales of alleys, parks, abandoned buildings, gangs, drugs and violence seemed like another world though I had indeed experienced a small portion of these things already. There is a certain amount of ‘denial’ (as we term this in AA) amongst the Homeless and whether it was this phenomena, or the fact that (up to this point) I had been fortunate enough to have ‘stayed’ in the neighborhood I was born and raised in the fact was that I DID NOT FEEL LIKE I WAS “Homeless” at all. In the two years I had spent at Sharing Hope I would frequently hear men say things like, “I really DON’T have to be here, ya know” and we all usually just laughed and nodded in bemused agreement – NEITHER DID WE! (which meant we would have preferred the park or an abandoned car in the dead of winter) No one ever bothered to elaborate on these incredulous statements and no one ever asked.

Though one of the residents of our Shelter in West Humboldt Park had been found dead a few months earlier (in an alley with an empty bottle) and another homeless man in Humboldt Park had been set ablaze by young hoodlums the idea that “I could be next” never occurs to you at all – “Homelessness is a FULL TIME JOB” and you’re SO BUSY JUST SURVIVING that these things do not even have any significant effect on your daily life. The Gangs and the crime around you fade into insignificance after a while when you come to the realization that since it APPEARS OBVIOUS you are quite poor and homeless, you’re not worth ‘robbing’ so most criminals simply ignore you or tell you to “Get lost” so you simply STOP THINKING ABOUT IT and just ‘keep on keepin’ on’ to ‘take care of biz’. After I’d heard gun shots a block or two away a few times in Humboldt Park and realized that they were NOT shooting at me, I simply ignored it the next time and kept on walking. I thought of Psalm 23 and “Yeah, though I walk through the Valley of Death I shall fear no Evil for Thou Art with me” and so decided to TRUST IN THE LORD and just forgot the dangers.

One of the difficulties mentioned frequently in studies on ‘homelessness’ is that of defining the ‘homeless’ in the first place – since the target group is normally transient, ‘temporarily homeless’ or ‘occasionally homeless’ many studies seem to have significant problems with the ever-changing demographics of this segment of the population. Out of the two plus years I had already been homeless, I was one of the FEW men who was a ‘regular’ at the shelter and could be counted on to be there nightly, since I literally had nowhere else to go but 90% of the men were ‘occasional residents’ and would often vanish for days or weeks at a time and then mysteriously reappear at our ‘house’. At this point I was beginning to understand that my experiences could one day be recorded and hopefully benefit others in this sad condition.

On my first official evening as a shelter resident I was happily surprised to run into an old buddy from Logan Five whom had given me the unusual experience of seeing a genuine ‘seizure’ three times – all of which required getting him into an ambulance for immediate treatment so this sign of familiarity was welcome indeed. “Jimmy” seemed to be doing well, was working, and (GOD BE PRAISED) was also SOBER so this was a positive sign indeed since the last time I had seen him he was quite drunk and sleeping outside alongside the railroad tracks near Logan Group Five. We swapped some stories and caught up on the last two years and had a few good laughs. He advised me of some good Lincoln Park ‘spots’ (the places the homeless learn to go for meals, clothes, bus passes, etc) so after this bit of the old hood things were definitely looking up and I felt a new sense of direction.

One of the most important rules at Lincoln Park Shelter was to BE ON TIME when the ‘gate opened’ at 8:00 PM till 8:15 PM – OR THE GATE WOULD BE LOCKED and NO ONE GOT IN IF THEY WERE LATE (unless they had called in beforehand and informed the shelter staff) so for the first week and a half I did a lot of walking since I made SURE TO GET THERE AT LEAST TWO HOURS EARLY! At this point I was always broke and had I missed the 8:00 PM Deadline and gotten “locked out” for the night, it would have meant a two and half mile walk back down to “the house” which was the only place that I knew of for alternate shelter. One of the staff, “Fred” talked like a cross between a DRILL SERGEANT and a PRISON WARDEN and really SCARED THE HELL OUT OF ME about being late and it would be a few months before I found out what a genuinely helpful man he was and that he had also been a ‘resident’ a few years earlier so he understood that this “tough talk” was needed at times. In the beginning, however, I made sure not to get him mad. In the next few months “Fred” would turn out to be a great friend indeed but I always retained a healthy respect for his authority.

Things soon fell into a predictable and comforting routine. The “rules” that at first seemed to intimidating were not that way at all and adherence to them was simple. After an exquisite dinner, we only had an half an hour or so before ‘lights’ out so there was little time for any conflict though a few of us managed anyway. The morning was just as hurried with a wake up call at 5:30 AM. After time for coffee and a hurried breakfast it was time to leave for the long day. Many of us hiked down Fullerton over to St. Vincent’s Church, which was opened at 7:00 AM specifically so the many homeless men in the area would simply have someplace to go.

This was late August and early September of 2001 so I had the chance to get re-acquainted with the animals at Lincoln Park Zoo (since I was always early for the first two weeks) which was just fine with them and provided for some quiet solace in the midst of what seemed by now to be a hopeless quagmire with no visible way out. Since I was STILL UNEMPLOYED and my food stamps had once again run out things were looking pretty dismal.

LPCS [2] assigned residents to various “Tracks” which were individualized recovery programs designed to get people OUT of the vicious circle of homelessness and shelters and I was initially assigned to “Track Three” – which is a program for those who are homeless due to a lack of employment. I met with our social worker, Shea and when I explained my predicament and what paths I had been pursuing (sending out resumes on the internet at the library) she told me to continue for a while and we would wait to see what developed.

My cell phone had been disconnected (Since I had no way to pay the bill) but my case worker, Josh at Franciscan Outreach had gotten me a ‘number’ at Chicago Community Voice Mail so I could at least get messages at no charge and only be required to return the call in my employment search. Most people take a ‘phone’ as a given and don’t begin to imagine what life would be like without one but when added to the Homeless dilemma of no real address to get mail it only exacerbates the problem of being ‘invisible’ and a non-entity in society. I had partially circumvented the mail problem by relying on EMAIL (which was free courtesy of YAHOO.COM) and receiving messages was under control but returning calls could prove to be a formidable undertaking if the call lasted longer than three minutes.

After my arrival in Lincoln Park I remembered that Lincoln Park Alano Club was only a few blocks down so I dropped in to say hello. As is customary with AA “Old Timers” (and by this time I was nearly a part of the furniture at Logan Five) I ran into some folks I knew and once again had coffee for an hour as well. LPAC was a far different experience than Logan Five and after a few meetings it became apparent that YUPPIES (as opposed to ex-cons, drug dealers and gangeros [3] at Logan) were the norm and (by virtue of my new home base if nothing else) I was (or would soon be) one of them. In reality this difference is essentially a function of education – most Lincoln Park residents are college educated or better while most Humboldt Park residents are hardly that well educated and some are barely literate. I found that “Jimmy” was also an LPAC regular so there was also a connection with Logan Five and things were homey indeed.

St. Vincent De Paul Church was also only a few blocks away and the building where I had attended High School for two years was right next to it so I began to visit the church to pray and spend time with the Blessed Sacrament in the relative calm of a nearly empty church. TO MY ASTONISHMENT I found there were usually homeless men sleeping in the pews in the early morning and discovered that St. Vincents’ opened early (7:00 AM) specifically so these men and women had a place to go at that early hour (after the shelters put you out and before anything else is open) St. Vincents’ also serves a HOT BREAKFAST 365 days a year at 8:30 AM (at “the Window”) for the homeless and Sister Marie (a true angel and servant of God) also provided Additional services through St. Vincent De Paul Outreach which was located next to the church. After a few days I found out that St. Clement’s Catholic Church (who also helped to operate LPCS and has regular AA meetings as well) was only two blocks north and I was able to attend my beloved daily Mass and receive Holy Communion as well as Pray a Rosary so my morning “routine” was now set.

After the disdain and feelings of rejection I had experienced at St. Philomena Parish (my home church for 49 years) I began to understand the uneducated Mexicans and hypocritical priests that had subjected me to such pain and knew that I must now take pity on them and forgive them for their hateful bias and sad ignorance of true Christian principles. St. Vincent, like St. Francis spent his life working with the poor and destitute and I NOW was in the company of REAL CHRISTIANS and NOT THE HYPOCRITES that like to take great pride in their “Church Attendance” while LOCKING THE POOR AND HOMELESS OUT INTO THE COLD OF WINTER as some members of the “Parish” of St. Philomena had done to me just a few years earlier. I began to pray that these poor souls may one day come to realize that we ALL are in danger of homelessness and realize that EVEN THE BEGGARS sat with Jesus Christ at his dinner table. (Read Matthew 5 and 23 and you’ll understand)

The “Window” Opened at 8:00 as well and served hot soup and coffee out of a window adjacent to the rectory entrance of St. Vincent De Paul Church. It was during these mornings that I was really struck at how well the St. Vincent De Paul Society [4] was carrying out the mission of its founder and also at just how desperate some of the men I was with were. While I prayed a rosary by counting the Hail Mary’s on my ten fingers admired the gorgeous stained glass while most of the sad unfortunates slept on the pews. Only I understood that I was one of them. But the Lord was there with us those cold mornings and I remembered the words of Romans 8: 38 For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities,
nor present things, 9 nor future things, nor powers, 39 nor height, nor depth, 10 nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

There was always competition for the bathroom since there was only one. Many homeless men and women have no choice but to use public restrooms for their personal hygiene needs and these facilities often serve as birth bath showers. This was the case at St. Vincent’s so someone was always waiting for his turn.

Once the “Window” opened, we all lined up for a sandwich or soup and hot coffee. After we got our breakfast the only place to sit was on the cement steps of the rectory or the church next door so most of the folks stood on the porch and used the cement railing as a breakfast table. In Summer and fall this was easy, but as winter began to approach those cement stairs got awfully cold.

Every Monday and Saturday the Church of Our Savior on East Fullerton Parkway also served a wonderful luncheon and all the coffee you could drink. Many of the shelter residents and area homeless have received the benefits of these fine Christians for over a decade. Since this was only a block east of the shelter at St. Paul’s all things were within easy walking distance. The unbridled spirit of the true work of Jesus Christ that I encountered in all of these churches was a welcome change from the gangster mentality that was so common in West Humboldt Park.

Since I had my beloved daily Mass once again and was surrounded by good Christians, I remembered the world of Romans 8:35 What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword? The Lord indeed was watching over me and my family.

After a few nights of “dinner” at LPCS I began to wonder who was doing their catering since the cuisine was absolutely incredible. Shelter food is normally a dismal affair, makeshift, or SIMPLY SLOP, dependent on the shelter and the available resources. Since most shelters operate on VERY TIGHT BUDGETS with exceedingly limited resources (much of it donated) this is normal for Chicago. While I was at Sharing Hope in Humboldt Park, for instance, there were ONLY THREE NIGHTS when our dinner was something other than chicken and rice (arroz y pollő) so you get used to it and in reality are quite grateful (since this is often the only meal many of us had that day) I found out a week or so later that scores of churches, community organizations and groups were all donating their time and money to provide these phenomenal meals for we of the homeless Diaspora and provided a veritable plethora of lovely young ladies to serve us as well – we were dining on delicacies that folks at a restaurant right across the street were paying BIG BUCKS for and being served like Sultans to boot (but we DID have to throw our own paper plates away), normally by lovely young women.

Within two weeks I realized that THESE FOLKS HAD REAL STYLE AND CLASS and were REALLY SERIOUS about HELPING HOMELESS MEN AND WOMEN END THEIR AWFUL NIGHTMARE – I was, frankly, stunned for I was (almost) starting to think that there WAS NO WAY OUT and that I TOO might wind up as one of those men I had already met who had been homeless for decades and probably would die in that condition. I had ‘hit bottom’ and I knew it.

Barb (the Director) and Eryan (the house manager) both exuded an air of professional competence and an “in the know” aura that I had rarely seen and the entire atmosphere they created was one of “Courtesy” and “Respect” which was (is) sorely lacking in many of the shelters and services for the homeless and poor of Chicago. (and respect and courtesy was also constantly stressed as a goal for all of us as well) Coming directly from Franciscan House, where mere survival was an accomplishment for many the entire environment of LPCS exuded STYLE and CLASS and I began to slowly realize that I TOO possessed these qualities, despite some temporary setbacks along the way. A dear friend of mine had suggested W. Clement Stone’s “Success Through a Positive Mental Attitude” and Norman Vincent Peale’s “The Power of Positive Thinking” years earlier and I looked them up again at the Lincoln Park Library – and FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOUR YEARS my thinking began to change and move in a POSITIVE DIRECTION – and it was due to Barb, Eryan, Fred and the encouragement I received from Josh at our weekly STAIRS Meetings.

I still had the mentality of Humboldt Park (which had become the ghetto although I had never realized it or even wanted to admit it) and since I was still spending most of my days there was having a somewhat difficult time deciphering the conflicting messages that I was getting – the upscale folks in Lincoln Park and the blue collar Latinos of Humboldt Park are WORLDS APART and their ideas about life and goals are as well. Since I had spent my entire life in Humboldt Park my SOUL was there but MY MIND (and aspirations) were WITH THE UPSCALE RESIDENTS of Lincoln Park so an identity tug-of-war was taking place in my mind and I did not know quite how to resolve it. In el barrio (the ‘hood’) I felt like an essé ( a ‘homie’) but once I was back in Lincoln Park that all changed and I was a YOUNG URBAN PROFESSIONAL (without a home and job of course, but why sweat the details?) Since I was walking right past De Paul University daily (my alma mater, Music-1976) the reality and importance of my degrees began to assume new and added importance and I resolved to somehow do something with them.
Our environment determines our ideas, attitudes and aspirations and what had frustrated me about Humboldt Park and its surroundings was a philosophy of “It’s enough” (¡Basta!) that seemed to offer little or no hope for progress and change. Surrounded by a depressing landscape of taco stands, flat-tire and auto shops or dilapidated streets and houses liberally peppered with drug dealers along with a generous sprinkling of hookers and gang members it is hard to imagine that there is a better way. I didn’t understand that I had fallen into this mental trap until I reached the realization that this was past and it was time to move on – Lincoln Park, on the other hand, along with the hopeful and courteous environment and aid of LPCS and Franciscan Outreach restored my hope in a better future. Everyone I met in Lincoln Park was well educated, polite and helpful and since your environment is a determinate of your attitudes, mine began to change. I remembered that our MOTTO (unofficial) [5] in the City in Chicago is “I WILL” and began to personalize it as “I WILL TOO!” In my fourth week of Homelessness, my friend Miguel (another homeless man) told me that I have a guardian angel on my shoulder; I began to realize that he was right and resolved to somehow repay my Lord and Savior for this rare gift.
Chicago History was always a hobby of mine and living in Lincoln Park puts you literally in the middle of it. When I learned that St. Paul’s (where LPCS was located) was one of the oldest churches (and it had been founded by the early German community of the 1840’s) in Chicago it roused an embryonic form of pride that had been buried deep within my soul and as more of my nascent confidence began to slowly return from its long slumber. This fundamental shift in mental outlook was reinforced daily by the Respect and Courtesy that LPCS continued to instill our residents. (and if you did not agree with this you would probably find yourself out in the street in short order)
One afternoon in the middle of September I had attended an AA Meeting at LPAC and was chatting with some members afterwards and (during a discussion of other AA Clubs) observed, “Some AA members don’t like this club because of all the YUPPIES.”, eluding to comments I had heard repeatedly at Logan Five. A friend from the club looked at me in astonishment and stated, “What are you talking about? - You’re a YUPPIE!” After it sunk in, I must confess amusement and gratitude. My friend was right.
I WAS NOW A YUPPIE – A HOMELESS YUPPIE – BUT STILL A YUPPIE!

[1] Lincoln Park Alano Club
[2] http://www.lpcsonline.org

[3] (“Gangbangers” in Spanish)
[4] Who provided the personnel, soup, sandwiches and coffee
[5] The Official City Motto is “City in a Garden” - though the late Mike Royko suggested that it be changed to “Where’s mine?” as a tribute to our noted Chicago system of political graft

Chapter IX

Chapter IX: The Day of Infamy

When I awoke on the morning of September 11, 2001 I had no idea that the events of this day and the horrors that would be unleashed on America by a faceless and cowardly enemy would change my life and the lives of all Americans. I was only concerned with the unwelcome prospect of a three mile walk. I was normally lucky enough to be able to borrow (“bum”) enough change to commute via CTA from Lincoln Park to the “House” but on September 10, 2001 I could only get enough for a one way trip – this meant that the morning of Sep 11,2001 would require a very long walk from 1000 W out to 4200 W to get back to the kitties.

I awoke on this morning of Infamy at 6:00 AM as was our habit, drank my morning coffee and attended 7:00 AM Mass at St. Clement Catholic Church. Fortunately it was a sunny day so the long walk from Halsted to Pulaski could be accomplished with an easy step. I recall thinking how odd it was that this was the first time in my life that I had walked through this part of Chicago, though I had driven this way hundreds of times before. I had developed the habit of praying a decade of the Rosary every block during the long walks to AA and knew that I needed God more than ever now. I finished the Sorrowful, Glorious and Joyful mysteries by the time I had made half the walk.

The morning was warm and sunny, and as people rushed to school and work it seemed to be just another day in the Windy City. The traffic was normal on this gorgeous day and for all intents and purposes, it seemed like it would be just another gorgeous late summer morning. I had not heard any radio of television reports for about two hours. I arrived at Logan Five AA around 8:20 AM or so and climbed the long stairs to get a cup of coffee. Mr. John S., our caretaker greeted me excitedly by exclaiming, “George – those Cray Arabs done crashed planes into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the White House!” – it was simply surreal. [1]

I remembered this favorite Bible verse of Pastor Louis Perez:

“Finally, my brethren, be Strong in the Lord and in the Power of His Might.
Put on the whole Armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.
For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
Stand therefore, having your loins gird about with Truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness.
And shod your feet with the preparation of the Gospel of Peace.
And above all, taking the shield of faith, wherein ye may be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.
And take the helmet of salvation, and the Sword of the Spirit which is the Word of God.”

(Ephesians 6:10-18)

I knew that whatever was going on this morning was an Attack on American and Christianity as well –
We had indeed been attacked by Satan himself and there would be more to come.

We continued to listen to the radio coverage and as the AA club members filtered in for the 10:30 AM meetings no one seemed terribly concerned though I had the awful feeling that our nation had just experienced an attack comparable to Pearl Harbor. The radio continued with what seemed to be desperate and confusing reports but the one truth that emerged by 9:30 AM or so was that AMERICA WAS UNDER ATTACK. The Radio coverage was unusual in that the various “reports” that were coming in at a rapid pace indicated that (For really the first time in history) the UNTHINKABLE had occurred and the USA was being attacked by some foreign (or domestic) power.

When the time for the meeting arrived, the radio was shut off so I left to walk the six blocks to the “house” and find some way to listen to the radio of television. I tried to keep the television on but the Alkies from Bill Family needed their attendance sheets signed and care more about that than America so had to leave.

I suppose that I was already in shock but my main concern was for the cats and their safety since I (as a lot of people that fateful morn) simply did NOT KNOW what was happening. I walked past a store that a radio playing and learned that one of the Twin Towers had collapsed and the chaos and hysteria were truly frightening. When I was in grammar school (1956-1964), we used to actually do drills to prepare for what we would do in the event of a NUCLEAR ATTACK by the USSR but this had been 35 years ago and I realized that WHATEVER was happening in New York was VERY REAL and could soon occur in Chicago as well.

Would the Windy City be next? What was the real extent of this attack and how much more was to come?

I walked back down to Armitage Avenue to stay with the cats, then over to church for a short prayer, and then to see my friend “Jerry” (an area grocer who was from Jordan and I had frequently discussed Middle Eastern politics with) and listened to the radio for an hour or so. Though we had argued over Palestine many times, he was at a loss and did not know what to say. I walked back up to Logan for the 3:00 PM Meeting and Though by now it was known that we had suffered a major attack , the folks at Logan didn’t seem too upset.so I bummed enough for carfare and got back to Lincoln Park about 4:30 PM.
The Lincoln Park Library was open and I was able to get a half-hour on the Internet so by this time we had at least an idea of the awful extent of the damage. When I learned that both towers had fallen, along with the news of the Pentagon and the grounding of all flights it was obvious that whatever was happening was TRULY DANGEROUS and VERY REAL. There seemed to be a lot more confusion and fear than reassuring information so we all just had to wait and see.

There was no doubt in my mind at all as to who was responsible for this as I recalled some of the more charitable passages from the Holy Koran:

Koran 8:12
Remember Thy Lord inspired the angels (with the message): "I am with you: give firmness to the believers, I will instill terror into the hearts of the unbelievers, Smite ye above their necks and smite all their finger tips of them." ?

Here Mohammed is giving step by step instruction on how to torture and kill Kafirs [2] if they don't follow Islam. (a truly loving religion)and on 09/11/2001 his followers certainly heeded his advice about instilling terror.

Koran 9:5
"Then, when the sacred months have passed, slay the idolators wherever ye find them, and take them (captive), and besiege them and prepare for them each ambush. But if they repent and establish worship and pay the poor-due, then leave their way free. Lo! Allah is Forgiving, Merciful."

In the above verse Prophet Mohammed is clearly instructing his followers to kill the idolators in any brutal way possible until the idolators submit themselves to Islam. Allah is indeed merciful !! (and incredibly cruel since he had slain over 3,000 American idolators)

Koran 9:73
Prophet, make war on the unbelievers and the hypocrites and deal rigorously with them. Hell shall be their Home: an evil fate.

Here Mohammed is trying to justify his brutal acts. He conveniently claims divine justification for the expression of his hatred by saying Allah himself revealed to him personally that people of other religions are evil and belong in Hell. Therefore, according to Mohammed any barbaric act against the unbelievers is completely justified and the fires of the WTC on this day certainly were reminiscent of Hell. (appealing to the barbaric nature inherent in his Bedouin followers) [3]

When I got back East there was a heavier than usual Police presence evident in Lincoln Park on 09/11/2001 and it seemed that a lot of area businesses were closing early as De Paul University also shut it’s gates. The streets began to empty at an early hour as I walked over to LPCS for the 8:00 PM Entry time. A few of us gathered on the benches of Children’s Memorial Hospital as was our nightly habit and compared notes about this frightening day – the information was spotty but everyone knew that something like we had never experienced before in our lives was under way.

As we entered the shelter for our nightly meal the our Big Screen TV was proclaiming the horrors of the day and I vividly recall the absolute horror of the huge ball of flame bursting out of the WTC and the incredible visions of folks jumping to their deaths to avoid the flames. The President appeared later and we all knew that we had been attacked and were AT WAR – but with whom? The television stayed on till ‘lights out’ at ten but there were still far more questions than answers so a sense of uneasiness remained.

I rarely dream, and can NEVER recall a ‘nightmare’ but that night I awoke in the middle of the night with the images of that ball of flame bursting out of the WTC in my mind and recall thinking, “My God – there were PEOPLE in those flames!” and started to cry myself back to sleep and an enduring rage and desire for vengeance grew in my soul as it did with so many Americans.
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We got up the next morning and I went to Mass at St. Clement’s as usual – but as I walked over to De Paul for “breakfast” at the “Window” I was LOOKING FOR ANY ARAB TO BEAT UP (ideally to kill) – I knew who was responsible and knew they would try even more – I had learned enough about the RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISTS by then to know what they had in mind. Fortunately, I did not find any Middle Easterners and went to the Library to get more information from the Internet, as was my habit by now. By this time the reality had sunk in and I was no longer confused – I JUST WANTED TO KILL WHOEVER was RESPONSIBLE – but whom?

By this time the enormity of what had transpired was starting to emerge and the name “bin Laden” was all over and “al-Qaeda” had been identified as the culprits. I found some of their web sites and began to learn even more about these insane murderers. A complex but evident picture began to emerge and my earlier suspicions about the hypocrisies of these “Holy Muslims” were confirmed as I read more and more of their twisted and hateful anti-American Rhetoric.

Fortunately, the next day was Wednesday and I went to Franciscan Outreach which had become my life line and spoke with a Franciscan named Brother Don about my desire for vengeance – I don’t know if it was speaking with him regarding the “Proper” Christian response, or the simple fact that I JUST COULD NOT FIND ANY ARABS TO KILL (which I would have, but they seemed to be hiding like they always do if they sense a fight) that made me forget this idea, but it left and I was able to move on to other things.

I had contact with a number of “Islamic” Charitable groups on the Internet a year or so earlier and consistently was TOSSED OUT Of one group after another for asking a few simple questions about “Islam” which were of interest to me as a homeless and poor man:
A,) How are the poor and uneducated treated in Muslim countries?
B.) Where are the food pantries and soup kitchens in these countries?
C.) How are DRUG ADDICTS and the MENTALLY ILL Treated under “Islam”?
D.) How are the HOMELESS treated by the “Islamic Charities”?

It seemed that whoever these “Muslim” folks were they COULD NOT ANSWER (or just did not want to answer) these simple questions - and the more I pressed for answers, the MORE I WAS THROWN OUT and a few even had begun to threaten me with violence. So I spoke with my friend “Jerry” from Jordan who is an Orthodox Catholic and former teacher – his answers (which turned out to be correct) were:
a.) The Poor STAY POOR all of their lives and the UNEDUCATED live and die that way under the Oligarchies of “Islamic Society” – (as they have for 1,300 years)
b.) There ARE NO FOOD PANTRIES and SOUP KITCHENS in Arab lands – they let the hungry starve (though the “Islamic Charities” claim to do this work)
c.) DRUG ADDICTS and the Mentally Ill are imprisoned or executed (these problems are dealt with in a very brutal and medieval fashion)
d.) The HOMELESS are left to fend for themselves and the “Charities” DO LITTLE OR NOTHING AT ALL TO HELP THEM (but they DO buy explosives and guns for the Terrorists)
e.) Education and schools are very poor in these ‘nations’ and the majority of the people remain totally illiterate even in the 21st century
f.) The Rulers and ISLAM want to keep it this way so they can continue to enjoy incredible wealth and lavish lives while the people live in abject poverty with no hope of escape


When I confronted the Muslims ON LINE with these facts they responded with “LIES, LIES, LIES!” and again threatened me so I decided that there were IDIOTS, CRAZY and DANGEROUS so let it go at that but 09/11/2001 brought it all back and the HORROR of the Twin Towers made me aware that WE ARE ALL SOLDIERS IN THIS WAR WITH THE ISLAMIST/TERRORIST DEMONS FROM HELL!

When I looked into “Muslims” Services for the HOMELESS in Chicago I FOUND NONE but was told that there was a “Muslim” Group that “Helped” homeless men and it seemed to be operated along the lines of Chicago Victory Church so it was easy to discern they were just another CULT PREYING ON THE HOMELESS AND POOR -

As more information became available, the widespread CRIMINALITY, DRUG ABUSE and HOMOSEXUALITY amongst Muslims in the Arab Street became obvious so the idea of these “Devout Islamists” being so HOLY and SANCTIFIED became SIMPLY FARCICAL – it was easy to ascertain that the “Terrorists” were nothing but a large group of DRUG DEALERS, HYPOCRITES and HOMICIDAL MANIACS!

After some more research I reached the conclusion that it would be JUST and WISE TO SIMPLY:
NUKE ‘EM AND MOVE ON!

We must also recall that many of these “Islamists”(Terrorists [4]) are NOT HUMAN (they have become DEVILS – Demons from Hell) and they are NOT SO INNOCENT EITHER so it is NOT JUST THE RIGHT THING TO KILL THEM ALL – IT IS OUR HOLY CHRISTIAN DUTY!

Today, more than five years later we have killed over 250,000 of the ISLAMISTS in Afghanistan and Iraq and the War continues – but we ARE currently developing mini-nukes SPECIFICALLY FOR THE ISLAMISTS – so (with God’s help and blessings) a MUSHROOM CLOUD SHALL COME TO THE ISLAMIST IN THE NEAR FUTURE AND BLAST THEM ALL BACK INTO HELL WHERE THEY CAME FROM! (This seems like a big deal to Americans, but life is very cheap in Asia and there folks are accustomed to thousand and even millions dying – they just have more babies and do not miss a beat so these huge losses of life make little difference at all to the Asians)

I continued to job search on line at the Library though things indeed were looking somewhat bleak in the Web Development arena. Within a week and other familiar routine began to emerge as:
5:45 AM – Light on
6:00 – 6:45 AM – Breakfast
7:00 – 7:25 AM – Mass at St. Clements
8:30 AM – Breakfast at the “Window” at St. Vincent De Paul
9:00 AM – Lincoln Park Library (or Logan Five if I had the bus fare)
3:00 PM – AA Meeting at Logan Five (Or LPAC)
5:00 PM – head back to Lincoln Park
6:00 – 7:30 PM – walk in Lincoln Park or along the Lake
8:00 PM – Gate Opens and Dinner
10:00 PM – Lights Out and bed (or should I say matte?)
As I try writing this it is difficult to imagine WHERE all of that time went to, but when you are busy with SIMPLE SURVIVAL (which is what you are reduced to when you are homeless and jobless) it’s easy to wind up spending all day in quite trivial pursuits.
After two weeks in LPCS we were REQUIRED to fill out Applications for a number of Northside SRO’s – with a few corporations that had been founded a decade earlier to END the problem of Homelessness in Chicago. These consortiums provide SUBSIDIZED HOUSING for the Homeless with the object of getting them OUT of the vicious cycle of Homelessness, Poverty and Shelters permanently and giving us a CHANCE to re-enter society as ‘normal’ and employed citizens. I went with four other guys from the shelter and filled out and application and went through the two required interviews. Two weeks later all of us were told that we had ‘been approved’ but the “Waiting List” was almost two years long so thought no more of it but knew there was at least a chance at ‘stable’ housing in the future. A few weeks later we were informed that ALL APPLICATIONS FOR THESE SRO’s had been closed so it seemed like this was going to be a VERY LONG WAIT. I vaguely recalled reading a piece in the Chicago Sun Times (which I used to have delivered daily) on these “SRO Hotels” and their contribution to providing a REAL SOLUTION for the homeless but could only recall the details from a fog of worry regarding impending financial disaster.[5]
One of our residents elected not to keep his appointment for this interview and was rewarded by being tossed out of LPCS – a seemingly harsh step, but I would come to readily approve once I learned enough of the ‘system’ employed.
Within a few weeks our Case Manager had changed my designation to “Track Two” (the mental health track) which I frankly found somewhat amusing (since I’ve been crazy all of my life – musicians are SUPPOSED to be CRAZY) but though it might be fun to speak with a psychiatrist so went to the designated ‘clinic’ for a mental health evaluation. Much to my disappointment, after only three ‘sessions’ I was declared “Perfectly Sane” (from a mental health standpoint that is). I protested, “There MUST be SOME MISTAKE – everyone says I’m crazy – and I KNOW IT!” but to no avail. I was DOOMED to a life of COMPLETE MENTAL “normalcy” and would just have to suffer with my affliction.
Seriously I was quite relieved though for after I had gone through:
· The two years of abject poverty
· The Two years in the house with no heat and lights
· The Resurrection of a year and half with some hope
· The Demise of that dream
· The Loss of my home and all of my worldly possessions
· The Two Years of Shelters and “Recovery Homes”

I was concerned that my mental health could be seriously affected – I had seen men “on the trail” (in the shelters and on the streets) who were seriously mentally ill and no one seems to be very concerned. In the homeless community mental disease is quite common and accepted as ‘normal’. Sadly, there often are often few resources available to help these folks or (if there are) they are NOT AWARE of them (and the folks around them are not either) so their conditions go untreated and only worsen with time. Additionally, the State of Illinois did not seem to be terribly concerned with these folks and it was indeed alarming to see men (and women) who OBVIOUSLY OUGHT TO BE IN A MENTAL WARD walking the streets all day, babbling to themselves or engaging in other strange behavior and being shunned and avoided by all they met. I soon discovered that there are PLENTY OF RESOURCES for MENTAL HEALTH CARE in Chicago but the men I saw DID NOT WANT to take advantage of them and nothing was being done about it at all. I had a prescient idea of approaching insanity so when I was deemed ‘perfectly normal” it was a welcome sign and I THANKED GOD that he had ONCE MORE brought me through the ‘valley of death’ unscathed and still relatively sane.
One of the awful things about homelessness is coming to terms with the attitude that a good deal of society has adopted towards you – which is (in reality) that:
· You are a bum and are to be pitied
· You are (somehow) responsible for your condition of homelessness
· You are a drunk (Or dope addict)
· You are (at least a petty) Criminal (and associate with same)
· You are not trustworthy and must be ‘watched’ at all times
· You are somehow LESS than “Normal” citizens and somewhat SUBHUMAN
Consequently the way people think of the homeless often dictates their common reactions toward us:
· They do not understand the Homeless
· They may pity you, but some will despise you as well
· They do not pity a drunk or a dope fiend
· They fear the criminal element that this life often entails
· They again fear the fact that they cannot (or feel they cannot) trust you
· They cannot understand how folks can survive out of doors (on the street) and their fear which leads to a quite normal to avoid these strange creatures
· They MAY or MAY NOT SIMPLY think of you as a ROACH or RAT in the GARBAGE
Everyone I know who has worked either professionally or as a volunteer with the homeless realizes how insidious these attitudes are yet they persist since the only real antidote is actual experience with the homeless diaspora and most folks never have this opportunity, don’t see why they should or are so steeped in their pre-conceived notions that they shall never change their outlook.
Homeless folks UNDERSTAND These emotions and WILL REACT in various ways (since they become “Pros” at dealing with these reactions to their condition in short order after a few weeks of shelters, soup kitchens and food pantries) simply in order to survive though some will also learn how to “Play” The system in order to obtain the maximum benefit for their own needs. Having spent most of my life in West Humboldt Park I consciously developed the “Fear” reaction in people as a survival mechanism and it worked quite well but would later discover it to be a handicap when dealing with “Normal” society (people were “Afraid” of me though I was not really trying to elicit a reaction of fear – I had just been accustomed to certain behaviors sub-consciously)
After a month at LPCS I discovered that (in their eight years of operation) that Barbara and her “staff” had evolved a unique system wherein:
· You were considered a homeless(poor) person worthy of ALL OF COURTESY and RESPECT that is considered normal
· You are responsible for your RECOVERY from homelessness and they WERE REALLY SERIOUS ABOUT Helping you to do this
· You are an Alcoholic or Drug Addict who will get proper treatment and a chance at FULL RECOVERY from your substance abuse problem
· You are CITIZEN JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE
· You are trustworthy and must DEMONSTRATE it with RESPONSIBLE CONDUCT
· You are A PERFECTLY “Normal” citizen (and a Lincoln Park Yuppie to boot!)

Thanks in large part to LPCS my badly damaged self-respect began to return to near normal levels; I had never really lost it, and always made certain to keep my books with me (and spend time on line daily if possible) to remind me of my educational background and my inherent potential. The “volunteers” who helped to run the shelter also donated clothing on a regular basis and I was able to once again claim some nice suits as had been my custom years before and all of these things contributed to that “Positive Mental Attitude” that W. Clement Stone spoke so well of and is essential to real success.
The entire atmosphere was one of progress, positive ideas and modern concepts and my self-confidence was also being “born again”. Having lived a decade or more in the Ghetto of West Humboldt Park (though I did not realize that it had indeed become one) had taken a severe toll on my attitudes. Barrio folks (and ghetto residents) for the most part SIMPLY DO NOT ASPIRE TO THE HIGHER THINGS and this self-deprecating attitude is insidious indeed. The underlying feeling that residents of poorer areas are trapped and doomed to live their entire lives there with no hope of escape had subconsciously entered my thinking and it was not beginning to leave as I found myself surrounded by life once again and a new hope and positive thinking.
Poverty and the lack of opportunity that it brings (due to lack of education, training and inertia) is bad enough as an impediment to real progress but I came to understand that the NIGHTMARE known as Homelessness can totally DESTROY any expectation of a better life and lead to serious mental disorders as well. I didn’t know if the men and women that I had seen around me at shelters, soup kitchens and food pantries were MENTALLY ILL because of their poverty and homelessness, or if they became poor and homeless due to mental disease but I KNEW that some of these folks were NOT PLAYING WITH A FULL DECK AT ALL. Some of the folks that I stayed with (but most often saw ‘on the street’ – which meant that they were sleeping outside and wherever they could) were REALLY OUT OF IT and appeared to be escapees from the FUNNY FARM.
This sad situation was in fact a change that had taken place in Illinois (and also in ‘therapy circles’) in the 1970’s which stipulated that as long as individuals afflicted with disorders such as MANIC DEPRESSION, PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENIA and others could be ‘controlled’ with anti-depressant medications it was a lot cheaper to allow them ‘out’ than to keep them confined in an institution and was by the late 1990’s responsible for the many instances of serious mental disorders that are evident amongst the homeless. Unfortunately many of the folks ‘on the street’ were NOT ALWAYS as prudent as they ought to be with their medications they were often nearly out of control and could often, in fact, be quite dangerous. Fortunately, most of them were more funny than dangerous but disturbing at best. We had ‘crazy’ folks in Lincoln Park as well but they were rare – any conduct that was obviously dangerous (or frightening) was promptly attended to by the Chicago Police but in the barrio of Humboldt Park they just were not too concerned and neither were the residents.
Many of these men were sleeping outdoors in the dead of winter and also relied on the church bathroom at St. Vincent’s to wash up, shave and maintain at least a minimal level of hygiene using the “hygiene kits” that were commonly distributed at St. Vincent’s and St. Paul’s as well as other outlets.
As the days got colder the church was really the only option for many of us since the library and businesses would not be open until 9:00 AM and the Police were always ‘on the lookout’ for vagrants in Lincoln Park. This was fine with me since it provided for an hour of early Morning Prayer, a rosary and meditation – though meditating through the snoring was difficult at times.
Most Shelters require their residents to be “Out the door” at a very early hour – LPCS at 6:30 AM, Franciscan House at 6:30 AM, Mozart the same and this can be a real problem for the men and women who are jobless and penniless in the brutal days of winter. Where to GO to simply stay warm for that crucial time until 8:30 AM or so (where most places and organizations would be open) can present a real problem and on exceptionally windy and arctic days can be dangerous to your health. Churches (by virtue of their mission with the poor) SHOULD provide a sanctuary in these hours but the sad fact in MOST PARTS of Chicago is that the CHURCH DOORS are locked. Having been LOCKED OUT of my home parish and forced out into the cold on a few occasions I was particularly aware of this so was overjoyed to see St. Vincent’s adopt a TRUE CHRISTIAN attitude towards this awful problem.
I would be remiss if I did not mention Brother Leo and his work as a helper for the homeless who I had been told of by my friend Jimmy from AA.


As Christmas approached I knew that things were looking up and in only three months that remarkable progress had been made and HOPE for a way out of homelessness was still alive. I was also spending a lot of time at AA and ran weekly meetings at LPAC (Lincoln Park Alano Club) and the tenets of the Program were important in remembering that things would indeed work out since, “God don’t make no Junk!” – as we say in the Program. I knew that the Lord had saved me from death and saw the door of life before me at I remembered Matthews 7: 7"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. 8 For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened. I was ready do some serious door knocking.
Attitude is great but a JOB is a lot better – and JOBS seemed to have gone south in my area of expertise – Computer Programming and Web Development in the Fall of 2000 so things were looking quite dismal on the employment front.
A dear friend of mine, Howard, had been a Teacher for the Chicago Public Schools since we graduated together in 1976. He had been a Music Education major, while I was a Music Composition Major and as such got into the schools right after graduation, though only as a “Provisional” Substitute Teacher. He had suggested “Subbing” as a part time career to me back in 1995 but I did not take the advice. I certainly was ready to take it now.
I broached the idea with our Social Worker, Shea and she was supportive and promised to help. I would have to figure how to get $50.00 (For the State Certificate), $20.00 (for my college transcripts) and then wait for the required Criminal Background Check. When I mentioned my prior classroom experience as a Lecturer for Chicago City Colleges, and a Music Teacher of Grade School for the Archdiocese of Chicago she was very supportive and got me the money orders for my college transcripts. My dear Friend Howard lent me the $50.00 and since these were the major hurdles I put things into motion. I had my certificate by Jan of 2001 and my Background check was complete by Jan 20, 2001.
In the interim, I continued to attend daily Mass and spent a lot of time at the library learning about Substitute Teaching via the Internet and by Jan 15, 2001 was ready to go into the next phase of Teaching for the:
CHICAGO PUBLIC SCHOOLS and CPS Substitute Services.

[1] At 09:00 AM CST reports were coming in regarding Terrorist attacks on the State Department as well
[2] Infidels
[3] These Koranic verses have been taken from works of Abdullah Yusuf Ali and N.J. Dawood

[4] When I refer to “Islamists” I am eluding to: Khomeini, Taymiyya, Wahhab, Muhammed Iqbal, Abu al-Mawdudi, al-Ala, Abu al-Hasan, Sayyid Qutb, Malik Bennabi, bin Laden - to name a few)

[5] At this time, there was a lot of press being given to The Homeless on lower Lake Shore Drive and I vividly recall how foreign and strange that existence seemed as I comfortably sipped my coffee and puffed on my morning cigar – little did I realize that I would join them soon.

Chapter X

Chapter X: CPS Substitute Services

Though everything now seemed set to go, it eventually took a few weeks longer to receive all of the required documents and it was not until late Feb of 2001 that I was able to try out my new “Substitute Teacher” skills. When you’ve existed in shelters and through the good graces of others for so long, however, you get used to waiting for things. I’ve often pondered that homeless folks ought to be awarded a medal for patience since there is such an incredible amount of waiting (most often in one line or another) involved on a daily basis so actions proceeded a ‘day at a time’, as we say in “the Program” (AA) I knew that we had been told to “Wait on the Lord, and be of good Faith” – I sure tried.

Once we had been approved (Via a notice in the Mail) a trip ‘downtown’ (to the offices of CPS) was required for final instructions. I was somewhat surprised when I was handed three photocopies of instructions and wished “good luck”. The entire experience was rather anti-climatic but when you are new at any job the best path is to simply follow instructions and hope for the best. When I carefully read the three pages of preparatory material I was little better equipped than I had been the last week and trusted that this was indeed the correct procedure. Perhaps I had expected a bit more in the way or ‘teacher preparation’ but I must confess that the “sink or swim” attitude was disheartening. [1] At this juncture, however, I was determined not to sink so continued to pray and proceeded with Trust in God as my buckler and shield.
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The Internet proved an invaluable aid in my search for preparatory materials. When the idea of ‘subbing’ first appeared a real possibility, I began to visit the numerous web sites that were dedicated to this subject and had printed out a few hundred pages of introductory material, tips and lesson plans so already had a good idea of what to expect and how to deal with the challenges that the urban substitute teacher might face. I had been the SYSOP (System Operator) of a Computer Bulletin Board for 13 years (Publisher Information Service 1984-1997) so I knew that contacting other “subs” would be an invaluable aid but when I searched for such an on line community none were to be found so the printed material was my best preparation and at least I had SOMETHI