ValleyofDeath

Roosevelt Certificate and Hack Attacks

2011-10-22T00:46:00.000-04:00

As you can see, there has been an odd series of Spamming Attacks corresponding to the Posting of my ABA Approved Paralegal Certificate From Roosevelt University. Gee, I wonder who, or at whose direction these could be?

Ricardo Prieto, 5' 1" Tattooed Monkey, Punk ass Pussy, Drug Dealer and Pimp

Loreli Hotel, 1039 W Lawrence, #316, #206, Chi, IL 60640

Prieto's Confeseed Low Life Crack Addict -

Loreli Hotel, #206

The "Best Little Whorehouse" on Lawrence

Perhaps, as November 17 gets closer more details shall be revealed.

Roosevelt Paralegal Certification

2011-10-22T00:45:00.000-04:00

Elder Abuse, Abuse of Process and YOU PAY FOR IT!!

2011-09-12T19:47:00.001-04:00

And as long as YOU let them, they will continue - SO STOP THESE DIRTY BASTARDS NOW!!!

Loreli Hotel

1039 W Lawrence, Chi, IL 60640

The BEST LITTLE WHOREHOUSE on Lawrence

Elder Abuse, Abuse of Process, Crack addiction, Hoes and Gangs while YOU PAY FOR IT!

http://paralegalprofs.blogspot.com/2011/06/law-and-cook-county-jail_26.html

http://paralegalprofs.blogspot.com/2011/07/after-cook-county-jail-and-law.html

5'1", Bald, Tattooed Monkey Ricardo Prieto

Drug Dealer and Pimp and his Hoes

1039 W Lawrence, #316, #206

Chicago, IL 60640

"I Met one of them (Drug dealer and pimp), (5'1" tattooed and bald. cowardly punk-ass piece of crap), Ricardo Prieto and had sex with him (for 11 weeks) to get my (crack and great orgasms) drugs". Testimony of Complaining Witness #1, Cook County Domestic Court Case #10-247110, Feb 28, 2011, 555 W Harrison, 09:00 AM, Room 304, Chicago, IL.

Whilw this now 60-year-old Paralegal was LOCKED Up in Cook County Jail for 81 days, awaiting Trail on a charge of "Harassment via Electronic Means", there were TWO Shootings in front of the Loreli Hotel, 1039 W Lawrence, Chi, IL 60604.

And the DRUG DEALER/PIMP and HIS HOES?

They GOT AWAY WITH IT ALL!!!

YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK!!

Elder Abuse, Abuse of Process and YOU PAY FOR IT!!

Google+

2011-08-17T16:25:00.000-04:00

Google+: "George Weinert - 15:23 - Public
Axel Kratel originally shared this post:
Re-share this post if you believe Google plus is a great tool for building an awesome Online Community

None of he other social networks have ever been as powerful at helping to build community with new people. Facebook is cool, but it's only people I know from real life, because Facebook never gave me the tools to connect with complete strangers. Twitter is good, but too impersonal, it feels like the MS DOS of Social networking, the black and white version.

Over the last few weeks, I've come into contact with many incredible people, and it's not just impersonal. Google Hangouts are THE game changers. I am meeting with people via video, and it changes everything. It's really about connecting.

And then, there are all the Google Community managers who are working hard to make Google Plus a safe place. Yes, it's still in beta, so we don't know how ill motivated people might exploit it, but I feel pretty good with the Google brainpower keeping an eye on things. Just this Morning, +Natalie Villalobos posted this: https://plus.google.com/109895887909967698705/posts/hmhMmfbdHog, which gives me great hopes that Google is on the right track to build an awesome community. Others who shared video hangouts with Natalie can be witnesses to how awesome the Community team at Google really is."

Religious Liberty

2010-08-16T12:33:00.000-04:00

Ground Zero, Muslims and Religious Liberty

http://americanjihad.blogspot.com/2010/08/ground-zero-muslims-and-religious.html

Older Americans Pay for Illinois Mistakes

2010-08-12T01:14:00.000-04:00

Illinois Circuit Breaker checks are HALF this year thanks to Governor Quinn and the Dummycrats!

Berit Kjos -- Unalienable Rights? From God?

2010-07-31T23:01:00.000-04:00

Berit Kjos -- Unalienable Rights? From God?: "UNALIENABLE RIGHTS? FROM GOD?

�

By Berit Kjos
July 31, 2010
NewsWithViews.com
'...when in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another [England] and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation."

Your Tax Dollars At Work

2010-02-25T16:57:00.001-05:00

http://paralegalprofs.blogspot.com/2010/02/chicago-eviction-and-pro-bono.html

Hi All

2009-07-23T17:25:00.001-04:00

The Good sisters of Mercy threw me out into the steet - as they wanted to for four yers now.

I Lost the SRO Apartment at Mercy Housing, but left on the second day afater sep 30, 2009. I have been in the hospital ever since. I Becaome suicidal and decided to do somethint about that first. I am now in Reed Mental Health Center and they are helping with my menal problems as well as housing - via Public Aid and SSI - just wanted to let you know.

The cats are gone, I dont kknow what happened to them - but I am alive and well and recoverining. Thanks again for everything, and pleae pray fof me. --

I am trying to ensure that my $500.00 in law books and clothes will be safe, but Mercy Housing has not yet returned my calls.

I have nowehre to go but we are working on housing issues here at Reed. Merciful, eh?

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

My Best Girl

2009-03-06T11:07:00.005-05:00

My Best Girl

There are so many things to write about each day it is truly difficult to stay current. Between the racist bastards and whores 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 thing 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 VERY 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!

Prayer for the Children

2009-02-10T15:20:00.000-05:00

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.

Introduction and Index

2007-04-20T15:22:00.000-04:00

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)

Chapter I

2007-04-20T15:21:00.003-04:00

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

2007-04-20T15:21:00.001-04:00

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

2007-04-20T15:20:00.001-04:00

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

2007-04-20T15:19:00.000-04:00

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

2007-04-20T15:18:00.002-04:00

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

2007-04-20T15:18:00.001-04:00

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.
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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

2007-04-20T15:17:00.001-04:00

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

2007-04-20T15:16:00.000-04:00

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

2007-04-20T15:15:00.000-04:00

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.
.
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

2007-04-20T15:14:00.002-04:00

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.
.
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 SOMETHING of substance to refer to for guidance.

We had been told to ‘call in’ (the technical term is ‘report availability’) the night before the day when we were ‘available’ (and after five years of unemployment I was VERY AVAILABLE) so this is exactly what I did. We were told to expect a ‘call’ which would inform us of our ‘assignment’ (The school that needed a teacher) anywhere between 6:00 and 9:00 AM. Since I had no telephone (and only a voice mail message box) this presented a minor obstacle so I opted to use the number of the shelter since no one would be calling at such an early hour of the morning.

Most Americans take a telephone number and a telephone for granted but for the homeless and indigent this simple part of life presents considerable obstacles. When folks do not have a telephone number they find that searching for a job, responding to inquiries, getting in touch with people and a lot more are exceedingly difficult, and actually at times literally impossible. The lack of a telephone, along with a permanent address is one of the factors that leads to the phenomena of the “homeless Diaspora” – the poor with no home and no roots that perpetually wandering but go unnoticed. You’re a nobody – no phone, no address and no home! Yes, it’s depressing but that’s the way it is.

Relying on the shelter telephone was a real long shot, since we were supposed to exit the shelter by 6:30 AM. If we had volunteered to do certain ‘chores’ (such as taking out the garbage, cleaning the tables, etc) we would be in the shelter building until 6:45 AM so I began to be a daily doer of shelter chores to enhance my chances of ‘getting a call’ from CPS Sub Services. This did not work at first so I decided to call Sub Services first (as I had been advised by a dear friend who had been a ‘sub’ for ten years) and was soon rewarded with my first real ‘assignment’.

I was told to report to an elementary school that was right in back of the Cabrinni Greene Housing Project. We were required to select an area of the city to work in and I had chosen “Northeast” so was not surprised but understandably frightened about hiking around in this Projects. After all that had contributed to this triumphal moment I was far more excited about returning to the classroom (since I had taught for Chicago City Colleges and the Catholic Schools in the eighties) then I was in fear of the street. It was located just south of Chicago’s North Avenue and slightly west of the “Old Town” district and I was stunned at how the area had changed for the better. I had attended St. Michael’s High School for a few months in the late sixties and recall this area as barbecue stands, taverns and derelicts so was pleasantly surprised at the neat new condos lining the streets so I confidently entered the school office.

I was about as unsure as a man can get but attempted to put on an aura of confidence. When I asked a few questions my professional virginity was betrayed and the school secretary asked me to have a seat and wait and I obediently followed her instructions, not knowing what to expect. After twenty minutes during which I prayed a Holy Rosary and asked Mother for Guidance it became somewhat obvious that this school was planning to begin the day minus my services.

After a year or so “On the Trail”, the Homeless develop a sixth sense regarding the reactions we see in people. After six months or so of this dreadful experience you just ‘know’ what type of attitude folks are taking towards you – by their speech, their reactions and their body language. After you’ve been initiated in the culture of food pantries, soup kitchens, shelters and social workers you can quickly identify the type of person you are dealing with, and understand the attitude they are adopting towards you. The savvy homeless can in fact manipulate this knowledge to obtain what they need and this often leads to conflict but the understanding also generates a healthy paranoia regarding folks who obviously are not accustomed to the trials of the abjectly poor and homeless. As I sat on the office bench my paranoia was working overtime on this first morning of my new professional life as a substitute teacher. The stares of the teachers and school children that paraded in and out further fed my feeling of impending doom but I was totally at the mercy of mysterious forces beyond my control so I waited and silently prayed.

The Bell rang rudely and classes abruptly began without me but I was assured that the principal would soon be available so I waited and prayed. After another ten minutes, my patience was rewarded with the arrival of the principal, a silver-headed and eloquent women near 60 who asked me to come into her office for a brief chat. Since this was my first day, and since I had confessed my newness I was expecting some sort of introduction, pep talk, or special instructions so was quite stunned when this competent administrator informed (in as diplomatic was as she possibly could) that I was exuding an offensive odor (to her at least) and could not be of any use today.

In retrospect, this was quite funny but at the moment it was truly devastating. Having lived in shelters, and spent considerable time daily with my cats I was well aware of any ‘hygiene’ issues since we were all required to shower nightly and were generously supplied with deodorant, tooth paste and the like. This morning I had in fact splashed on some extra “Old Spice” since I was afraid that the odors of other men, or the cats could be detected. Unfortunately, some folks have some rather strange ideas as to what “smells” and what does not, and since I had experience this sort of prejudice before

I thought I had fully prepared since I had also showered the night before and prepared my nicest new suit. When it became obvious that proper attire would be required for the classroom, I began collecting suits, vests, dress pants and shirts thanks to the many wonderful folks who donated them to LPCS where these items were always available to add to the meager wardrobes of our residents. On this particular day I had the misfortune of wearing a heavy coat that probably smelled a bit of my cats and also of being judged by someone with a rather sensitive set of nostrils so I was defeated from the start. After all the effort and preparation, I was deemed ‘smelly’ and was certainly not welcome at this school
As you, the reader, chuckles (and I really don’t blame you – it was rather funny) try to put yourself in the position of having been told you smell and are not fit to work with others. How would you feel? How would you react, particularly if you knew it was a lie? Would you object? Would you ignore it? Would you tell your accuser to get lost? Or would you tell your adversary that they do not “smell” too good either? (or tell them what YOU think they smell LIKE?)

I was really tempted to opt for the last defense but knew that a display of temper or ill will would be foolhardy. I also was not aware that I did indeed have certain rights (I should have been paid for this day anyway) so I thanked the principal, assured her I would thoroughly bathe (though I had decided to never enter this school again) and left in total humiliation and defeat After six months of effort, my first day as a “Sub” turned out to be a total disaster.

Of the numerous obstacles that the homeless face the danger of admitting defeat and abandoning effort is ever present but is too often neglected by the many ‘care givers’ that deal with our community. The hurdles that the homeless deal with are formidable enough and the misconceptions, pity, fear and even loathing that they face in dealing with people can lead to an awful feeling of weariness and a rapid slide into the hopeless condition that sociologists term the “Chronic” homeless. In three years I had witnessed this awful malady and it always frightened me and strengthened my determination to escape from this morass of desperation in any way that I could. My Rosary, daily Mass and Faith in God were invaluable aids during these times and I found it so sad that so few of the men and women I had seen could discover these eternal truths and grab hold of the Rock of Salvation. The Catholic Education and Faith that my parents had given to me proved invaluable during these times and I always knew that God was with me and no one could stand against me (to paraphrase St. Paul).

In times like this I have also been blessed to have the love and comfort of my kitties and the familiarity of my friends so I headed back out to the “hood” at North and Pulaski to visit with them and seek whatever solace I could with my furry family. When I got to the “House” (which was the alley where I could locate the kitties) I called them as was my habit, they came running and we all sat down on an empty box for an early lunch. The cats had been busy doing what they do best (making other cats) so we had a few new kitties to add to the fray. One was a little alley-cat gray doll with white boots and tiger striped legs whom I had named “Felicia” – I’d always wanted to have a “Felix” but kept getting girls so this was close enough. She seemed oddly interested in sniffing at my legs on this day, so my gloomy mood rapidly dissolved into a curious humor: whatever the ‘principal’ had thought of my offensive odor, this little kitten seemed to think that I SMELLED JUST GREAT so gales of laughter soon replaced the depression that was hanging heavy this day. Nina soon heard us and trotted out back to give me a good sniff as well and join us so we all gathered around for a hearty laugh and a welcome time together. I passed the remainder of this disappointing day with the kitties and at the library where I continued to avail myself of all the information I could regarding Substitute Teaching in anticipation of another (and hopefully less smelly) day in the future.

I went to Mass at St. Philomena at 4:30 PM and visited with my ‘barrio’ buddies to bum some change and catch up on neighborhood gossip and then headed back down to my new digs in Lincoln Park. After all the preparation and homework I had done, as well as the help I had already gotten I resolved to re-double my efforts and try again.

The remainder of the week was spent in the usual routine [2] of the Lincoln Park/Near North Homeless and provided additional time for reading and study since my confidence had been badly shaken and had to be rebuilt for another try on Monday of the following week. I also had the chance to talk to my good friend Howard, who had been a ‘sub’ for a decade and he assured me that I had just experienced a ‘bad day’ and urged me to try again (while cautioning there would be far worse days to come) so since hope indeed springs eternal in the human breast I attended Sunday Mass and prepared for yet another foray into the world of Substitute Teaching.

Monday came and went, with no calls from Sub Services and no work. Tuesday morning was also a non-starter so I elected to call Sub Services after Mass at St. Clement’s and see if I could finally secure another ‘assignment’ and try once more. Fortunately, there was a public phone at Macdonald’s that was available and this third effort was indeed the charm; I was told to report to a grammar school on Chicago’s West Side only a few blocks away from Franciscan House on Harrison. A few months earlier, I was standing in line just to get a bed for the night – God indeed is Good!.

The Staff at LPCS had been very supportive and also had provided me with bus passes to get to work and back so after a short trip and two block walk I entered into the halls of elementary education in the Chicago Public Schools once more, albeit with a rather tepid level of confidence. I had bathed twice the night before, and was so showered in Right Guard and Old Spice that it seemed like I was going to a nightclub instead of the office so I knew that the “Odor” issue would not be a problem. This may sound funny to you, the reader, but the homeless can develop a terrible sense of being outcasts due to these feelings of inadequacy and we often will over compensate for it. The school was only two blocks from the bus stop and I even managed to be a bit early so things were looking up as I entered the school office.

After I demonstrated my admittedly shaky teacher skills by signing the duty roster and ‘swiping in’ (passing the Teacher ID Card through a reader on the wall that recorded our time at the school for payroll purposes) the secretary directed me to the Teachers Lounge for a quick cup of coffee. Much to my surprise I found no teachers there but consumed some hot but very bitter coffee for additional stamina. After five minutes I boldly went where I had never gone before and found the assigned classroom. Fortunately the students were still outside so I had a few moments to get my bearings and locate any needed materials.
I had my ‘sub pack’ (the parts of this package that I was able to assemble to date) and laid it out on the desk as the students entered the room. Since the class I was assigned to was second grade I assumed that a room filled with 7-year-old children would be easy to manage but within the first twenty minutes of ‘class’ this nascent naivete was easily shattered. As my new charges entered the room it became obvious that the students in this class were simply not listening to my pleas for order and seemed to be paying as little attention to me as possible. I considered that this initial disorder could be normal but as more time progressed, and we ‘settled down to work’ this was not to be the case. My initial attempts to establish order were for naught but after an hour of futile directions, a few of this class seemed to tire of the chaos and elected to pay at least minimal attention to the worksheets I had given them to complete but the vast majority of the class was not impressed with my authority and seemed quite content to ignore my words and do as they wished. I continued to attempt to ‘teach’ with no one paying too much attention till the lunch bell gratefully rang and a break was due in this academic insanity.
The Teachers Lunchroom seemed friendly enough, but since I had neglected to ‘brown bag’ and had no money I found a cup of coffee and observed the pandemonium outside as the students enjoyed their free time. I was also a ‘newbie’ and extremely self-conscious of it so remained aloof and feigned calm and confidence and hoped for a better afternoon. This gave me the chance to pray yet another Holy Rosary.

Since I was a product of Catholic Schools and what most people today would describe as ‘strict’ discipline the level of student control that was present in this school was a real shock. The good school sisters of St. Francis who had operated the grammar school I attended and the Vincentian Brothers who had operated our high school were rigid advocates of order and discipline; children walked in a straight line, demonstrated proper respect and courtesy, never dared to ‘talk back’ and presented a picture of perfection. Additionally, the classrooms I recall in our schools were as silent as our churches unless children were given permission to speak and a similar level of control was exercised regarding student movements and decorum. Oddly enough, I had never actually been in a public grammar school during class hours and sensed that whatever ‘system’ this school was using was indeed a far cry from my own experiences and the resultant level of chaos was shocking. It seemed that the remainder of this school was functioning in a similar fashion so the day was obviously not a total disaster but my conceptions of any pedagogical authority I could exercise had been effectively shattered on this truly memorable morning.
In the four months that I had spent teaching elementary Music in a Catholic Grammar School in 1985 the children had been little angels who were always respectful and obedient. This new ‘public school’ madness was indeed a shock. The more I saw of the teachers it seemed that too many regarded their work with a casual lassitude that was stunning.

After lunch I returned to the classroom to prepare for the remaining two hours and the children returned from their lunch period exhibiting the same disregard for my ‘authority’ as they had in the morning so I resolved to ‘tough it out’ and learn from the experience. After a few minutes I was baptized into the “I gotta go to the bathroom” trick and since I was trying to please and be a ‘considerate’ teacher, I granted the young girl permission to go to the restroom only to discover that two other children had to “go to the bathroom” as well – a request to which I innocently acquiesced. After two more students decided that they must visit the facilities as well, the pattern became obvious and I simply advised them to wait for the others to return. This was the first ‘trick’ I learned that students use with ‘subs’ to subvert authority and turn classrooms into playgrounds and there would be many more in the coming months. After the third student returned, a neighboring teacher entered and advised me of the charade so the students and their anxious bladders would just have to wait until the bell for the relief of their discomfort. Somewhat to my surprise, but satisfaction as well, the class decided to do some of the work I had passed out that morning but continued to disregard my instructions regarding unauthorized talking (which many teachers simply apologize for by describing their misbehaved students as “Chatty”) so it was obvious that the battle for authority had been lost this day. Nothing could have changed this fact and since no one (including the neighboring teachers) seemed terribly concerned with the chaos it was a simple matter of waiting out the clock and the end of the day.

The lack of order in this school had been a tremendous shock and the pandemonium I had observed was truly incredible. The assertion that this madhouse was a ‘school’ seemed ludicrous, but since my job appeared to be somewhat of a cross between a baby sitter, police officer and prison warden and we “subs” had nothing to say regarding policy it seemed advisable to simply ‘go with the flow’ and hope for a relatively quiet day with at least an absence of violence and danger. I had heard that Classrooms in Chicago could be quite dangerous and after this brief introduction to the ghetto School it was easy enough to see why. After only a day in this incredible environment it was easy to understand how test scores and student performance could be so perpetually dismal and show no improvement despite years of ‘reform’.
The bell gratefully rang at 2:25 PM and the students left for the day. I tidied up the classroom and headed for the office to sign out for the day. After my initial false start I had completed my first full day as a ‘sub” and the RESURRECTION HAD BEGUN.

The following year would lead to The Resurrection.

[1] Though CPS does indeed offer a six hour Substitute Teacher Training Session, we were not told of this at all and the information was only available via the CPS Web Site at http://cps.k12.il.us

[2] The Homeless refer to this round of soup kitchens, food pantries, social services as being “on the trail” since you often spend a good portion of your day walking from one “spot” to the next simply to supply your essential needs.

Chapter XI

2007-04-20T15:14:00.001-04:00

Chapter XI: The Resurrection

Once I had put in an entire day and completed the tasks of “subbing” successfully it was delightfully obvious that my long awaited salvation had indeed begun so efforts to succeed were redoubled with an ardent zeal to finally rise out of the vicious cycle of poverty and homelessness. For the first time in nearly five years this cherished dream seemed to be finally within grasp so my prayers had been seemingly rewarded. Subsequently my confidence began to return and my self-esteem was definitely on the rise.

Since “Sub Services” was obviously operating on an ‘as needed’ basis and I was a new employee as well I was advised by associates that expressing as much daily interest as possible in selection for an ‘assignment’ was advisable so I would ‘report availability’ a few times daily. This effort was initially rewarded with some “early” Calls for work which were received at the shelter but since they were rare I continued with my daily Mass at 7:00 AM, which allowed for a direct call to “Sub Services” afterwards near 7:20 AM or so. In this dicey game, my efforts were indeed often rewarded and I began to learn the ins and outs of this new job.

The Lincoln Park area where I was staying contained five public elementary schools which could be easily reached via a ten minute walk but my assignments were always on Chicago’s West Side which normally required an hour long trip via the CTA’s “Red Line El” and a transfer via Madison or Lake Street. It was apparent that the teachers in these areas (and I would discover later that there were not really enough) were not overjoyed at going to work so the majority of the ‘openings’ would be in these areas. I made a point of visiting all of these schools and sending many resumes to announce my addition to the roster of ‘available’ subs to no avail but continued to email out resumes and hope for a better summer.

In my third week of ‘subbing’ I was sent to a “Special Education” School on Chicago’s Near North Side where one of my fellow shelter residents was waiting with her son. It developed that she was required to hold a ‘conference’ with the administrators and was present for this purpose – small world eh? On this particular day the classroom I was assigned to had a full time teacher present, and with only five students in this room, there was really nothing that I could contribute so I read a magazine all day. The teacher advised me, “It’s easy money, just relax” so it became evident that the dedication of some of the teachers in the Chicago Public Schools was dubious at best indeed and I resolved to just ‘go along’ and handle things “Day by day” (which was my designation as a “sub” anyway). After 18 years of Alcoholics Anonymous, doing things “a day at a time” was familiar territory, though I could not find a 12-Step program for Substitute Teachers anywhere, though one would certainly be a great help.

After a month of ‘subbing’ and approximately ten ‘assignments’, my ‘on the job training’ was nearing completion. Nearly all of the ‘preparation’ and worrying I had done since November of the previous year proved extravagant as it became apparent that anticipating the school or class for the day was virtually impossible. The fact was also conspicuous that most of the principals (and fellow teachers) did NOT REALLY EXPECT US TO TEACH ANYTHING AT ALL but were more interested in keeping these unbelievably disobedient and disrespectful students from damaging things, hurting each other, and/or hurting the teachers. I saw no ‘lesson plans’ in my first month of ‘subbing’ and it was obvious that we were intended to replace teachers who had either decided not to go to work at the last minute, or simply DID NOT CARE what happened that day, from a pedagogical standpoint. It was also quite apparent that the students were aware of this charade at “school” and quite willing to ‘play games’ with ‘subs’ and ‘get away’ with whatever they could in order to avoid doing any real school work on the day I would assume their class. It became apparent that a day when “We’ve got a sub” was regarded as a time to ‘good off’, ‘play’ or just have fun, and no one seemed terribly concerned about the results.

Since all of my material needs (food, shelter, and even transportation until I got my first check and was able to purchase a bus pass) were provided by LPCS this was indeed a dream come true. I also still had my “Link Card” (which was providing a lot of tuna and sardines for the cats) so the situation was finally set to improve. When we first became residents of LPCS we singed a contract-like agreement that stated we would agree with the Rules of the Shelter and one of them regarded any potential income we could obtain while we were residents; we agreed that the Shelter staff would hold 50% of our wages in anticipation of the day we would leave and secure “Stable Housing” (a studio or apartment) so my half of my earnings were used to accumulate a small nest egg as well. I had some money in my pocket for the first time in years and knew that more would be there as long I continued to work hard, study and Trust in God for eventual salvation.

As I saw more and more of the Chicago Public Schools on Chicago’s West side it became apparent that there was an acute need for caring and qualified teachers and a return to my teaching career seemed within easy reach so additional inquiries were made regarding these issues. The schools in the ghetto varied widely in their operation and the more I saw and experienced the more the awful test sores we in Chicago year after year seemed unavoidable.

At a large and older school for the handicapped on Chicago’s West Side one morning I was stunned to hear the ‘teacher’ I was with loudly tell his students to “Shut up!” – not once, but three times within a half an hour. These were high school students and, though they were not at all interested in following the directions of their instructor this day, such a repeated response seemed counter productive and in fact crude in the context of an educational environment. In anticipation of pursuing a career in Education I had already read a number of fine books on educational theory and practices so this harsh reality of daily life in the ghetto classroom was somewhat stunning. I was the only one that seemed concerned, however, so assumed that there was a valid reason for this. Nonetheless, the effects of months or perhaps years of such conduct in schools began to illustrate much of the bad attitude that was evident in so many students.
Once more my memories of my earlier Catholic Grammar School Education returned as this common disorder, which seemed far too often to border on mayhem was easily observable. In the first month, fears of my own lack of training and experience (since I had not been a classroom teacher for nearly ten years, though I had taught elementary music, computer science and even religion in the mid eighties) exacerbated my feelings of impending failure with each new ‘assignment’. After five weeks or so, it became obvious that the ‘public schools’ simply expected this level of disarray bordering on chaos and no one seemed too concerned or was interested in changing it at all. The Students in the Chicago Public Schools evidently had little (and often no) respect for their schools and teachers and the older children (whom I fortunately only observed since I was always assigned to the earlier grades) even seemed to lack respect for themselves. At one school on the deep West side I casually asked a 3rd grader, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, and was stunned when he replied, “I wanna be a pimp!”. I had read of such dire problems in the ghetto but experiencing them in children at such a tender age was stunning and a real shock. The child’s reply was indicative that the problems faced by these schools were far deeper than all the classroom work on earth could solve but the true conundrum of Public Education would not became apparent for yet another year.

I developed a new “Trail” to trod daily that now required even MORE TRAVEL on a daily basis, so after a day of ‘subbing’ (which during this period was an average of 2-3 days per week) at 2:30 PM, the cats still had to eat and know I was there for them so the next challenge was to somehow find my way back to the North and Pulaski area and ‘round up’ the kitties for our nightly dinner. Since CPS had sent me out to the West side already it was usually easy to just head north via the CTA and still have time to spare and get back to LPCS by “Gate Time” (when the gate to the shelter entrance was opened) at 8:00 PM. It was a great deal of travel, but a joy to once again be busy and the kitties were counting on me so it always worked out for the best. I did not realize how soon it would be, but knew that we soon would again be united as a family and resolved that nothing would stop me from pressing onward.

Around March of 2001 my “Schoentzie” had vanished so I assumed she had been lost to a car or stray dog and Lazarus, Napoleon and Felicia (who was nearly an adult by now) and I continued to hold our vanishing family together in the hopes that we would all one day be again united and enjoy a life together, as I had pledged to MEOW two years earlier. Felicia was a very affectionate kitten and was always overjoyed to see me coming, though Nina enjoyed chasing her around (since she was intent on joining us as well). One evening while walking back from mass at St. Philomena only two blocks away, I spied Schoentize in an alley on the next block, and after following her and hugging her in joy, found that she had elected to begin living with another cat family that was kept and fed by an older couple who were also parishioners. It was heartening to find her, but this conduct (Leaving her territory) was VERY UN-CAT-LIKE and quite perplexing. After I located her, I carried her back to our alley on the next block, but she was no longer interested in her sisters and brother and rudely elected to leave, so I now had TWO alleys to visit and feed the cats and was about to ‘adopt’ a few more kitty friends as well. Nina also was expecting me and seemed overjoyed at my appearance so we had a daily love-in amongst the trash cans in the alley where I had spent the last two years.

By this time the War in Afghanistan was still raging and the Terrorist sites on the Internet were really getting upset with my pro-American rhetoric and anti-Terrorist oratory and a long litany of censorship and threats began. It became obvious that all of the folks known as “Muslims” were pretty upset at being painted as Terrorists but since they presented no convincing arguments to the contrary and the level of their recurrent rage was obvious additional investigation was needed. I recalled that some of the gang bangers in Humboldt Park had mentioned Asian Heroin as a top quality ‘product’ (and who would be more knowledgeable on this subject that dope dealers) so I decided to utilize my web knowledge to discover the ins and outs of this unholy nexus between “Islam” and Drugs.

After a few weeks of investigation, and with the aid of the library it became obvious that these “Terrorist” creatures were criminal drug dealers hiding under the guise of “Holy Warriors”. [1] When I advanced this rather transparent conclusion many of the Muslims on line were engaged and began to simply ‘ban’ me from all of their sites and then resorted to some rather amusing death threats as well. Having spent the last 15 years amongst street gangs I responded by issuing an invitation to meet me on a few Saturday nights at some well known Parks that were notorious for gang warfare. I was there on two nights, and they were not so I learned rapidly that these “Islamic Terrorist” types were just a bunch of punks and were more of a pest than any actual threat. As the Taliban scampered away into ignominious obscurity and their beloved caves the rhetoric became even more fiery and it became rapidly apparent that many of these folks (both from overseas and here in the US) were real mental cases [2] who were in obvious denial of how badly they had gotten their tails kicked and would require a lot more pounding before they learned their lessons.

Since I was working regularly with children who were badly misbehaved the analogy to these ‘terrorist’ goons was inescapable – they were juvenile delinquents with machine guns who had gotten completely out of control and had to be stopped or completely eradicated. Fortunately, it seemed that President Bush had the same idea and was doing an excellent job of exterminating them but the more we drove them into hiding, the more they seemed to loudly proclaim their bravery and power – it was an obvious case of the ‘denial’ we talk about in AA at best and serious mental illness at worst but most of these odd folks appeared to be somewhere in between but all displayed signs of serious mental disorders.
April, 2001 was a good month and I was able to work three days per week and actually save some money to boot. I knew that the 50% that I was giving LPCS was safe in their hands so my main concern turned to finding out how to advance my nascent ‘teaching’ career with the Chicago Public Schools. I had read of a program called “Teachers for Chicago” that worked with men and women who had degrees in areas other than education, got them employed, provided funds for the required additional education courses and then employed them full time upon completion so I began to investigate this idea. A new program had been instituted called “FACE” so I filled out the application, with the required transcripts and fees. Part of the requirements were tests scores from the BASIC SKILLS TEST, given by the State of Illinois. Which all teachers were required to take. Since there was no time to accomplish prior to the deadline for this program, I went ‘downtown” (to CPS HQ) and asked about it. I was told by the “Teacher Recruitment” department who was administering this program that “It can be done later” so got the required materials in the mail and assumed that my prior teaching experience in the 1980’s and my Masters Degree and Post-Graduate work would give me an advantage so prayed and hoped for the best.

After three months of Substitute Teaching in the Public Schools on Chicago’s West Side the dire condition of some of these schools was inescapable. Though most of the buildings were in reasonable physical condition, I witnessed leaks in the roof that resulted in dripping water during rainy days at two schools and some plumbing in the washrooms that was ready for the intensive care ward. It seemed that the general level of textbooks was more than adequate at most schools but the classroom supplies varied widely. Some teachers had everything, including the kitchen sink and some seemed content to eke by with only a bare minimum of supplies. The more I read about educational theory and practice (normally three of four books every two weeks) the farther the actual schools I was sent to seemed to be from viable educational environments. When I ran into a few classes that had NO permanent teacher at all, but had used subs all year long the desperate degree of teacher shortage in some of the ghetto schools became even more pronounced.

One of the main obstacles many new teachers complain about is the ‘sink or swim’ attitude that is taken by their fellow teachers and the lack of support from administrators. This dilemma was ever more exacerbated in the case of the “sub” due to the mysterious dichotomy of our professional lives. It was obvious after my first few months that we were not considered as full equals by the regular classroom teachers, though the “subs” were entrusted (and expected to complete) all of the traditional duties of a teacher. It was obvious that the “subs’ were regarded as second class professionals that were there to serve as a baby sitter, security guard, disciplinarian and any pedagogy was regarded as an additional requirement that would seldom even come into play. Put even more bluntly – I distinctly got the impression that my primacy function was to keep the students under control and occupied for the day and anything resembling teaching was not really expected at all.

As I learned more of the ‘tricks’ of the substitute teacher trade (like having plenty of work sheets to keep the class occupied and earning ‘respect’ by ‘getting tough’ at the start of the day) it was clear that the initial chaos that had so shocked me in these classrooms was not at all unique to ‘subs’ nor was it considered a major impediment to learning. How a class could actually learn anything over the course of months of this apparent educational turmoil was beyond my comprehension but since it was not really my job to worry about these things I opted to strive first for control of these often-wild classes and worry about any lessons after that had been achieved, though this ideal seldom materialized.

Since I had grown up as a jazz musician, and in fact spent a few years playing professionally after college, and was a ‘pseudo hippie’ [3] I have always used a bit of slang and ‘hip’ talk in my conservation and sub-consciously slipped into it with the kids in these ghetto schools as well. My repeated use of ‘man’, ‘brother’ and “chill out” was a welcome change for these kids and seemed to create a special bond. During one particularly hectic afternoon, a 2nd graded asked me “Are you a brudder” after I had urged him to “Sit down Bro!”. I replied, “Sure I am”. He glanced at me quizzically for a few seconds, then replied, “Ok, but you SURE DON”T LOOK LIKE A BRUDDER!” – and the humor seemed lost on all but the teacher. A few weeks later some of the kids in a 3rd grade class observed that I had walked “like a pimp daddy” and began to address me in this fashion. I realized that my many years of walking amongst the gangs of West Humboldt Park I had conscientiously perfected a mode of walking which in fact had emulated the young gang members and knew that this knowledge of ‘the street’ would be as vital for survival in my new CHA [4] surroundings as it had been in ‘el barrio’ [5] so made no effort to change it.
Although I never tried or made a dedicated effort, my experience in the hood and the shelters had also taught me ‘street smarts’ and I was able to put them to good use walking through some very bad areas on Chicago’s West Side. These ‘smarts’ are only obtained through experience and there’s really no text that can teach you, or any school that teaches these things – YOU HAVE TO LIVE IT DAY BY DAY and since I had ‘paid my dues’ I ‘knew’ the proper attitude to take at the right place and time, as well as WHAT NOT TO DO and WHERE NOT TO GO as well as HOW TO HANDLE the “bad dudes” in a fashion that would guarantee continued safe passage through the areas where I knew I would encounter them. Walking through the gangs (which at times is unavoidable) is normally extremely simple but the BIG TRICK is to SHOW THEM that you are NOT AFRAID OF THEM. Since the gangs exist by putting fear into the hearts of all (and especially their enemies) this is their ontological foundation. If you remove this, you have robbed them of the power they have over you and they are at a loss. Please don’t interpret this advice as a plea to go insult of swear at a gangster (which could easily get you shot) but as an insight into their psychology. The Gangs are TERRORISTS and if you DISPLAY ONLY CONFIDENCE AND NOT FEAR you have robbed them of their greatest weapon [6] and they shall leave you alone – it’s not worth it to them to find out HOW UNAFRAID you are and why so they simply will ignore you – they have FAR MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO SELLING DRUGS so are not really interested in some tests of who is ‘badder’ unless it involves a rival gang member. There’s a bit more to this unique ability than that, and the attitudes vary from one neighborhood to the next but the important part is to display confidence and no fear at all. (Even if you are scared to death – never show it)

In April LPCS went back to our usual summer housing arrangement since we had been using the facilities of all the three churches [7] that supported the shelter and had effectively doubled the number of homeless people that could be housed. Since the shelter had spent the previous summer at St. Paul’s (where we all ate nightly dinner) it was decided we would move to Lincoln Park Presbyterian a block East on Fullerton at Geneva for the summer so we moved whatever belongings we had and settled in.
At this point things were ideal and definitely much better than they had been since 1996 so my confidence soared as my final recovery from the nightmare of the homeless was finally within reach. Though I still had little materials for the ‘sub pack’ that all of the Internet Web sites urged us to assemble it had never proven to be an obstacle and my confidence and professionalism as a ‘sub’ was now well imbedded (at least in my own head) so it seemed that I was virtually unstoppable. Thanks to the many good patrons of LPCS I had assembled a very nice wardrobe and had a complete selection of professional clothing. I had the benefit of a superb nightly meal and was almost accustomed to the perpetual lack of sleep (we normally got seven hours or less)
One memorable evening in the last week of April, after ‘lights out’ at 10:00 PM I began to vomit and this continued and was accompanied by a feeling of general illness preventing any sleep. Since the time we spent sleeping was highly valued (there would be nowhere to rest or nap until the following night at ten when the lights went out again) I resigned myself to a ‘hard day’ and continued to attempt rest. This was to no avail, and the vomiting continued and was at times quite painful. When 4:00 AM rolled around, and I saw blood in the clear vomit I became quite alarmed but did not know if I should awaken the ‘volunteer’ who was our nightly companion (whom we had affectionately termed the ‘babysitter’) so I elected to wait for ‘lights on’ at 5:30 AM and hope for the best. When the lights did go on and the clear vomit and blood were revealed, I asked for an ambulance which arrived within only a few moments. I was taken to Grant Hospital, where my stomach was pumped and the condition was monitored and I was admitted early that morning. When I awoke, I was startled to see Katy, our new house manager with a vase of flowers. The day was spent resting and mostly sleeping (Since we were in a perpetual state of sleep-deprivation) and I was released the next day. Little did I realize that this one day had cost nearly $3,000.00 but I would discover this startling fact soon enough. After I was released from the hospital I spent the day at the library catching up on the news and was welcomed back with open arms by all when we all entered into the shelter that night at 8:00 PM.
Within a few days, I was back ‘subbing’ and since summer was on the way everything appeared to be just grand – until one Friday night in late May, 2001 when I notice Katy waiting at the shelter door as we entered for the night. She called me to the side and asked me what had transpired that morning so I told her the simple truth – I was in a hurry to get to work, had been in a minor verbal confrontation with a fellow shelter resident (who was new) and not-so-gracefully had suggest that he was welcome to kiss my bottom (though I had at first used Spanish which required that he ask for a translation). I had been advised that using ‘bad’ language was not permissible on a previous occasion, so was not too surprised at this but was, frankly, stunned that I had been ‘dismissed’.
I had worked all day ‘subbing’, had nothing to eat and was already quite tired but my survival instincts had already been well honed by the previous two years of shelters and uncertainty so took immediate (and the only possible) action: I hiked over to the Fullerton Avenue bus stop and quickly headed back out to ‘the alley” where I hoped that I could find either Ray or Julio and at least find a place to ‘crash’ for the night.
By the time I got to Pulaski and then hiked the five blocks south to Armitage, Julio’s lights were already out, but I knocked loudly at the door in desperation. After what seemed an eternity mi amigo (my friend) answered the door in his nightshirt and asked what the problem was. When I explained, he opened the garage door for me and allowed me to enter with the warning, “But KEEP THOSE DAMN CATS OUT!” and went back to bed. Julio knew exactly what the cats were going to do for he had witnessed me with them for two years now True to form, Felicia and Lazarus both came climbing through a small space under the overhead door and snuggled delightedly at having me back for the night. Julio greeted me by entering to start the car in the morning and advised that “that was the only night” as he drove off to work and I headed back down to LPCS to arrange to collect the nearly $500.00 I that the staff was holding for me in escrow.
I went to the shelter office and got the bad news that it would not be possible to obtain my funds until Monday since it was now Saturday afternoon and the bank in question would soon close. The Lord indeed works in mysterious ways, as I would learn yet again. I hiked up to St. Clements to retrieve my mail (we used St. Clements Church as a mailing address while at LPCS and the church secretary held it for us in a file where we could then retrieve it) and was surprised by a large package from A&T Wireless. I had filled out an application for a wireless account and a free phone and it had arrived. Without a phone, there would be no work and we still had a month to go. Through a veritable MIRACLE I once again had a phone, and a way to pay for it as well with at least two more weeks available for ‘subbing’ which translated into a few days at least.

Fortunately, I had some money and a bus pass so I could get around, eat and feed the kitties until then if Julio would agree to let me occupy my old ‘spot’ in his yard. When I got back to the ‘hood’ and informed him, be reluctantly agreed with an admonition that I ‘take those damn cats out in the alley’ which seemed strange, since this is exactly where they were at the moment but his intent was clear though his actions were often at considerable variance with it. The rest of the day was spent greeting all of my friends and neighbors who were glad to see me back in the midst and a considerable amount of bragging on my part about my accomplishments as a teacher. The local gang even grudgingly noted my return and greeted me with a few phrases that are normally reserved for ‘club’ members – a somewhat frightening, but welcome attribute in their ‘territory’ or ‘turf’.
Saturday and Sunday night were spent in Julio’s garage and, as promised, I had my $500.00 (in cash) by Monday morning.
Saturday morning I checked my voice mail and there was a message from Our SRO – the housing unit I had applied to nearly nine months earlier which stated simply, “We have an apartment for you. Are you still interested?” BOY, WAS I EVER INTERESTED!
Once more my Faith had been rewarded and, like Daniel was about to be rescued from the lion’s den and brought to safety.

The following two weeks would finally lead to THE RESURRECTION.

[1] A perspicacious reality that the “mainstream press” likes to ignore for the most part
[2] Middle Eastern mental illness is due largely to 1,000 years of chronic drug abuse, improper diet and frequent/recurrent bouts of venereal disease
[3] Who had long hair and wore love beads but retained my leather jacket and Italian stiletto boots – I was always a dedicated ‘greaser’ as opposed to the ‘dupers’ who wore levis and penny loafers
[4] Chicago Housing Authority – the Projects
[5] The ‘hood’ – literally ‘suburb’ in Spanish but in actual use it implied a Latino ghetto
[6] Which is to instill terror
[7] St. Paul’s United Church of Christ, Lincoln Park Presbyterian and St. Clement Roman Catholic

Chapter XII

2007-04-20T15:13:00.001-04:00

Chapter XII: The Resurrection Continued

After a brief visit to LPCS I had my $500.00 so was able to get a ‘room’ for the night. What exactly would happen, and where I could go was a frightening prospect indeed. The summer was rapidly approaching with little hope for continued employment. CPS stated that, for the first time in its history, they would be employing ‘subs’ for summer school but that only meant a half day’s work – but it was far better than no work at all.

The Lord indeed works in mysterious ways and on Tuesday, after I had gotten my meager savings, I stopped by St. Clement’s Office to get my mail from the Parish Secretary and was surprised to find a large package from AT&T Wireless. I had applied for a new account on the Internet and they had shipped me a free cellular phone and I was able to start my account that very day. Now I had a phone and a way to communicate at last. The “Voice Mail” system I was forced to utilize was sufficient for getting messages, but left a great deal to be desired and was useless for sub services so my Faith in God had been rewarded once again.

After I got back to the ‘hood’ the perspicacious reality of my housing dilemma was as yet unsolved so I investigated the two (and only) “Transient’ Hotels in the general area and once again the Good Lord was with me. I went first to the Norford Hotel, which was directly across the street on Pulaski Rd from the shelter (Sharing Hope) where I had stayed for two years. Like all such establishments, this one had a well-earned reputation for drug users and prostitutes but at $23.00 per night would do for the moment. Rooms were available for $75.00 per week if there was a vacancy so I would just have to wait for one to appear. I paid my nightly fee and gratefully SLEPT in relative peace for the next two days. The seven to six and half-hours night sleep of the last year had really taken a toll and my exhaustion manifested itself in this period of extended and grateful slumber.

As “Transient” Hotels go (which is not really saying much at all) the Norford was relatively quiet and since I was only four blocks from “The alley” where the cats were still living, and eight from Logan Five the only hours I spent there were at night. The street Hookers who had busily plied their venal trade for the last few years on Pulaski Road were still evident and it was obvious that the agglomeration of drug dealers and attendant dirt bags that always followed them were not far behind. [1] They had become notably less obtrusive and visible since a number of gang shootings had caused a police crackdown the previous spring..
On Wednesday, I went to Franciscan Outreach and saw Josh, my case manager, who was now in touch with the Property Manager at Our SRO and handing the details regarding the lease and rent. Since these units are subsidized housing, intended as a permanent solution to homelessness there were a number of details that had to be attended to so I trusted in God and waited for the appropriate steps to be finalized.
Now that I was able to Call CPS Sub Services daily I even managed to get in a few days work. Since there had returned to sending me to schools on Chicago’s West side the commute was oddly even shorter but it was strange standing on the corner of Madison and Pulaski waiting to go east to my ‘assignment’ for I had not really been on that corner in 35 or 40 years. In the late 1950’s my mother and her mother liked to ‘go shopping’ and the stores on Madison Street were a regular stop, with Goldblatts, Kresgee;s, the Three Sisters and others being regular stops and since my father always took me along so this was a weekly sojourn. By the 1960’s the West Side had changed considerably and visiting that same area was literally quite dangerous and I still had that impression. I was right and it was still dangerous, but fortunately only had to go through there a few times on my way to and from work
.
Another week passed, and my funds were starting to run out but again my prayers were answered. In the first week of June, the lease was officially signed, and I was set to once more join the ranks of Chicagoans living in “Stable Housing” and end my three and half year nightmare ‘on the trail’ of the homeless.
Friday, Josh borrowed the van from Chicago Health Outreach, we drove out to Don and Mary’s, and collected all of the suits, books and degrees I had stored with them for safekeeping [2]. In a moment that I had often dreamed of for the last three years we simply drove around the back into the alley, I called Felicia and she gladly responded by running to me for her evening meal and snuggle time. She was considerably chagrined when she found herself locked into a cat carrier but after we got her into the car she calmed down considerably. I suppose that if someone picked me up and locked me in a large cage and began to carry me around I would be a bit frightened as well.

By this time, Napoleon had vanished and Lazarus and Felicia were all that remained of our kitty family. Schoentize seemed quite content with her adopted family, and though she was glad to see me when I visited her she was not too interested in staying with her niece and sister so it seemed that there would be no changing her mind at this point. I recalled how badly I had felt only a month or so earlier when I had to leave little Felicia after feeding her and spending time with her – she sat there looking at me with a Lachrymose expression that was indicative of how badly she wanted me to stay with her. All I could do was kiss her on the nose and promise to return – but this afternoon that sad part of the awesome escapade of homelessness was finally at an end. I had kept my promise to MEOW and though Felicia was the last kitty left, we would once again be united. Lazarus remained, but I had been informed we could only have one pet so it was important to take care of these matters one at a time and leave that for a future time.

When we got to my new apartment on Chicago’s North Side and unloaded everything, Josh left and Felicia and I had time to relax and get our bearings. It was a dream come true after the nightmare of the three years in the shelters. I knew we were close to the “Uptown” part of Chicago and figured that it would be a prudent idea to get my bearings before I got involved in an area that I was not familiar with. All I really knew about Chicago’s Uptown district was that it was notorious for homeless folks (and I had been led to believe these were of the least desirable variety [3] ). I also had ‘heard’ that Broadway and Wilson could be a dangerous corner and since my new digs were not too distant from this notorious intersection, I decided that a comprehensive canvassing of the area was definitely in order.

When new residents enter the Our SRO housing units they are presented with a 20 page comprehensive listing of social service agencies on Chicago’s North Side that includes food pantries, soup kitchens, free meal spots, free dental, medical and psychiatric care, legal services [4] and a host of others that newcomers to Uptown could find quite useful. I decided to investigate a few of these on the following day and rapidly lost my phobia regarding Wilson Avenue since many were located near that notorious concourse. After a few days of simply walking about the area, the strangeness (and corresponding fear that comes with any unknown neighborhood) soon disappeared; Uptown was another Humboldt Park and as long as you knew where (and where not) to go and when (and when not) to go there things were essentially pretty much as they were in my old hood.

The Resident Social Workers warmly welcomed me and offered a comprehensive and complete array of services. Since I had the advantage of now having multiple social workers this was a fantastic advantage. Now I could continue my STAIRS meetings and meet with them on Wednesday and any additional needs could be met by our in house staff. Employment services are also available for all Our residents, providing a comprehensive solution for those that require it. I was already employed so did not have the need for this part of the program but filed it away for future reference. I was surprised at the size and cleanliness of the rooms and with a bed, dressers, table and chairs, small stove and refrigerator included anything else added would be extra – and the entire residence was subsidized. Since the STAIRS program of Chicago Health Outreach had paid my security deposit and first month’s rent and also helped to negotiate my nominal rent all had been taken care and it was finally possible to relax.

Felicia seemed happier than I had even seen her, since the daily battle for survival had been gratefully lifted from her tiny kitty shoulders. I soon located a few area stores and she had a litter box for the first time in her life and to my astonishment she figured out what it was for with no need for human intervention on my part whatsoever. She had plenty of food and a warm, safe place and became a truly adorable and incredibly affectionate kitten.

My friend Josh had given me a small clock radio and I had a few books so there was more than ample time left in the week that followed for prayer, thought and reflection. Thankfully, I also had the New American Bible that the good folks from St. Clement’s Parish had provided the previous Christmas, so was also able to once again read Psalms and Proverbs and meditate on the Word of God as well. After three and a half years of homelessness, joblessness, defeat and near despair I now had:
· An Apartment (at a very attractive rent that was generously subsidized)
· A Job (with a promising career since Teachers are in high demand)
· My Family Back (one of the main goals was always to be re-united with the cats no matter what it took)
· A Real Chance at Breaking the Vicious Cycle of Homelessness, Joblessness and Poverty

It was truly a blessing and there were so many good people involved [5] I don’t know how to thank them all – and that is part of the reason for this book – to tell the tale of the homeless and the real solutions that are available in Chicago. For the first time in three and half years I could read, relax or just snuggle up with my Felicia and no one was going to bug me or chase me out – it’s difficult to describe the joy and peace of this if you have not experienced the insanity of the street and the nightmare of Homelessness. For the first time in her young life, Felicia would not have to sit and watch me walk away from her. We were both AT HOME.
Sub Services told us that we would only be required to “Report our Availability” for work once for the entire summer so it was a good bet that there would be little or no work this year. My meager savings would suffice for the two months of July and August and my dear friend Howard came to my aid on many occasions with a ten or twenty dollar bill as well. But life would indeed be boring if thing all remained so rosy as a new potential dilemma appeared on the horizon:
CPS Sub Services had decided to switch over to a fully automated system – which was doubtless, the end result of one of the many efficiency studies that are undertaken by outside “Consulting Firms”. This practice of studies, definition of problems and proposed solutions has a long and sordid history in the Chicago Political Machine. These “Consultative” papers are traditionally instituted when some politician decides he must reward some of his constituents with a few hundred thousand dollars and Chicago Politics is notorious for these expensive and silly studies of some ‘problem’. Apparently, someone at Sub Services had decided that such an “Efficiency” Study was in order and the result of it was that the Subs would only be required to “Call in” once and they would be called the next morning. A fully automated phone system was then installed, which eliminated the need for any human intervention entirely. Unfortunately, this also left us all totally at the mercy of sub-services and whoever was making the decisions as to who would and would not be called for a days work. There was and is an obvious problem and discrepancy with this idea: How were these selections made and who decided who got ‘the call’ (For work that day) and who does not? Since I was still relatively new to Sub Services I had normally called into their office that morning, in additional to ‘reporting availability’ the night before and this indeed was how I had gotten all but two of my teaching assignments. Once the “Improved’ system was put into place, however, this would NO LONGER BE POSSIBLE. If CPS Sub Services did NOT CALL US in the morning, we could NO LONGER CALL THEM – so if they decided to call, fine – if not, you would simply be out of luck (and out of work for that day too). I was new and realized that my new job was in serious jeopardy after only three months and about 25 assignments or so but there was no choice. An ‘efficiency study’ had decided that the entire selection process was too be automated and this was an ominous signal indeed.
Summer of 2002 was devoid of any calls from Sub Services so I simply waited and prayed for a successful fall and a return to the classroom. The next few weeks were dedicated to becoming familiar with the Uptown area and learning the methodology of life at Our SRO Corporation. As in any new environment I felt like a newcomer but Social Services did a great deal to make me feel welcome and within a few days this feeling had passed. After three and half years of shelters, recovery homes and the nightmare of homelessness I was once again a citizen with a set of house keys, a small bit of money, and a renewed sense of self-respect and confidence. Since I was based in Lincoln Park I continued to commute down there for most of the next two months and when I ran into my friend Steve G. who was living only two blocks away in another SRO unit and learned there were a few other LPCS ‘graduates’ with us as well my feelings of newness totally vanished – I was in an ideal environment with many formerly homeless folks who had been exactly where I had been and lived through what I had and now had a stable and supportive environment with hope for a bright future.
In the nine months I had spent at LPCS we had three couples (two who had children that were in temporary foster care) and it was obvious that the Homeless Demography in Chicago was becoming a family matter. We also had a number of folks that were well educated and versed with a solid educational and professional background. This was hardly what one would expect from a ‘typical’ agglomeration of shelter residents but I was seeing a similar pattern at the S.T.A.I.R.S. Meetings [6] that were held weekly at Franciscan Outreach. [7] The homeless population also appeared to include teenage and very young adults as well – we had two young men of 18 and this was also a new development in a group that normally had started with those in their late thirties. It appeared that the same dire set of economic circumstances that had crippled me had also widened the insidious net that traps the marginally housed into true homelessness.
I spent a lot of time at the library learning all I could about Teaching and Education and learning all I could about the new threat of Global Terrorism. Having spent so many years amongst the gangs and drug dealers of West Humboldt Park the parallels to the “Terrorists” we were now learning so much about seemed manifest. A few of the gang members I knew had also mentioned that the best dope they could sell came from Afghanistan so additional investigation led to a glaring discrepancy – these “Islamic Holy Warriors” were obviously gigantic frauds that were in reality glorified street gangs and dope dealers so I investigated this avenue with renewed interest and vigor.
I have been active on line since 1981 so tried to learn the truth of this nascent hypothesis via the Internet. Much to my surprise, when I began to pose what appeared as obvious connections between the “Terrorists” and the Drug Trade my queries at various “Islamic” and “Arab” Yahoo Groups and MSN Communities were at first met with a vehement denial, which was usually followed by a ‘banning’ from the particular assemblage. This behavior was repeatedly frequently enough (and often accompanied by threats and angry denials) to lead me to the conclusion that there at least a fair deal of truth in my initial hypothesis – these “Holy Warriors” were drug dealers and criminals – perhaps they were other things, but it was obvious that these folks were thugs and gang bangers with beards and long dresses that were using this “Jihad” rhetoric to hide their felonious actions. As my initial thoughts took shape I was fortunate to find:
· The Age of Sacred Terror
· By Daniel Benjamin & Steven Simon
· Random House, 2002

Along with:

· Warlords in International Relations
· Ed by Paul B. Rich
· MacMillan Press, Ltd, 2002

After digesting these two superb volumes, and with the addition of others the veracity of my initial hypothesis was confirmed. The “Warlords” we were hearing about were the Asian version of a well-armed criminal gangs and the Terrorists were not much more than drug dealers and career law breakers. I made these views with supportive materials widely available on line and was quite astonished at the (seeming) righteous anger, obvious hatred and angry threats that they generated. Criminals normally do not like to be exposed for their illegal activities, but the terrorists and their associates seemed particularly ‘touchy’ when the perspicacious realities of the nexus between the INTERNATIONAL DRUG TRADE and ISLAMIC TERRORISM were exposed. [8]
As more and more research soon revealed, the Palestinian Groups (Hamas, Islamic Jihad and Hizbullah) as well as the al-Qaeda Group that had attacked us on 09/11/2001 were also operating as DOPE DEALERS (while presenting to the world the image of “Holy Islamic Warriors’) and some of them were actually involved in the GROWING and PROCESSING OF ILLEGAL DRUGS bound for Europe. [9] I was truly astounded to discover that so many folks on line were totally unaware of this noxious nexus and veritably stunned at the level of denial that was evidenced in some of the defenders of these groups. The enraged reactions of many indicated that I had somehow blasphemed the “Holy Warrior” persona that had been created by these deceitful criminals as the level of righteous indignation and rage increased.
I have long known that the vast majority of people do not read scholarly papers or university research books, but found the level of DENIAL of the facts regarding DRUGS and TERRORISM difficult to comprehend. Most of the liberal leaning Intelligentsia on line had apparently become so brain washed by decades of Arab propaganda (normally regarding those ‘oppressed Palestinians’) that their very objectivity had apparently become clouded as my conclusions were greeted with increasingly levels of abuse and ridicule yet the scholarly disputation of these fact was not forthcoming. (a feature that I have since learned is indicative of the marginally educated and informed of the on line community)
As I discovered the dismal state of literacy in Al-Alam it became plain to see that the seminaries of “Islamic Education” had nothing to do with what we consider schools in America but were merely “Jihad” factories dedicated to churning out trained monkeys generation after generation for the continued survival of what was (is) in reality a medieval and essentially primitive system that existed solely for the benefit of a privileged few while subjugating the vast majority of its people who had remained poor and powerless for thousands of years. It seemed that the more I asked about these matters, the angrier certain folks became so it was easy to discern that someone had a lot to hide – and it was the “Terrorists” who were advocating this atavistic system. I was able to turn some of these rare on line comments into a genuine pedagogical experience:
One of the difficulties with World Wide communications is in attempting to deal with the ignorant and uneducated – while “pigeon English” is obviously sufficient for some of the lower class types, many of us find this quite pitiable and usually laughable: we can however turn these funny errors into what we in Education call a “teachable moment” - for instance:

General : POOR GEORGE FOUND OUT AGAIN!!!
(now does this INCOMPLETE SENTENCE MEAN “Has been found out”, “was found out” or “will be found out”? perhaps the author is simply UNAWARE of the subject-verb-subject relationship used in English grammar but it still leaves to rather infantile rhetoric-this sound like BABY TALK)
Attention
All Members of This Group!
(The above is incomplete without a semi-colon or a dash)
I've a member of this group since 3 months.
(did they mean “For three months?)
A Satan George (was this supposed to be “Satan named George”, or a “Satanic man named George”?) age (AGED!) 50 (I am 52 BTW) years is spreading shit (now profanity is always the mark of the ignorant and the use of this four-letter word sufficiently demonstrates a high degree of the same) in
this Islamic Group with different names and email
addresses. Abdul is not anyone else. George and
Abdul are one person of 50 years of age.

Dont (DON’T!) trust him...He is just wasting time....This
flirter is bastardizing here. (Does this imply a ‘bastard who flirts” or a “Flirt who bastardizes”?)

On one hand he critisizes (CRITICIZES!) Muslims not knowing
anything about Islam and Muslims just on (ON THE!) basis on
his mere illusions and on the other hand he is
sending friendship proposals to girls pretending
to be "ABDUL" and a lot more he is doing and still
he will do extra rubbish. (how can one ‘do rubbish” – an interesting turn of the phrase-all those “ANDS” are also indicative or very poor style – the author is simply rambling – a quite common trait with Arabs)

He is "DAJJAAL"...(and here you’ve been telling me all along that I was a KUFFIR!) And its (it’s!) our duty to KILL Dajjal
or try the best not to be in connection with him.
(“in connection with him” – I was unaware we are “in connection”!)

So Muslim Brothers and Sisters ..... I request you
to kik him (KICK!) out from (OF!) this Group or simply (that/?)you leave
this group like I am leaving. I dont (DON’T!) wanna (WANT TO!) waste
my time here with Satans and enemies of Allah,
Quran, Mohammad and Muslims

(I do not consider Allah, the Koran, Mohammed or Muslims – ENEMIES and am sorry if you have that idea: AL-QAEDA IS MY ENEMY – HAMAS IS MY ENEMY – HIZBOLLAH IS MY ENEMY – ISLAMIC JIHAD IS MY ENEMY – as are the other TERRORIST GROUPS that have stated they ARE SWORN TO THE DESTRUCTION OF THE USA AND ISRAEL – is that clear enough?!?!? – I have friends who are Muslims who feel they are ALSO THE ENEMIES OF ISLAM)

Nothing is hidden now. Abdul and George are one
person with two different email addresses.

Their IPS (do you mean “ISP” – Internet Service Provider”?) are same, their Server Locations and
Internet Connection Locations are the same. (Gee, I”d better tell the WARDEN!) So
dont (DON’T!) be in deceipt.(“BE DECIEVED!”)

Muneeba

Now I HAVE STUDENTS IN THIRD GRADE THAT CAN WRITE A BETTER NOTE THAN THIS!

You’ll find this same sort of spelling and STUPID grammar all across the Web in many foreign forums – but for some reasons the “Islamic Militant” Forum Users SEEM GIFTED WITH A HIGH DEGREE OF IGNORANCE AND A DISMAL LACK OF EDUCATION!

But I am beginning to reach the sad conclusion that far too many are TOO LAZY OR SIMPLY TOO DUMB TO LEARN AT ALL (there are students so bad they can never learn (severe learning disability and/or mental retardation) – in the Arab World these types normally become “Islamic Scholars”)

But it seems a lot are EVEN TOO MENTALLY DEFICIENT FOR THAT – so they BECOME ISLAMISTS! (the 21st century Mongoloid Child)

· TAKE YOUR MEDS!
· GO TO SCHOOL FOLKS
· LEARN TO READ AND WRITE
· STUDY YOUR MATH TOO

Sadly I showed a few pages of these message to an old friend who is a Certified Additions Counselor with a BA in Psychology and he informed me that the ‘authors” were obviously suffering from manic depression, paranoid schizophrenia and mild to severe mental retardation – so any ‘discourse’ is really pointless with such sad sick folks. He suggested Prozac, and possibly Thorazine with shock therapy as possible solutions – or permanent confinement in a good mental hospital (ideally accompanied by a Lobotomy).

So (as I suspected) many of these “Islamic Militant” types are SIMPLE NUT CASES!
This is when a long litany of threats and harassment began but, after 22 years on line, I simply laughed at most of these goons and was not terribly concerned with groups that were thousands of miles away from Chicago. When one of these “Mujahideen” (as these groups called themselves) revealed he was in Chicago, and claimed to be a cousin of our Chicago Police Superintendent (who then was Terry Hillard) it became obvious that these groups truly had developed an international reach.
It was readily evident that the various Terrorist Groups were lying to the public regarding their actions, source of funds and motivation and anyone exposing these facts was to be silenced. Since school was starting up again, I concentrated on Educational issues but continued to diligently study this evolving situation and paid careful attention to their growing presence on line, which was increasingly becoming available in English. Since it was simple to see that these “Terrorist” types were like the gangs handling them was simple: just laugh at their stupidity and continue in my usual scholarly fashion. Their increasing rage and frustration, however, seemed to strongly suggest that they did not get the joke and the War on Terror expanded daily into the Internet Information War. When I became aware of the very high levels of Homosexuality in the “Islamic” world their rage at being exposed was truly explosive. The Terrorists were GAY so this added a much needed bit of humor to this debate as well. The Terrorists and their supporters were planning additional attacks and I would find out in a few months how high a price I would have to pay for my Patriotism.
Since Summer had left the writer completely broke once more, carfare to get back to work was provided by the STAIRS Program of Chicago Health Outreach and also with the assistance of the Employment Program at Our SRO. My first full year as a ‘normal’ and employed citizen was about to begin. After the nightmare of the last three, this was literally a dream come true.
My fears for fall 2002 were well founded and September of that year produced no work at all. A few attempts to ‘call in’ in the old way (directly in the morning) were in vain so things were looking quite dismal. [10] Thanks to my case manager (and by now friend) Josh at Franciscan Outreach and our Employment Department here at Our SRO [11] I was able to obtain a sufficient supply of bus passes to get to work for two weeks near the end of the month. The first week of October resulted in a few ‘calls’ from Sub Services so I was back in the classroom as a ‘sub’ and once again could rely on a check.
After as much reading, study, and preparation as I had done over the summer the daily waiting and disappointment was truly maddening but the only choice was to simply abandon the effort – since Sub Services regarded us as temporary employees the loss of one “sub” out of the 26,000 Teachers employed by the Chicago Public Schools was not exactly a major catastrophe so we were in a Catch-22 situation and could only continue. I went down to CPS HQ at 125 S. Clark to attempt to find a more productive way to accomplish this daily procedure to no avail – the attitude of my new ‘employer’ seemed to be not one of great concern for the concerns of their ‘substitute’ teachers.
In the first week of October my efforts and prayers were rewarded and I got my first ‘assignment’ for Fall 2002 at a school on Chicago’s Far North Side. This sudden change of locale was a real (but quite welcome) surprise since I fully was expecting to be consigned to the madhouse of ‘schools’ on Chicago’s West Side once more since these were normally the areas where a.) Teachers were in short supply, b.) many classes did not have a ‘permanent’ teacher and were daily taught by ‘subs’ and c.) even the ‘permanent’ teachers did what they could to avoid any more time than necessary in these unbelievable asylums of ‘education’. During the summer I had emailed a few hundred resumes to every grammar school on Chicago’s West, North and Central areas and this effort resulted in at least a few calls directly from the schools, thereby eliminating the call-wait-hope for the best’ cycle of obtaining a daily assignment from sub services.
After the insanity of Grammar schools in Chicago’s Ghettos the order, cleanliness and sanity of the North Side schools was something I had not yet seen in my time at CPS – THESE WERE REALLY SCHOOLS! In the fall of 2002 I had the good fortune to do a few days of ‘subbing’ at Walt Disney Magnet School and was absolutely stunned at some of the work that was produced by these gifted students and the totally different educational paradigm employed in this Magnet School was a reminded that KIDS REALLY DO LEARN AND CREATE. The students on the North Side were well behaved, stood in line, were respectful and did not cuss and threaten mayhem as they had on Chicago’s West Side. The kids knew they had a ‘sub’ for the day so the classes could be difficult to manage from a disciplinary standpoint but the aura of a jail or detention center (where the students felt like daily inmates who only wanted to see the end of the day) was missing and was replaced by students who seemed serious about learning and their education. The children I had been in charge of the previous year on the West Side simply DID NOT CARE and the truly disturbing aspect of these schools was that NO ONE ELSE Seemed to CARE – It was almost as if:
· The Students
· The Teachers
· The Administrators
· The Parents
· The Community as a whole
Were all involved in some massive and very sick play – somewhat like actors on a stage that were going through the motions of ‘playing school’ though everyone seemed to know that there was actually very little real education taking place at all. Despite this pervasive feeling the actors in this macabre and sad saga act out their roles as if they are making a difference although everyone involved seemed resolved to their fate and simply continues on this endless treadmill with no way to get off. The general aura of despair so often seen on the streets of the Ghetto also seemed to permeate these schools and the depression it created in all involved was inescapable.
For the next three months I was fortunate enough to find work in these North Side Schools and even got a few calls from schools in the Humboldt Area where I had spent my entire life. The ‘Barrio’ [12] schools were particularly good since it gave me a chance to use my “Pigeon” Spanish which had been rusting on the shelf since I left the Humboldt Park area. We had no Latino residents at LPCS and there were not too many Latinos evident in Lincoln Park so there was little chance any conversation but the kids in the Latino schools loved it and it was a great aid in gaining the student confidence that leads to an easy day for any Sub. The Latino culture was also familiar from my years there and a good knowledge of foods and customs was a great help. At one of my favorite schools, MacCaluffe Elementary I was really stunned when some of the kids hollered out, “Hey George!” – it developed that they were children who lived right across the street from the home I had lost four years earlier and knew me from the hood.
Things were developing well on all fronts but Lazarus was still outside and living in the alley – I felt badly since I could no longer get out to the ‘hood’ to feed him daily, but since my building manager has stated “only one pet” there was little I could do. In the early summer of 2002 we were introduced to our new building manager so I tried it again. His response was “Sure.” and I was simply overjoyed. Since neither Felicia nor Lazarus had been ‘fixed’, however one of them would need this operation since I did not need any more kitty factories at this time. I contacted the Anti-Cruelty Society and made an appointment for Lazarus. The following weekend, I went back down to the alley with Felicia’s carrier to get him. For a half-hour he was nowhere to be found, but he finally showed up, hearing my voice. Cats can be absolutely infuriating when you want them to do something (which they usually could care less about) and it took another five minutes to coax my “Big Boy” out to where he could be held, and then put into the carrier. Lazarus was not too enamored of the idea and scratched my arm badly, but I finally got him back to my Studio.
Felicia had two litters that I knew of with him and was obviously happy to see him. My “Big Boy” was understandably frightened and hid under the bed for the next two days, which was great since the next morning he had his appointment to loose his family jewels. The surgery and recovery only took two hours and he was back with Felicia that night. He remained reclusive for another month and only appeared at meal times – but I supposed that if someone suddenly castrated me I might be a wee bit upset too.
By August Lazarus was actually beginning to ‘play’ with his mate, by running from Felicia as she chased him about the house. It was truly hilarious to watch, since he was nearly twice her size; my “best girl”, however, definitely had the upper hand. This only lasted a few weeks then he seemed to once again withdraw from us. At this point I came to the somewhat sad realization that those two and half years in the wild (though it was really a ‘wild’ alley) had permanently changed his personality – he had largely reverted to his natural ‘cat’ behavior (he was a ‘feral’ cat). It was sad to see him; he wanted so to be affectionate, to emulate what he saw with the snuggling and love he saw Felicia display – but he simply did not know how and when he did try, the natural fear of humans that wild cats display always prevented him. My “Big Boy” had reverted to his wild state and nothing would ever change that.
Christmas of 2002 arrived with the entire family back together – I had kept the promise I had made to my little MEOW on the night she was killed and the family had finally been reunited.
I had a home, a job and my family – and the Lord had indeed been at my side as I had “I walked through the Valley of Death”. [13]
I could have done none of these things were it not for the help of my dear friend Josh at Chicago Health Outreach, Lincoln Park Community Shelter and the Real Solution to Homelessness. [14]

The War on Terror was on going but I did not realize yet that I was FINALLY a soldier in it and would soon come under a vicious and concerted Attack of the Cowards.

[1] This section of Pulaski Rd, from Division to North Avenue had been experiencing a big problem with street prostitution and drugs.
[2] I had carefully guarded my Bachelor’s from De Paul and Masters from Roosevelt since they were irreplaceable
[3] That is drug addicts, alcoholics, prostitutes and criminals.
[4] See the Appendix for a Reproduction of this listing
[5] But the greatest thanks go to Franciscan Outreach, Our SRO and Lincoln Park Community Shelter
[6] STAIRS is a support group for homeless and formerly homeless men and women.
[7] Franciscan Outreach, 1745 W Lemoyne, Chicago, IL operates a large shelter on Chicago’s West Side and provides case management and support services for the indigent and homeless of Chicago at http://www.franoutreach.org

[8] However the “Mainstream” Media carefully ignores this diabolic relationship and consistently ignores it – visit http://dea.org for some fascinating position papers on Terrorism and the International Drug Trade
[9] Here we are referring to Hizbullah and their drug fields in the Bekkah Valley of Lebanon –
[10] Operators at CPS has been instructed to not connect us to anyone at Sub Services but to re-direct us to the automated system
[11] See Chapter 12 for details on these vital social services
[12] Literally ‘suburb’ in Spanish but used to describe Latino big city ghetto neighborhoods

[13] See The Book of Psalms, #23 in the Holy Bible
[14] Available on line at http://www.oursro.org