Name:john douglas Country:United States State:Illinois Metro:Chicago Gender:Male
Interests:friends, music, coffee, mary, pipes, walking and screaming at solar eclipses Expertise:listening, buying tacos Occupation:vigilante social work Industry:ministry industrial complex
Tommy led us through a parking lot, we squeezed through a gangway and went down a set ofdilapidated stairs.He pulled out a tiny key and with great enthusiasm said, “I bought my own lock”.He put the key in the lock and opened the door with a hockey-style body check.The door creaked as he fumbled around in the dark to find the pull string to turn the light on.The lightrevealed something in between a crawl space and a basement.Tommy had a little “room” set up in the corner.An overstuffed couch, an ashtray, a TV on a crate and a couple of backpacks.
“What do you think of my spot Douggie?”Yeah... he calls me Douggie sometimes... I amtrying to fix that.
“Oh wait, I forgot the best part”, Tommy said as he fished around behind his couch and plugged in an extension cord.The whole basement lit up, literally, like Christmas.The business thatoccupies the first floor uses this space to store their Christmas trees, garland and wreaths.Tommy, my outreach partner and I basked in the glow of Christmas on a gloomy night inFebruary.
In all honesty, it was a great spot for Tommy.He stayed there, on and off for a couple of years.It was dry, warm and safe.The owners didn't seem to mind as long as he didn't wreck up the place.Tommy is a street kid.He has been living in Chicago's forgotten places since he was fourteen.He made a living off of stealing for quite a while.After he wound up in prison a few too many times he switched to prostitution as a survival tactic.Now twenty-eight, Tommy has spent half of his life on the street.
A couple of weeks after our visit, Tommy let another homeless guy stay in his spot.It was really cold and this kid was sick, so Tommy gave him his key and trusted him to do the right thing.The next time Tommy went to his spot there was a new lock on the door.
After this, he excitedly told me about new squats that he heard of and tried to bounce ideas off of me concerning the logistics (usually these logistics included a hacksaw, bolt cutters, tents, or getting a couch onto the roof of some unoccupied business).Not wanting to be anaccomplice, I constantly tried to steer Tommy into more sustainable options, such as housingprograms, Social Security assistance, job training, etc.
After over four and a half years of hanging out with Tommy without seeing much change, Ireceived a phone message in my mailbox.“Doug, Tommy has an apartment now and he was wondering if we had some household items that he could use.”
I called him back.Turns out that Tommy got hired as a custodian and saved up enough to get a deposit and his first months rent.My coworker Lennette and I went into our storage area and began assembling everything that we thought he would need starting out in his first legitapartment.Pots, pans, cleaning supplies, ice cube trays, sheets, pillows, lamps, silverware, a shower curtain, glasses, coffee cups, a coffee maker and so on all got packed up in our Outreach van.That night as Nicole and I headed out for work, we gave Tommy a call.
“Hey Tommy, did we wake you up?”
“You kidding? I am still on street time.I have been laying down since nine trying to fall asleep.”
“Mind if we swing by with some housewarming gifts?”
When we arrived on his block, Tommy came walking out in some slippers and Simpsonspajamas.His eyes lit up as we started unloading the boxes full of goods.He just about fell over when we handed him his new favorite possession... a George Forman grill with the bun warmer on top.
We sat around his kitchen table talking and goofing around like normal people until he seemed tired enough to fall asleep.Tommy, the guy that used to write me letters from prison-- the guy that lived life from day to day, couch to couch, park bench to park bench was sitting with us in his apartment.The guy that used to come to Emmaus to take a shower and eat a meal justinvited me and my wife to a barbeque at his home.
we've never been really moved by imagery like this, but i will never be able to look at firefighters the same way again. at the wake, a firemen stood guard over papa's casket for the seven hour duration, changing guard every 15 minutes. at seven pm they all came in, saluted jack and kissed maggee. the funeral procession took a detour as to pass his station. he served for 47 years and received a hero's farewell. sirens went off as the team saluted. the classically restored cadillac hearse passed under the ladders and returned back on route to the cemetery.
although this was the most touching part of the ceremony, it only represented one side of jack. he was a firefighter, but he was so much more. at the wake, mechanics in greasy uniforms stood in line with the mayor. coworkers, friends and family told stories. we comforted each other, laughing and crying in the same breath.
papa will be missed. he has left a hole in our community that can only be filled many, not one. he has influenced, changed and shaped so many... we have big shoes to fill.
