Six Days of Sand

"Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives."

We all know that famous line, rather poetical for representing the intro of a soap opera.  And our sober living home is like a soap opera, or a Jerry Springer show, or both.  Oh, and not just for the guests.  When I was a still active alcoholic/addict, I got a call from one of those talk shows once.  So I'm no better or worse than those I try and aid.

I write articles about my experiences down here in the trenches, the front line of small time, small town charity.  I do not, as the Wall Street Journal claims to do, offer up "the daily diary of the American dream".  But updates now and then?  Sure.

This is from six random days.  Maybe ones that just went by.  Or are from last year.  I've my reasons for being vague.  But six days of sand through the hourglass they are, offered up to any who care to read it.  I wrote it for my own reasons, you may read it for your own.  I'm content either way.

Winning?  Well, let us say "not losing".

February 6 - I arrived home, having gone to the church to make up a food bag for a couple in need and delivered it out to them.  He'd lost his job and she couldn't work.  They'd had some food assistance from us within the last thirty days, but I got them some more anyway.  I mean, we're allowed to, but we do try and encourage people to only call us once a month.

I went next door to see how that sober living home was doing.  Two of the three guests were there, one was not.  But an underage runaway girl was there.  "He's in jail, but I don't want him in jail!" was how she greeted me.

I knew who she meant, the missing guest.  Who had come here over having been kicked out of a place due to fighting with this one.  I had gave him two pieces of advice.  One, when you're 26 you should not date a 17 year old, even if that's technically legal.  Two, if you're evicted from a place, don't go back to it.  Like most advice that an older recovering alcoholic gives a younger recovering alcoholic, it was completely ignored.

The now jailed guest, well aware of my rules against girls staying in the sober living home overnight, had spent the night with this girl at the old apartment.  They had some kind of domestic incident, the landlady had exterior cams that recorded it, so while those two went their way thinking all was well, the police were called later, saw the video and arrested him at work.

First things first, though.  I explained to her that while she had no bruises and was not hurt, that there must have been something on that tape to get him arrested.  She explained that he had "maybe" pushed her and at one point "maybe" held her and made her go back inside.  Hmm.  Battery and unlawful restraint, then, if they wished to make an issue of it.  Spoiler alert:  They did.

I explained how such things, even if she didn't mind, were actual crimes.  That she had certain rights, and should feel free to give any statement she cared to, or not give any statement if she did not care to.  I did not desire to be accused of coercing a child's testimony later.  She said she understood.

Next I explained that he'd be arraigned the next day, and bail set, and it would probably be between $3,000 and $10,000.  Or $300 to $1,000 in what would actually have to be paid.  I told her that as her mom was in Galesburg and her foster folks in Danville that she could stay one night in his empty room, and we'd see about getting her a ride after the arraignment, when theoretically, he might be free to drive her back himself.

6:00 in the evening, I went to Bible Study at my local church.  Great people there, great minister with lots of good insights.  The strong streak of conservatism that pops up at odd times bothers me, but the theology is good, so there's that.  Still, when we were each going around and offering prayers for various people, I opened my eyes, unclasped my hands and lifted my head up when one of them started praying for God to help President Trump keep the caravan people from coming to harm us.

Fortunately she's the only one who prays prayers like that.  Unfortunately her hubby sometimes gives the sermon, and then we have to hear about how great Trump is.  Still - great people and great theology, and I'm a man who needs church to keep it together.

9:00 in the evening, and I checked on our informal guest to make sure she'd had a meal and that all was okay.  She had and it was.

February 7 - That morning the jailed guest's mom called me.  He had got through to her.  She told me that there was money in his car that could be used for bail, and that the car was at his place of work and his boss had the keys.  She wasn't very happy.  I thought to myself, "Well, you raised him."  Or failed to.  And yeah, yeah, I get that at 26 he can't blame parents or lack of parents any more.  But do you get that such are a continuing factor in a person's life?

Most of us get that a dog improperly raised or not raised at all, will be feral and will bite.  Yes, we put such down, but we do so with regret over having had to.  But where is society's regret when we see an improperly raised child, now an adult, who also needs punishment?  Oh, sure, I get that we must punish such - but where is our regret while we do so?

12:30 and an elderly shut in called, and she only ever called in once a month.  Pretty much exactly once a month, I think she counted the days.  Knowing that, when I got to the church I made sure to make it an extra good bag.  Onions, cereal, bread, frozen meat, various snacks - wait, she watches the grandkids, I thought.  I found a large container of chocolate toffee, enough for a whole group home, but took it for her and those grandkids.  I figured it would go over well - and later, when I dropped it off, it turns out I was right!

At 2:15 I was sitting in the empty courtroom.  Waiting on the 2:30 arraignment which I knew would start late.  There are despots of entire nations that don't enjoy the petty abuses of their office to the extent that judges do.  And the lower level the judge, the more they enjoy that.  And "local judge" is an office actually so low that it would in most cases be better served by replacing them with bureaucrats.  Worse, those judges know that, and resent it.

I'd already tried for a jail visit, distressed that the guest hadn't called me.  I tell all the guests to call me first if they get took to jail.  Their families usually being worthless for any type of support of any kind.  But he hadn't called, as our justice system does not let inmates use their cellphones.  If you're thinking, "That makes sense", no, it does not.

Oh, sure, you don't want them to have their cellphones in jail.  But they go an extra mile and will not let them use their cellphones to look up a number to call on the jail phone.  This is deliberate, and serves no purpose but to isolate the person arrested, as the jail and courts know full well that few people have any phone numbers memorized any more, and phone books have gone the way of the Dodo bird.

2:40 in the afternoon, and Hizzoner graced us with his august presence.  And the farce started.  In the movies and on TV, you see each brought in, the accused can then see his family or friends there, and know he is not alone.  He gets to speak as to why he should have the reasonable bail set that our Constitution - ha, ha - guarantees.  Maybe he succeeds, maybe he doesn't, but when he is then took away he knows he wasn't alone and that he got to say his say.

But this isn't the movies.  This is fast-food assembly line "justice" where the goal is to have the system win no matter what, guilt or innocence be damned.  And this is literally the courtroom for the poor.  Those rich enough to have a private lawyer, they are heard at another time, and they get the attention they deserve.  It can be video for them, too, but much more attention and care.

The lawyerless, they appear only by video, and cannot see the courtroom, so for all they know, they are alone and vulnerable.  And mostly they all are alone and vulnerable, as even if they have family and friends willing to come, most of those don't know who to call to find out when the arraignment is.  For instance, of the dozen or so cases I sat through, I was the only non-court employee there.

Picture that, then.  The lone defendant, usually uneducated, sits in a little room and watches by camera as half a dozen men and women, all with degrees and most with additional law degrees, will work to make sure he stays there.  And they're all fully rested and ready to go.  He spent a sleepless night in a noisy cage.  They got whatever breakfast they liked, he got an ice cream scoop of congealed powdered eggs.  They got a nice lunch break, he got a baloney sandwich.  They know exactly the procedure to come, he is wholly unaware of how any of it works.

Is the deck yet stacked enough in the State's favor?  Is there still any doubt in their mind the outcome?

There sure wasn't in mine.

When brought into the video room the defendant is sat down next to a man in a cheap suit.  They've never met him before, nor agreed to his "services", nor discussed their situation.  Most don't even realize who the guy is supposed to be.

The judge then explains that this stranger is their Public Defender.  Or as they are called by anyone who's ever been in the system and didn't make fifty grand or more a year, the "Public Pretender".  Because he pretends to represent you, but does so only just enough to make the general public think that all these supposed criminals are having their rights respected.

Then the judge lets the State's Attorney speak.  The State's Attorney will state what the defendant has allegedly done, and in each case it is the most heinous and terrible thing he's ever seen in all his years, making necessary the highest bail possible, simply to protect the good citizens of our great nation from any harm.  After those self-serving speeches, the judge lets the Public Defender briefly respond.

That "response" is for the bored shill in the cheap suit to listlessly flip through the file he was just gave two minutes ago, and try to find something to say to make it look like he's invested in the case.  I watched this over and over again before it was my guest's turn.

"Um, your honor, as to the State's request for $150,000 in bail, well, um, I see this guy is 18, so maybe it should be, well, $1,000?"  And yeah, he'd inflect upward at the end of his statements, like he was asking.  So much for that "zealous" representation they all swear to give when they pass the bar.

The judge then tries to pause for a second, as if actual thought is given to the Defender's utterly lame and literally phoned-in argument, then agrees with the State's Attorney.

3:00 now, and there's been time for all manner of defendants to be denied any bail that they could possibly think of as "non-excessive".  Now it's my guest's turn.  He's in the little room, next to the guy in the cheap suit, I can see this on the monitor, but he can't see me to know I'm there.

"Your honor, the victim is an underage, we have a video of the whole incident, this man has prior felonies, etc."

Well, I had to admit, those did sound like good reasons for requesting the $50,000 in bail that the State's Attorney did.  But the request that he be liable for hospital costs was him lying.  There were no bruises, injuries or any physical harm of any sort.  And certainly no hospital.  But he had said "may", so I guess that means his integrity was intact.

The Public Defender, seeing nothing in the file to dispute any of that, and not realizing that the girl was uninjured and in the defendant's former room watching a "Game of Thrones" DVD, whispered briefly with the guest.  Then said, "Um, he says he has $100 on him, so could the bail maybe be $1,000?"  A Clarence Darrow he was not.

The State's Attorney was suitably outraged and knew that such a low bail would guarantee great harm to the public, no doubt from this guy going on a one man "restraining" spree against any other girlfriends he had.

The judge agreed.  My hand shot up.  The judge saw it and ignored it.  They closed that one and tried to move on to the next.  I stood up.  "Sit down.", the judge said.  I sat and said, "Your honor, you're not hearing everything, that man - "

"Stop it!", the judge said loudly.  "You will not address the court.  You may speak to the State's Attorney."  The State's Attorney studiously avoided looking at me and spoke up after a few seconds - to present the next case.

I stood up and said, "Your honor?"  "SIT DOWN!", he said.  I sat.  And said, "I have information relevant to this case."  The judge said, "You are risking a contempt charge."  They started to move on again.  I said, while sitting, "I still have information relevant to the case.  Please."

The judge looked at me.  He knew the defendant was poor, but here I was clean shaven, quiet spoken and wearing a good suit.  Unbeknownst to the judge, I only had that suit because at a church I used to go to, I was the only one to visit a member of that church who was dying of cancer.  And he had been a former Federal Prosecutor.  And since no one else cared to visit him, and he knew I was too poor to afford even a cheap suit, he arranged with his wife that I'd get all seven of his power suits when he died.

The judge decided, reluctantly I could tell, that discretion was the better part of valor.  But if I'd have been in jeans and a flannel shirt - like usual - I'd have got to have a baloney sandwich in that same jail.

He said, "You may not address me.  Tell it to the State's Attorney now."

The State's Attorney came over then, probably so what I would say would not be heard by the judge.  How little he knew me.  In my best carrying voice, even though the State's Attorney was leaning in, I said, "This case is not very strong, no tape has been ascertained to be definitively the man in question, and he needs reasonable bail so that he can keep his current job and pay for a private attorney.  He has been in the system before, but has never been a flight risk and has never missed his court appointments.  Innocent or guilty, he has always shown up.  I personally know him, I've watched him grow and improve over the last couple of years, and can guarantee he will live with my wife and I and only leave to go to work, a job I will personally drive him to and from.  I can do $1,000 - so we need this reduced to $10,000."

I could do $1,000 because I had already gone to his place of work, and talked his boss into letting me into the guest's vehicle where his cashed paycheck was.  So I had $650 of that money, and knew that in a pinch I could juggle some of my own bills and kick in $350, knowing that I'd be paid back on his next check.  Because whatever problems he has with others, he had always played square with us.

The State's Attorney looked grim and went back to his desk and went through the pretense of relating to the judge that which the judge had just heard.  And added, "But your honor, given the severity of the crime, I cannot in good conscience agree with giving this man opportunity to be out on the street again.  The victim was underage."

"What's the victim's name?", I called out.  The judge glared, he knew from the file that there was no police interview with any alleged victim.  The State's Attorney stammered, "I'm, uh, well, we're not prepared to release that at this time."  A cheap bluff.  Now everyone in the courtroom knew that they did not even have a complainant.  And I especially knew this, as she was currently still in one of my houses, still power watching that silly Game of Thrones show.

The judge, very impatient now, probably at the fact that it only took one citizen who gave a crap to expose their stupid farce, said, "I agree.  Bail stands at $50,000, no contact with the victim, anger management counseling required."

Note how the judge just called the non-existent complainant the "victim", which implies a pre-judging of the defendant's guilt.  And note how in that anger management instruction how even if a person is innocent, and even if they also can afford such high bail, that they're still then punished.  Making a person leave off what they were choosing to do - like working and earning a living - to do something you'd rather they do - like an anger management class - is actually "involuntary servitude".  We overlook that, as we don't require chains to be worn.

4:00 in the afternoon, and I left the courtroom and cried in the hallway.  Oh, I knew the guest's behavior and actions had no doubt been inappropriate, but I also knew that if he was well off he'd be out, he'd have a good private attorney, and while he would still not get entirely off, he'd get a lot less than the 1 to 6 that the crimes he was accused of were going to carry.

With reasonable bail, he'd have kept his job, got at least a reasonable attorney, and negotiated a plea that would have him do a year tops - and yes, with that anger management.  That being the actual punishment that I would think his crimes - even assuming he was literally guilty of it all - should merit.  You might not agree, but you don't know him, I do.  And his Public Pretender didn't know him, or he could have made the same plea I made, but with force and more credibility.

I went down to the jail to beg them to let me visit.  No, those have to be scheduled online.  I asked them to give him my business card, because he clearly did not have my number memorized.  They said they processed 14,000 plus people per year, and couldn't be about giving messages or such to any one inmate.

If that sounds like that makes sense, fine, but consider that Springfield only has 120,000 people in it, 20,000 of them children.  So I find it of great concern that in this most boring of mid-western towns, our System finds it normal to incarcerate one out of seven citizens per year.  And that in hauling in that many, has so few mechanisms in place for those to have any contact with the outside world.

6:15 in the evening, dark now, slick roads, driving, driving, driving to Danville.  Taking the girl to where she had a place to stay, she still not wishing to go in and give a statement, though I made sure she knew that she could still receive any aid I had to offer.  Which was primarily just aid in getting her back home.  And advice.  I've bagfuls of that.  She had declined to go to the police, and had said she just wanted to go home.

I dropped her off, after making sure that the house had people in it who knew her and would let her stay.  I had took the moderately long journey as an opportunity to try to give her some of that good advice I have.  Like how she should not bother dating older men, and better, not bother about dating at all.  How she should finish getting that GED, and at 18 - which for her will be in June - avail herself of all the opportunities out there.  College.  Military.  Career.  Travel.  I explained that if she ever called me and asked me, I could explain to her how to do any of that.

I had inquired about her situation on the way.  "What about your mom?", I asked.  "Oh, her parental rights were terminated when I was seven, some drug deal charges."  "What about your dad?", I asked.  "He just got out of prison after ten years - but he had to go back for another six, he took his ankle monitor off and got in a fight."

"So you've not had any parenting since you were seven?", I asked.  "No, just different foster families", she cheerily replied.  "You never had a chance.", I muttered to myself.  But she heard and said, "I'm okay, I can go anywhere and do whatever I want, when I run away no one looks too hard."

What can you say to those so broken they don't even know they're broken?  Which is why I had then gave her "the talk" on all those opportunities she could have.  Ones that I suspect she'll never take.  Okay, ones that I know for sure she'll never take.

And while you're thinking, "Poor girl, that makes the guest's actions even worse!  Why even help him?", I'm thinking, "The guest is still a twenty something child himself, with just as crappy an upbringing.  We expect so much from those who had so little opportunity to learn how to live right."

And don't worry, whoever is reading this.  The guest will be punished by the system, have no fear of that.  In fact, if you're imagining that anyone in his situation can avoid punishment, you're a fool.  My only consolation in this, as I told my wife later this evening, was that while he was likely to be punished excessively by an uncaring system that can't follow it's own rules, at least he's not wholly innocent.

Because if he was 100% purely innocent, the result would still be the same.

For that reason do I always pray that my guests, if arrested, will be guilty.  Because I know they'll be slammed no matter what, and it's harder when they're innocent.

10:45 at night.  Still trying to schedule a jail visit online.  The automated system still not letting me.  And I know the jail - if you don't schedule within 12 hours, no visit.  They were going to delay me speaking to him yet another day.  I took pictures of my efforts to schedule appropriately.  So I'd have something to argue when I tried to visit him in the morning.

February 8 - Another guest leaving, and leaving appropriately.  He's going to Florida, having worked and saved to do so and start a new life.  Well, when he gets his tax refund he'll go.  His boss, unlawfully, is delaying that.  I needed to adjust things, though, as the guest was now only paying partial, reflective of him being about to leave.  So he moved out of the basement to the couch in the main house, temporarily, and a guest over there who wanted over with us came over.

Still early morning, not even 8:00, I reviewed the bills.  $1,113 from CWLP for one of our houses.  Hmm, that can't be right.  I was correct, they had neglected to take off the payment we'd already made, it would "only" be $700 or so.  But our inability to afford a furnace means that the place is kept warm by a large number of electricity guzzling space heaters.  Those radiator kinds.

Well, mostly the part of our house where the guests are is kept warm.  In an attempt to economize - read, not financially go down in flames - the floor we're on is pretty cold.  Warm enough that the pipes don't freeze, but not so warm that we can't see our breath on occasion.  But sweaters exist, and robes can be worn over those, and quilts we have, and four cats on the bed with us help.

My phone gets a text.  From the ex-girlfriend of the guest in jail.  He, not being able to get through to his mom again, and not knowing my number, had called her.  I could have told him that would be a mistake, but I know how lonely it gets in jail, you've all the time in the world to picture how alone you are, and it's scary, because generally jail time means you're at one of the lowest points in your life.  Oh, and he wanted some money on his books.

I know you're thinking that he shouldn't have needed that, but you'd be wrong.  The food is minimal and poor.  Oh, they're not starving...but, well, if you'd had it you'd know.  And yes, reader, your strong sense of justice feels that such is how it should be - but try and remember that no one has been found guilty of anything yet, and those powdered eggs, stale bread and generic baloney must surely violate the 8th amendment if anything does.

8:30 in the morning, I get a facebook message from the girl.  "Tell him I'm testifying!"  Then she included screen shots of the ex-girlfriend (who did not want to be an ex) sending her mean messages and claiming that she and my jailed guest were laughing about it all.  I knew that wasn't true.  But I also knew that all three of these people were the stuff that Jerry Springer shows were made of.

I texted back.  "That's fine.  But so you know, I cannot relay messages from you to him or from him to you.  Third party contact was prohibited by the court."

"I'm going to turn myself into DCFS now!", she texted.  "I understand.", I replied, "I think that's for the best.  I hope that everything goes well for you, and please consider finishing that GED in the future."

9:00 in the morning, I parked far enough away from the courthouse that the parking is free.  Went to the Sheriff's office to make my plea.  "No, I'm not his attorney, no I'm not clergy, but please, he's had no visits at all, he's been in three days with no one visiting or seeing him, he needs to know he's not alone."

"Just who are you?", the lady deputy asked.  I get that a lot.  Probably because most inmates don't even have family members speak as earnestly and sincerely as I do.  Or with as much obvious emotion.  But as I always say, we are the full service sober living home.  There's more than enough people in our society who's job it is to punish and judge and correct and hurt others.  Everyone deserves at least one person who'll try and go to the mat for them.  Picture how'd you'd feel if there was no one there to do that for you.

I know, I know - you live your life in such a way that there are plenty in your support network.  But do you really want anyone, no matter how badly they've conducted themselves, to know and feel that in a world of seven billion, they literally are 100% alone, and with no one at all to give a crap if they live or die?  I hope you don't want that for anyone.  I know I don't.

I still remember, well over twelve years ago, in my own active alcoholism days, my battered old RV out of gas, standing alone on an empty road in Nebraska, no home, no money, and looking at my tracphone...

...and realizing that finally, after all my crap decisions, all my crap behavior, all my own stupidities and criminalities, that I had no one at all to call.  No one.  No family, no friends, no nothing.  And no where to go.  Any city I could go to, even if I had gas, was as full of strangers who gave no crap about me as any other city.  I was utterly and completely alone.  Not a situation that I imagine many get into, and good for them.  But not a situation I'd wish on anyone, no matter their crime or idiocy.

Kind of why we do the whole "sober living home" ministry in the first place.  So no one has to go it alone, no one ever has to feel as forlorn as I did.  Yes, if it helps you, I, and most in that situation, know it's our fault.  If we're lucky - for obviously some still blame the world, and that does not bode well for any future recovery.  But even knowing it's your fault - it still hurts.  And it's still scary.

I mean, here I am still remembering it.  And shuddering.

But while I can't make people be there for me, I can - and did - resolve to live my life in such a way that they might just want to.  So there's that.  And I further resolved to try and be there for those that have no one.  To try to guide them through till they could heal enough to maybe start living in such a way that others might care.  We say we're a transition from they having no home to they having a home.  But we also try to be the transition from they having no one there for them to they having some people there for them.

And that can be harder than getting an apartment.  Much harder.

I tell them, "Don't worry if your family and friends don't all come back all at once, or at all.  You - like me in the past - did a bunch of crap and they don't trust you.  Why should they?  But if you plug away, and keep working regularly, and get your own place, and make those changes and stick with them, then eventually, even if it takes some years, that will be noticed.  There'll come a point where instead of your past mistakes being a shame to you, that instead they can be something that you proudly overcame.  You can never rest or relax on doing better, though, because if you slip again, the clock is rolled back, and you'd have to start over, and it would take even more time.  But the work is worth it.  It's a reward on the back end, but it is a reward, and you'll enjoy it."

Some accept this.  Others don't.  Guess which ones succeed?

The lady deputy was silent for a bit, just looking me up and down.  She looked at my card again, which I had gave her when I answered, "I'm his Program Supervisor."  She said, "Wait here, I'll force the visit through the computer."  And she did.  And she showed me the missing step in setting up visits so I could schedule visits myself later.  She said, though she did not mean it the way I knew it to be true, "The system isn't set up to make it very easy."

Amen, I thought.  Truer words never spoken.

9:26 in the morning and my ID checked, I'm allowed in a room with a bunch of monitors and phone handsets.  I sit on the metal stool and pick up the phone.  I enter my authorization code on the touch screen monitor.  A counter count's down, it's not 9:30 yet, when I'll get one 25 minute visit.

9:30 and the screen comes on with his face in it, my face in a small square corner on the upper left.  As part of the dehumanizing process, you can't look them in the eye.  If you look in the camera, they can see your eyes.  Or if you look at the screen while they look in the camera, you can see their eyes.  But no direct looking in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have your number!", he said.  I told him it was okay.  Before the visit, I had thought about all the things I could say.  Mostly I told you so's and how he should have took my advice.  But I had known even then I'd say none of that.  To what end?  To make him feel bad?  To punish him?  The State was hardly going to need my aid on that.  So no lectures or recriminations were going to be gave to him from me, though I admit to the human fallibility of wanting to cry such out.

It's always frustrating to see a guy with such potential, who's come so far in the two years I'd worked with him, fall for some last bit of sinfulness that he'd not yet fully overcome.  Namely his temper and response mechanisms.

I went over practicalities first.  I let him know I'd been there at the arraignment and he said he knew I had been.  He'd heard from the guy who was sat down in that little room after him.  That apparently I'd got them all worked up.  That judge and State's Attorney had forgot that the next guy sat down could hear everything and see the faces of the judge and State's Attorney.  I was glad that he knew then I had tried.  And sorry that he knew I'd failed.

He wasn't sad, though.  He said that everyone had enjoyed the story.  Then he said that he'd be out soon, as she wouldn't testify.  I had to give him the sad news - so surprising to so many in that situation - that for one, they could prosecute without her testimony.  And that for two, she was likely to testify.

I went on to explain that while I understood why he had called his ex, that she had not served him well by contacting his girlfriend.  He wanted me to fix that by talking to the girlfriend.  I explained that he needed to know that all calls and such in and out of the jail were recorded and would be used against him, so that whatever he did, he should NOT try to get any message to her.  And that I would not be a go between.  That I refused to do that for his safety.

He understood.  He said she'd still not testify.  I advised him that at this point, he needed to speak to his Public Defender and work out the best plea possible.  That they were hot and heavy on this one.  And, I said, "Perhaps with some justification."  He looked at me.  I said, "(his name), I pass no judgments, and I know she probably said and did this or that, but as far as you've come, you still haven't learned that you cannot respond to such the way you probably did."

He said he knew.  And that if he had to, he could do his time.  We talked more, he gave me instructions as to what to do with his stuff.  How to get his car, where his storage unit was, where the key was, who to call to have it picked up, who to give the money to.  All the little things that are impossible to do from jail.

Which means that for those who have no one, or who's family and friends don't know how to find them or schedule visits with them, they'll not only lose their job but their residences and all their worldly belongings.  Some how our society thinks that such is fair for those who - no matter how bad you think they are - are only accused of a crime.  This is how our society treats those who we claim are "innocent until proven guilty".  Well, if they're poor and can't afford to pay for a real advocate.

I told him it'd all be took care of, and to just focus on being as good an inmate as he could.  Take some anger management courses, to look good if nothing else.  Find a prayer group.  Anything to make them want to give you less time than more.  And who knows, I said, maybe you'll actually hear something you like, something that will help.  "You never stop trying, do you?", he said.  I just nodded.

I had time to tell him that I'd visit again on Monday, he had time to tell me to make sure to get someone to pick up his car fast, there was a title loan on it.  I shook my head ruefully, but smiled yes as the screen went off.

1:00 in the afternoon and I was shivering outside of a storage unit in the middle of nowhere, and with no gloves trying to get this tiny key into a small frozen padlock.  Finally I made it.  I had got his car and the keys from his place of work.  I tried to get the phone that I knew had been left there, but the boss said he hadn't seen it.  Before I left, I went to the kitchen and made a plea with the cooks.  They promised to find it for me.  I suspected I knew where it would be found.

His car was not that great a car, but I'd been the one to help him get it on his second stay with us (this last had been his third stay).  Before going to the storage unit I'd searched it thoroughly.  And tossed out the tiny amount of that which is soon to be legal, as well as the pipe for that.  I knew he'd not care.  And that he'd know I'd do that.

His storage unit open, there was not much in it.  But none care so much about things as the poor who have only those things to their name.  They're no different than the upper classes - just that the upper classes are focused on houses and fancy cars, so can afford to be casual about a few bags of old clothes, a few tiny appliances like a fan or a blender.

I got it all packed in.  And parked it in my backyard, so I could block it in with my van.  Understand, I was not then, and am not now, trying to aid him in ripping off the title loan people.  I just don't want them towing it away without me having a chance to get all his stuff out of it.

And the point of holding it for his sister to come and get it is so that she can take over the title loan payments and have a way to get to and from a new job she got.  So it's all on the up and up.

2:00 in the afternoon and the guy from the U.S. Justice Department called, right at the time he had said he would.  The City of Springfield, I have claimed for years, hates group homes and tries to either stop them from opening, close them if they're open, and slow down the growth if all else fails.  But lately, instead of just picking on group homes for alcoholics, addicts and those recently released from prison - because who cares about them, right? - they had made the mistake of trying their games on an organization that runs group homes for the disabled.

Kicking off a justice department investigation into whether the City was violating various Federal laws, like the Fair Housing Act.  And my name had come up.

Why?  Because while they were doing routine discovery over a month ago, they'd come across a letter with my name in it.  It was a rather eloquent and cutting letter I had wrote advising the Chief of Police and the City Attorney that they would from now on accord us the same rights and privileges of the Big Charities or we would bring suit.

The man I'd talked to in January had said they were just following up all leads, just in case.  But this time, he and the others in the room assured me they were most delighted to have found me, and were appreciative of all the information I had provided.

What could I have to say about a discrimination case involving the disabled, you ask?  Well, quite a lot, as it turns out, which is why the City was foolish to have broke it's own rules with me in years past.  I provided last month, and again now, details as to probable motivations and clearly observable methods.  And I thoughtfully - and with no notes - gave them the names and dates and incidences of systemic abuse against my homes and various other sober living homes and halfway homes in the area.

In case you were not aware, the City of Springfield does dislike any group home and does use building and zoning codes, selectively applied, to curtail such.  If you're a private homeowner, or for profit business, and your roof leaks, you may take your time in fixing it.  If ever.  But if you're a group home, and your roof does not leak, but looks like it might one day, you could be called upon to fix it in thirty days or face a "green tag" which would condemn and close your house.

They also play other tricks, like if a Big Charity has a problem guest, and calls the police to have them removed from the shelter, they'll do it.  But if a small mom and pop non-profit - like me - calls to have a guest removed, they'll start babbling about Tenant Rights and Eviction Proceedings.  Not that they do that to me any more, I made sure they knew better last time.

But they'll do it to any house they can, and plenty of other legal trickiness besides.  I particularly enjoyed relating the time that another group home had tried to get a building permit to replace a roof - and were denied, as the City said it didn't need replacing.  Bear in mind they were only trying to have the roof get old enough so that when it did need replacing they could nail that house on that.

They thanked me for all the names and addresses of every group home in town that I'd emailed to them last month.  See, there's no comprehensive list, but I deliver food once a month to each of them as part of our food ministry.  Meaning that I had the only comprehensive list.  And that now the Justice Department has it, too.  And had been busy the past month calling to confirm all I had said.

This call was done on speaker phone - their speaker and mine - so that while they all heard me, my wife and I heard them.  My wife was as familiar as I was with the time that the City unlawfully held a hearing on our house without telling us, found us guilty, and gave us thirty days to fix our roof or have our whole non-profit closed and it's assets seized.

Only by me being blessed with a "George Bailey/It's a Wonderful Life" moment did we survive.  By those in church donating $1,500 worth of supplies, all the tools and the guys at the sober living homes giving their labor to us in exchange for a few waived program fees.  We got the roof done just in time - and the City promptly still insisted on a $350 fine for us having put them to the trouble of them having ordered us to fix it!

I could hear the murmurings of those listening to all I had to say, murmurings that indicated that my information and data would one day be put to use in forcing a settlement - or lengthy legal process - out of the City.

They thanked us effusively at the end, and we all hung up.  My wife and I grinned at each other.  I said, "Welcome to Schadenfreude!  If you've always wondered what that emotion feels like, wonder no more!"  Perhaps  you reading this find that silly.  Or are anger unwarranted.  But it wasn't you who was to lose your home, your property, your business, your livelihood and more, all for their bureaucratic crap.

4:30 in the afternoon, and I'm calling around to various people that our food pantry has aided, but just the ones who expressed interest in going to church.  I go to church on Saturday as that is the Sabbath.  If that puzzles you, call me, I'll be happy to proselytize your ear off!  Some agreed, including a woman who had attended before - so that was good news.

4:45 in the afternoon, and I got two program fees.  Yes, I'm aware we have more than two guests.  Welcome to my world, where as my wife and I joke, we put the "non" in "non-profit".  I got to the bank in time to deposit that, not that it would stay there long.

7:00 in the evening, I went over to the sober living home next door to clear out the jailed guest's room.  Got it all in his car.  Talked to his sister.  She'll try and find a ride down to get it, I know that won't be fast.  I told her it should be, though.  As her brother's phone was ringing off the hook from a number that I knew to be of the title company.

February 9 - As usual most who said they'd go to church did not, but one still did, an older lady who had gone before.  I picked her up at 9:15 in the morning.  So that was nice.  Good Sabbath school lesson.  My favorite conservative (sarcasm) took the lesson on how important Sabbath keeping was to ask, "But where in the New Testament does it say we should keep the ten commandments?  I thought we had salvation by grace, not the law!"

As any of you who are church goers know, there's a dozen flaws to that and clearly she's either the dumbest person in Christendom (she's not) or she's just trolling as she's in a pissy mood (she was).  If it had just been we members, I'd have gave it a pass, but with a new person there?  Ask me what the shortest verse in the Bible is, because that's how I felt.  (It's "Jesus wept.")

Still, I didn't have to say a word, as while any church would have pounced on her pretty fast for that one, ours is even more fussy about the Sabbath than others.  Any others.  More fussy than even you're thinking.  And fussier than that.  Did I mention we're big on the Sabbath?  Thus her little skeptic trolling turned into a wonderful learning opportunity, as each rushed to outdo the other in showing how mistaken that sentiment was.  So it all worked out in the end.

The Sabbath service was good, the minister gave a good sermon.  As I knew he would.  He's a very educated and entertaining man.  And afterwards, a potluck.  All vegan food, but we Seventh-day Adventists were vegan before it was cool, and I've never had a dish there yet that I'd not gladly have seconds of!

2:00 in the afternoon, I had dropped her off, and was back at home.  I watched "Lost" with my honey, who for reasons of her disability can't ever really leave the home, so likes it best when I don't have any errands or chores to do outside the home.  Which is admittedly is not very often.  Anywhere from four to five recovering addicts can keep one busy, not to mention helping in the food ministry and other charity stuff we do.

And yeah, I say "we", as I couldn't do it without my good wife and helpmate at home, always there for me.

4:45 in the afternoon, and my "Lost" marathon was interrupted by the ankle monitor guy who was there to install the ankle monitoring machinery for a guest of ours.  Which as he's staying in our home, meant that the thing is in our living room.  Then he was fitted with the ankle bracelet.

He told inane jokes the whole time.  Which probably drew out the process by an extra half hour.  However, I'm not going to rush or be rude to someone who might then be up for hurting a guest.  I dutifully laughed, in a manner in which he could really think I found the jokes funny, and then took that as a great opportunity to plead for the guest to have church movement.

They call any going out "movement".  This guest already had a church, so the movement time was set for times on Sunday.  Ahh, well.  Still, any church at all is good.

February 10 - At 3:13 in the morning I got a call.  It was the guest who was due to leave in a few days for Florida.  He needed a ride, "not for anything bad".  I told him I understood, but anything good that he could go and get now could be got as easy the next day.  I told him that I knew it was hard, he'd already quit his job, but his tax refund wasn't quite in yet, so here he was all bored.  I said whatever urge he was or was not having would pass.  We talked a great deal more, after I said "Just a minute", hung up and went over to talk to him.

He went to bed after.  I went back home to bed, too.

Until 6:02, when my phone rang again.  Which as you can imagine, I always have very near me, and with the volume on loud.  Missing a call in this profession can result in bad situations getting very much worse, and very fast.

It was a woman who was inquiring about our food pantry.  Not for herself, but for a woman she saw on facebook, who lived in Springfield and had put out a plea for food on a facebook local marketing page.  As she related it, most of the other group members were giving her grief, but she thought the young woman might really need help.

She had a food pantry list, but she noticed that ours was the only one in town that delivered.  True enough, we are the only food pantry that delivers.  The big boys sure don't.  I had her talk me through who this person was, looked them up on facebook, found them, and sent a friend request and a message with my number.  I thanked the lady and hung up.

7:00 in the morning, now showered and shaved, working on a proposal for our Church's upcoming board meeting.  I have a $713 repair bill on a van that I only use for the Church's food pantry.  Since I've saved them the trouble of buying a van, and of gassing it each week, paying insurance on it each month, oil changes each quarter and registration tags each year, I feel justified in asking them to pay it.

I've a lot of paperwork to get in order, though, and spent this time doing so.  December's report and year end numbers - we served over 1,000 people with supplemental food, and did so with 20,000 pounds of food.  I broke down all the numbers, we were under budget each month on average, and our per unit price was the lowest in town.

A local grocery store asks for people to donate $5 for one of their paltry bags of food that don't even have frozen meat in them.  Our bags of food always have frozen meat - and usually produce - and a bunch of other good stuff, and we only spend $3.50 per bag!  But it takes a lot of planning to do that, and a lot of number crunching and bargain shopping.

11:00 in the morning and I took my ankle monitored guest to his church.  I didn't stay.  I had stayed last week, as a friendly courtesy to him - and in the hopes he'd try mine one day.  His church is rather...strenuous, though.  Oh, good people, but if you're not raised in the jumping up and down style of worship that's then a hard habit to get later.

Noon now, and I get a facebook message from that woman who my early morning caller had been concerned about.  Yeah, her and her fiancee need food.  Fiancee?  I checked her facebook profile.  Not that it would change the amount of food she'd get.  Sure enough, she had a fiancee listed.  From way back in 2013.  She 25, he's 24, and I was guessing that there was no marriage planned soon.  Ahh, well.

I full well know the relation that exists between how morally a person strives to live and how well they do, but that is NEVER my place to speak of for any instance of food aid.  Food aid is for the hungry, it matters not anything else.  That is an iron clad rule that I fully agree with, though I'm aware that some in various churches don't like that.

But me, I never noticed Jesus in the Bible quizzing those He gave food to about their morals, so why would I?  I did check that, sure, but mostly because I suspected that they'd be needing more aid later, and I'd need to know all I could.  Turns out, I was right to suspect that.

I messaged her that I'd have the food about between 6 and 7 that evening.  She said "Thanks!"

1:34 in the afternoon and a former guest calls me.  He'd been booted out for fighting at 1 in the morning last week, I had took him to the warming shelter and the next night he'd been booted out of there.  He said not for fighting, but I knew they only really boot you out there if you are fighting.  I'd gave him plenty of counsel on how to keep his job, other places he could live, and how to maybe get aid for his temper.

He'd ignored it all.  He was pleased to tell me that he had a place.  I recognized that tone, some get upset sometimes and want to "prove" that they don't need my advice, they can keep doing the same destructive things and still be okay, as it was never their fault anyway, etc., etc.

He was one of those.  He - and others in the past - needn't bother, though.  I'm always happy if in spite of everything they find another place.  The goal is that they succeed, if they can do so better at another group home or situation, then great.

He wanted his stuff delivered to his new place.  I keep a former guest's things safe for them if they have no place to take it.  I know some homes that put the stuff out on the curb or let the other guests scavenge through it.  I find that needless and pointlessly cruel.  A guest didn't make it - that's cause to be sad for them, not angry and vindictive.

I told him I was on my way.  On the way there, I noticed that address looked familiar.  I called up a friend of mine who runs halfway houses for recently released prisoners.  He has a Department of Corrections contract for that, and has half a dozen houses.  He's Bill Gates to my little lemonade stand of two sober living homes.

But we have coffee together sometimes, to talk about group home trials and tribulations and how sucky the City is to us.  He has a lawyer on retainer to defend against the City, I have to rely on how fast I can comply with anything they demand.  I asked, "Hey, isn't such and so address one of your houses?"  He said it sure was.  I said, "You take in some new guy today, guy named (blank)?"  "No, sure didn't!  Do I need to go over there?"

He knew and I knew what the situation was.  Guys in group homes often times run into someone they feel sorry for, so figure, "Hey, why not let him stay on the couch?"  Or even, "Why not let him have that empty room till the manager fills that bed?"  Sometimes out of kindness.  And who are we kidding - sometimes so they can charge a bit of cash or dope for letting that person stay.  None of us can allow that, though.  And this was not the first time some former guest of mine had found his way there.

My friend and I have a bit of an overlap.  His prisoners are often dealing with alcoholism and addiction.  And my addicts and alcoholics are often just out of prison.  Not that I have any contract or get any of that fat State funding, though.  I told him, "No, don't worry about it, I'm heading there now and I'm sure he'll leave peaceably."

I went to the back door, knowing the front didn't open, and knocked.  My former guest answered.  I stepped in and he said, "Where's my stuff?"  I said, "In the car.  But what stuff do you have here already?"  He said, "Nothing."  I said, "Good, you have to leave here now.  I'll take you anywhere you want.  But you can't be here."

"Why not?", he asked.  "Because you don't have the owner's permission.", I said.

"He doesn't know.", he replied.  "Sure he does, because I asked him about this on the way over.", I said.

"Why would you do that?", he asked.  "Because", I said, "He's my friend, and all the group homes talk to each other anyway.  You can still call the ones I told you of.  But this guy's houses are for specific people, and you don't qualify."

Then the guy who had told him he could stay came in, and my former guest looked like he was relieved, like this guy would sort me out.  The man did look inclined to argue with me, there's some rough types in those houses, rougher than most I get.  But he stopped when he saw me and said, "Where do I know you from?"

I said, "I'm the church guy who delivers the extra groceries each month."

He nodded, looked at his friend and said, "You gotta go."

While driving him to another place, my former guest related that he'd indeed lost his job, and was barred from yet another shelter.  I, as gently as I could, advised him again that one day he'd have to figure that maybe it wasn't everyone else who had the problem.  And that if he did come to know that, he should call me.

2:30 in the afternoon and I'm at the church to get the food pantry open.  It's actually open from 4 to 6, but I get there early so I can set up as much of it as possible before the only other couple in church to volunteer for it gets there.  They're good people, and very well off, and I dislike to waste their time when they're so kind as to be there at all.

This couple - how to put it?  They're one of those Golden Couples, they're in their fifties, he's semi-retired, and they're at the top of their game.  In every way.  The guy was some hospital bigwig who retired at full retirement pay, then promptly agreed to come back to still work, but on purely his terms!

They've money and means that I couldn't have hoped for even if I had buckled down at twenty and done all the right things, rather than travel about and play around as I did, in the military, in college and in general wandering about.  They've the house, the vehicles, the land, the means to travel - in short, the American Dream.

They're also pillars of the church, but not the flashy ones, they're very quiet about it.  Holding no leadership positions - deliberately, for I'm sure they could have such for the asking - they just quietly go about making sure stuff gets done.

And my little food pantry project is one they took note of, so every week, nearly without fail save for when they must be out of state visiting kids, they're there to bag food and to deliver it then to the poorest in our town.  I'm sure they also donate and contribute time to many other projects in and out of church, so it gives me pride that they take an hour or so each week to aid me.

Their aid is two-fold.  Well, three fold.  They aid in making the bags, though in truth I must stop myself ahead of time to leave some of that for them to do, I could easily do all that myself.  When they then leave, the third way they help is to deliver the food to various group homes, and that saves me a lot of time and gas, because even as it is, I don't usually get home till an hour or so after the pantry is closed at six.

But the second way they help is that when the bagging is done, and before they deliver some of it, they sit and talk with me.  Ever met a way high up person, but they'll talk to you like your an equal in status?  They do that, but naturally and without pretense.  There's not a darn thing to be gained by chatting with me, but without fail we have pleasant and enjoyable conversations each week.

And after each week of my profession, as much as I love it, it is so refreshing to speak to a couple that needs absolutely no aid, help or advice, and is never going to surprise me with any relapses or jail or fights or such.  To speak as if I was back in college, still a non-alcoholic person, still with no record.  To speak just a normal conversation on normal topics.  To speak as if I had always lived my life well, with no problems or sins or crimes, as if I was for a brief moment a person of as much note as I could have been had I lived my life better.

It's quite a gift, and one I'll miss when they move this Spring.

6:45 and after some other deliveries, I'm going to that facebook woman's house.  I turned onto the street, all the houses were dilapidated.  I pulled into the driveway, I could see the green tag on the house already.  Condemned.  Unfit for habitation.

I went carefully up the broken steps, and across the crumbling porch to the door with plastic where glass once was.  I shifted the bag of food and knocked on the frame.  No answer.  "They're all upstairs, knock louder!" a person wandering the cold and snowy street called out from the dark.

I sent a facebook message instead.  I waited and took note of the the broken windows.  The first floor looked empty.  A guy came down the stairs and let me in, apologizing profusely.  I told him it was okay, and as his arm was in a sling, went upstairs with him.

At the top was a curtain to keep the heat in, but it did not keep the smell of pot and cigarettes in.  Those I had smelled at the door.  "We don't do that", he assured me, not that I cared.  I don't like pot myself, and it's forbade in our sober living homes, even with a doctor's note, but I was here to deliver food, not "Just say no" messages.

Down the dirty hall, past the dirtier bathroom, was their single room.  They didn't know it, but I knew this house, a guest I had kicked out last year had later on called me to have his stuff delivered here.  I idly wondered if he was still here, but that door was closed so I did not know.

She was disabled, and had a colostomy bag.  She was laying on an old mattress that took up half the room.  The window behind her was missing, replaced with particle board.  I looked about for a place to set the bag down.  He apologized again, and took it from me.  I assured him everything was okay.  They were both so very young.

My eyes had already done an automatic scan, though, taking in everything.  It was...cluttered, but not dirty.  Interesting.  The broken shelving had everything neatly upon it.  They had made clever use of the closet door frame as a mini-shelf for their toiletries.  Dishes were neatly stacked on a mini-fridge.

No piles of clothes were to be seen, but a laundry basket had some, and a chair had a stack of folded clothes.  I was impressed.  And the pot smell had got stronger at one room, not theirs, and was absent here, except for the scent coming from back down the hall.

I reviewed their situation with them, simply by taking off my metaphorical "food pantry hat" and putting on my "general charitable aid hat".  They were used to being asked about their situation.  They explained it shortly and simply, glad to in case there could be any help.

They needed another place to live, obviously.  I told him that everything would be okay, and that I would check into what could be done and come tomorrow to go over that with them.  We agreed on 12 noon.  They thanked me and I left.  I had one more delivery, then I went home.

February 11 - I visited my former guest in jail, and let him know that everything he needed done had been done.  And that I was waiting to hear from his mom or sister about them picking up his vehicle.  Oh, and I'd got his phone, one of the line cooks found it where I suspect another had hid it.  People.  What are you going to do?

I told him that there'd been no more money in his vehicle, nothing I could do about that, I suspected the same person who moved his phone.  He related that he'd still not heard from his Public Defender, but he had a pretrial coming up Thursday.  He said that he understood if I couldn't make it.  I assured him that'd be no problem.

He tried to assure me that he couldn't be too bad, because behind him - and he pointed to where I could see some men in the background - were some who were in for murder.  I was silent for a moment then gently explained to him that such types were kept in a specific section of the jail, and since he was there with them, that meant the State was really hot and heavy on proving he was violent.

I said, "I know you've improved, you really have.  You've just a bit further to go.  You're surely going to do some time here, but you'll still be thirty when you're out, and I'll be there to pick you up from prison, just like last time, and you'll have the first month free with us till you can find another job.  In fact, I'm betting that your old job will even take you back.  They all like you."

He was silent.  I know how much this guy values being "tough".  He looked away.  He asked, "Last time, no one visited me in prison.  I didn't know you well enough to ask.  And my mom wouldn't.  Can you visit me this time?  It's harder in there when you're alone."  I assured him that I'd visit him, and that he'd not be left alone in there.  He then said some very kind things about me, that he'd never said before, he'd never been very emotional.  But I know what even a few days isolated in jail can do.  He was more worried than he cared to admit, even to himself.

I said, "Look, it'll be okay, in the end.  If this is what it takes to make some final changes, then believe me, it's for the best.  And the six?  They'll offer a plea.  No matter what, even if she is up for testifying, they'll still offer a plea.  You play it right, it could be three, and then some time off for good behavior.  Conceivably, even just one or two years.  Give you time to figure things out."

He knew what I meant.  Earlier in the conversation I had gave the "girlfriend talk", where I explained as I had to explain to many guys, that it doesn't really matter what the girl says or does, or even if she hits or pushes first, you can't do anything back.  You can walk away, you can dump her, you can move out, you can have her move out, or just ignore it, but that's it.

You'd be surprised how often I've had to give that talk.  But domestic violence and alcoholism/addiction go hand in hand.  As to my own personal shame I know.  It's a myth that such types can never change...but it's a sad reality that few do.

He said one more thing that really touched me.  He said, "Last week some of the guys were talking about you, and I told them that Dean was the one guy that you never wanted to burn a bridge with, because so long as you didn't, he'd always be there for you."

I felt that while he'd no doubt said that, that maybe he was looking for some reassurance, so I said, "Thank you.  And you are going to be okay.  There'll be some time, then you'll be out, and we'll help you get right back on your feet.  And this time you'll just keep moving forward, no looking back."

Then the screen clicked off.  Damn our system.  But I'd see him Thursday.

I got back to the house before 11, to meet a potential new guest.  A no show.  That happens.  They'll be all eager over the phone, but then last minute, they found some other situation.  Since I know we're the cheapest sober living home in town, it'll be a goofy situation.  A girlfriend dumb enough to take them in.  Or a buddy, but they'll then be doing drugs together.

But a benevolent universe smiling on me, I got a call from another guy.  He'd got my card from when I went down to a local shelter and persuaded the supervisor to let me address all the guys there.  It was one of the evenings of the past few days, but darned if I can remember which.  There were several jokers in the crowd, who after I had passed out my cards asked, "Can we have our girlfriends over?" to which I laughed and said "No, sorry", to which a few then - because they'd never been serious - laughingly passed the cards back.

He called, I interviewed him over the phone, got his location and then picked him up.  Having done this nearly 100 time before, it was a rapid process.  He was in and safe within a half hour of his call, looking a bit shell shocked at how quick it all was.  I've seen that before, and enjoy that we can do that for people.  From out in the snowy cold hoping for a cot in a fifty man shelter to his "own" house, wifi, living room, tv, kitchen, hot showers whenever he wanted, furnace keeping it all warm and toasty.

11:50 and I got a message from that poor couple that needed food last night.  My noon appointment.  I facebook messaged them back that I was on my way, and I made it just before noon.  This time I took some discrete pictures, in case the City were to handle this condemnation as poorly as they do others, it couldn't hurt to have some pics.

I interviewed them.  A sad, but distressingly not unusual, situation.  She was unable to work due to her disability and received a $771 check each month.  Which our President, and too many conservatives, figure is just too darn much largess, though those same types never mind the perpetual billion dollar bailouts of Wall Street.

And while I'm sure you have all figured me as a bleeding heart liberal, I was viewing with suspicion in my heart the healthy young male with the "broken" shoulder who said that was keeping him from working.  He had a good story.  A violent ex-con at this very house, who no longer stayed here, had broke his shoulder last month.

And yet..."So when's it going to be better?"

"I don't know."

"What did the doctor say?"

"Haven't been to one."

"Why not?"

"Can't afford it."

"It's free, I can take you to the ER now."

"Uh, no, I'll see about that later, I've other stuff to do today."

Yeah.  Other stuff.  More important than a broken shoulder?  I was about to drop it, but on a hunch I said, "The guy who broke it, his name Dave?"

"Yes, you know him?  He was pretty rough, he was dealing drugs and did this when I complained."

I resisted the urge to chuckle.  He was naming a guest I had kicked out last year, and I knew for a fact that as much crap as he had talked about being some bad-ass gang banger from Chicago that the one time he'd tried to act like he wanted to fight me, I'd stepped right up to him and said, "Really?  We're going there?" and he'd utterly backed off and stopped threatening to kill me.

That wasn't bravado on my part, I know who can fight and who can't, and I knew he was one who couldn't.  If he was from Chicago, it was from a nice home.  Any in the business could see that.  But who knows, maybe this kid really was frightened by him, so worked up some story to make himself look better to his "fiancee" and then caught on that it was a good excuse not to work.

He having "defended" her from a non-existent threat.

His type always bothers me.  A whole class of young males - and older ones - who live off of some woman with a government check.  But sadly, her check was not enough.  It could be - but it wasn't now.

I explained it to them patiently.  I told her how eventually, if she got her name on the right waiting lists, that she could have a subsidized apartment, utility help and such, and her check would be enough for all that.  And I told him how if he could get his shoulder took care of - I wasn't going to call him on it, that would do no good - that even the least little lowest paying job with the fewest hours would bring him at least $300 a month, and that with her check would set them up.

Not being a large charity with rich donors and large government and private grants, most of my "help" is knowing every agency in town - church, charity or civic - that can provide a multitude of different aid, and a knowledge as to how each can avail themselves of it, and a willingness to give rides to help them get it.  And to help such fill out the forms.  You'd be amazed at the illiteracy of many.

It saddens me, though, how few actually take the advice and aid.  But the few who do are glad they did.

I also assured them that if the police came back to kick them out - which they very well may do - then they need to call me at once, and I'd take each of them to a place they'd be safe.  I said that for her it would be Contact Ministries and for him Helping Hands.  That regrettably, there were few agencies to aid married couples and they were not really married yet anyway.  But that each agency would keep them safe till a place could be found for them.

I also found out how much they could pay a month.  $200.  I told them it would have to be at least $300 and probably more like $400.  They reluctantly agreed that they could pay such a month for a room.  I advised them of Craigslist and Facebook, each that has such rooms advertised, but said I'd make some calls, too.

We discussed a variety of other things pertaining to how they could break free of their terrible situation, and time will tell if that helps.  Meanwhile, I took my leave, and went on my way to make those calls.  As expected, most landlords I know do not have such cheap accommodations.  But I'm still waiting to hear from one more.

3:30 in the afternoon and I'm at CWLP, negotiating when I can make the next utility payment.  I asked for, and got, a break till the third of next month.  Heck, they've dealt with our charity for years, they know we're always on the fringe, but always come through.  So that was fine.  Still, it helps to go in and ask.  Phoning it in doesn't do as well, a tip I give to all who ask about utility assistance.

February 12 - 5:22 in the morning I get a call.  It was from that guest who often calls me in the middle of the night, usually with a relapse or an about to be - if not averted - relapse.  I silently wished he was already in Florida.  But no, don't get me wrong, we like the guy.  He has a lot of potential, we hope he'll use it all one day.

I answered, and this time it wasn't drugs, another guest had attacked him.  I knew both the guest who'd been with us for awhile, and the new guy - uh oh.  Had I misjudged the new guy?  No, he said, it was the other guest, the one who'd been with us a couple of months.  I threw on my robe, jammed my feet into my sneakers and hustled over there.  Good thing I live next door.

Each desired to tell me their story at once.  I separated them while hearing the gist.  Apparently the soon to be in Florida guest had got up early, that bothered the two month guest, so that guest came out and yelled at him, and apparently either poked him in the chest or very near his chest.  Pushing ensued, and then the two month guest walked across the kitchen floor to the butcher block set, drew a knife and at the least - accounts varied - brandished it.

I'm to be King Solomon now, but the knife made it easy.  I said to the guest who had used a knife, "I am not going to doubt you that you were provoked, and I am sure the other guy was in no way innocent.  But you took what was male chest bumping and turned it into potential killing when you went for a knife instead of calling me, calling the police, or just running out the door.  And we can't have that."

"I wasn't going to use it."

"Well, trouble is, knives are only good for killing or spreading stuff on bread, and I don't see any sandwich.  It was a poor response.  I'm not saying you meant harm, but it was a poor response, and there's no house that would let you stay after that.  If any guest in the future got harmed, that'd be totally on me."

There was a lot more discussion, I try to let them know that at least they got to say their peace so they don't feel they weren't heard.  Eventually he went to his room to pack.

The other guy started to justify again, and I stopped him.  "It doesn't matter, he's the one leaving.  But listen to me, and try not to get defensive, because I'm not attacking you.  You shouldn't have pushed him.  And if you weren't leaving in a few days, I'd have you leave, too.  I'm not saying he didn't poke you first, but you're stronger than he is, and I know you could not have felt any fear."

We discussed that a bit, and he did agree that he should work on his own responses.  And he volunteered a one week bonus from his IRS refund, because he having been with us over a year, he knows full well how bad it hurts us to lose an actual paying guest unexpectedly.  I knew I'd be releasing him from that offer later, as he was clearly already regretting it, but I figured on waiting a week first, just because.

I went to the new guest's room, had him come out, and made sure he understood how rare such was, but that it was okay, and there'd never be any fighting or violence allowed.  I assured him of that as he seems a quiet fellow, and he's only 25, and he's never been a group home and I know it was distressing him to be with us even before this unfortunate incident.

He'd lived with his granddad all his life, his granddad died, the house wasn't paid for, and he was basically just ejected from the house.  He wandered over to the shelter, not knowing what else to do, and was there when I gave my speech and passed out my cards.  I think he probably has some developmental issues, not enough to be classified, but enough that the normal intricacies of life may come a bit harder to him.

Well, we can guide him through to getting whatever apartment and such he needs.  But I was a furious that the guest I was kicking out had done this on the new guy's first full day.  Not that I showed it.  I never show any anger to a guest, even if they're being kicked out.  Their lives are punishment enough, what they need me yelling?

8:30 in the morning and the now former guest has his things in his car.  I explained to him exactly where to go for tonight and how he could get into another house within a few days.  He said he'd not be able to get a house due to what I would say.  True.  If I was asked.  I said, "I'm not looking to tank you here, so why not go to the shelter I said, join their program, and let them aid you in getting an apartment?  But if you must try another sober living home, well just don't mention me."

8:40 in the morning and I took two other guests, the ones in our home, to work.  Each worked in an opposite direction, each had to be there at 9, just to keep my life fun!  But I got them both to their jobs on time.  No $5 charge, as they're still new.  I wait till a guy has a few paychecks before I ask for gas.  And I have to ask for a $5 fee per ride, or I'd have four or five guys using me as a free taxi.  We tried that years back, I know.

2:00 in the afternoon, and I picked one up.

4:00 in the afternoon, and I picked the other one up.  He wanted to tell me that he couldn't pay me the weekly fee this upcoming Saturday, but he'd give me double the next Saturday.  He owed some people, and had to pay them.  He let me know that it would be wrong of him to make them wait.  I made a mental note then on where I figured on that list of those who his honor demanded he pay.

I explained that wouldn't work.  That didn't go over well.  Every time someone proposes that to me, they take it personally, like I doubt their sterling integrity if I say "no".

While a bleeding heart I may well be, I have no illusions about the integrity of we alcoholics and addicts.  Recovering ones, maybe, newly recovered ones...best not to tempt them while they're still so new to living appropriately.  I also pointed out, as I always do, that no one can truly guarantee a payment later.

"What if you lose your job?  Or get hit by a bus?  Or a family member has an emergency?", I asked.  And before he could answer, I said, "Besides, it would mean you'd be giving me almost your whole paycheck next time, and that would only hurt you."

He assured me that would not hurt him, and I told him as gently as I could that while I was sorry for any distress it caused him, it had to be that way.  Privately, I was sure he would agree - after all, he was on an ankle monitor, so it was here where we accommodate such (not all places do) or back inside.

He agreed, but made sure I knew this was still hurting him, but that well, he and I could still be good.  I thanked him.  I've no desire for him to feel bad, and if it made him feel better to think he was doing me a favor, then I could live with that.

5:31 in the evening, and I've been typing this overly long article about my week.  It's jumbled a bit, some things were done on different days, just trying to remember it all and get it down.  I've left out some boring stuff, taking out trash, patching a hole in the eaves, and giving rides to some blind friends of mine to doctor appointments.  Was this a usual week?

No, not exactly.  I mean it's usual that I'm busy, and the various dramas are usual, but it's a bit unusual to have a few of those larger things happen all at once.  It's kept me hopping.  And the day isn't over yet, the Church board meeting is at 6:30 and I never miss those.  They're responsible for a good part of the funding for the food pantry ministry and so not only do I give them those monthly reports, I can make sure it's all humming along just smooth enough that I don't have to worry about a fund-ectomy.

Oh, and tonight I need that repair.  Come to think of it, I won't be posting this article this very second, so tonight I'll update with how that worked out!

6:30 in the evening, and having arrived early to set up chairs for the board meeting, I chatted with some who were there already for the tail end of another event.  But as it's late, and I'm tired, I won't give all the details, but after various other business, it did get to the food pantry business.

And yes, while they wanted a couple of other estimates, they were up for fixing the van.  In my plea, I had said - and meant - that if it helped, I could donate them the van, as long as I could still use it for a few other random tasks now and then, like moving couches or picking up mattress donations.  They wisely declined that, knowing the expense of gassing, insuring and registering a vehicle.

Which was fine by me.  It's virtually a church van now anyway, and I'm happy for that routine upkeep to be a part of my donation to the church.  And happy that they'll come through on the random big repairs that are beyond my means.

9:00 at night and the board had to go into Executive Session.  Which means non-board members - me - have to excuse themselves.  I knew what they'd be up to.  One leader, known to me to be intemperate and hypocritical and a liar, had nominated his friend, known to me to be a gossip, a murmurer, a liar and married to a woman who continuously tried to persuade people in the church that our church was false, for a high leadership position.

Each was well off, each on the board, and each had opposed me ever having any leadership position.  See, I hang out with junkies, thieves, alkies and whores.  And when you're down in the mud helping the poor, you always get some on you.  Like the time some dealer came to our church to cause trouble because he was upset with me.

But there being no further business after that bit of cronyism and me having a food delivery to make, I just thanked them again and wished them a good night.  I mean, sure I could have said something, but they'd just said "yes" to the van repair, and my words wouldn't have changed anything, so what would have been the point?

9:10 and I was at this couple's house, where I was able to give them a bag of food from the food pantry.  They had called earlier for one, and I had said that it would have to be either late tonight or tomorrow morning.  They said late tonight would be fine, so I went to the North side of town before driving home to the South side.

10:05 in the evening, and me still dressed.  Because the jailed guest's sister had called to say they were on their way to pick up the car, and so I had to go and make sure it was ready.  As in pulling it out of the backyard where it was hid.  And when I tried to, it didn't start.  Battery was dead.

I got the jumper cables and moved my van and moved my car in, and opened the hoods.  Still no gloves.  I really need to buy a pair.  It started.  I left it running to build a charge.  I went next door to see how things were going there.

10:40 in the evening, the sister still not there, but I was able to have a nice chat about religion with one of the guests.  And also learn that the two guests in my home were trying to rip off the new guest who by now we knew for sure had developmental disabilities.  He thought anyone friendly was his friend.  And there were two friendly guests in my basement who thought it could be handy to borrow money from him.

The guest sharing this with me had prevented that.  Whatever his troubles, he's a very hard worker, and has plenty of money and no tolerance of the stronger preying on the weaker.  I knew then there'd have to be some calls made.  And I'd have to act fast to keep him from further harm.  I also knew that at least one of those guests was what I think of as "jail house lawyers".  He'd be sure that I had no right to ask them to keep away from that new guest and to not ask him for money.

He'd be sure that my authority was limited, and that all I got to do was make sure they weren't drinking or drugging.  He was wrong, but I wasn't terribly interested in the hassle that proving his type wrong would often times take.

11:20 at night, and finally the sister of the guest in jail arrived.  I gave her $350 to have it go to one of his cousins, and $50 for her for the gas and time of getting it.  They were happy I was helping and asked me to definitely keep in touch.  I advised them of his upcoming court date and said I'd call them after.

11:44 and now I'm home, and can get undressed.

That was some time ago.  And might have been last year.  Some names and stuff have been shifted about and changed for reasons of discretion and privacy and such.  The one guest in jail got out after nearly a year of State delays.  They offered to let him out, time served, if he plead guilty.  A cynic might have suggested that such was their plan all along.  A not very original plan, either.

And maybe that cynic had been me.

Or maybe I'm just predicting the future.

The couple in the condemned house turned out to be scamming for cash, pure and simple.  The guy staying rent free where he should not have been snuck back there again.  And was booted again.  Others have come and gone.  It's a full house as I write this.

I keep working each day - but no, I don't write a daily diary of the American nightmare.  Just updates now and then, of how it goes here and there, now and then, among those who are the 1% - that is, the bottom 1%.