You Will Be Rich and Not Know It
Gene Gilchrist
Louisville, Kentucky
“You will be rich and not know it”. Lamont was alone on the couch that had the imprint of his backside from many, many Sunday football games. The game was close. He was tracking a couple of players he had on his fantasy card this week. But Lamont knew that he had heard it. Or was it some inner voice? Or did he just have a neurologic event of some sort? He had heard the joke that when we talk to God, we call it prayer but when God talks to us, we call it schizophrenia. God had not spoken to Lamont before.
He was in his usual spot, his usual couch spot, soda on the coaster next to him, watching six football games as he did every Sunday. He enjoyed watching, rooted for Baltimore and whoever was playing Dallas. He kept track of the players on his fantasy football card. “Why would God talk to me now,” he thought, “and what was that message all about if he did?”
*************
Devon was always the first one to come to the meeting in the shelter. He had a permanent room in the shelter as opposed to the overnight clients for reasons Lamont never did know. Devon timed when the coffee would be done. He knew that Lamont would take the bait on whatever sports topic he wanted. Devon fixed a cup of coffee and took a couple of cookies as he settled in to his usual place for the meeting. “Who would you put on your list of best five basketball players ever?”, was the debate for this evening.
After a few seconds Lamont served the first volley. “I guess Jordan, Kobe, Magic, Jabbar, Lebron, yeah that’s it,” he replied. “All black guys, all pretty recent”, Devon replied. “Where’s Wilt, Bill Russell, Oscar Robertson”, Denov offered. “And what about Bird, Jerry West, John Havlicek”, Devon said offering up a few white guys. All to keep the discussion lively of course.
“Now don’t think I’m being racist, just two black dudes talking you know, but I don’t think West and Havlicek make the list”, Lamont replied. “If you made me take a white guy, I say Bird and Walton”. “Honestly, I would take David Robinson and Tim Duncan before any of those white guys. Just on talent, you know”.
This discussion was not intended to come to a conclusion; never was. It was interrupted only by the arrival of the other attendees but otherwise it could have gone on for a long time. Tonight, Scottie Pippin, Moses Malone, Willis Reed and another dozen men were mentioned. Finally, thankfully for some nights and some discussions, the other attendees arrived.
The shelter staff collected the men from their side of the building first, then the women. Curfew started at about the same time as the meeting at 7:00 p.m. The men lined up for coffee. “Now don’t Bogart the cookies”, Lamont admonished the men. He understood that these folks, homeless, often on the street, took food whenever offered and that even the inexpensive cookies were a treat. The message was two-fold though. One was to preserve the cookies for the women, but the other was about discipline. Yes, these folks struggled just to get by and didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about manners. But Lamont was not here to reinforce bad behavior. He contributed his time so that people could take those little steps that constructed a ladder to overcome what had happened over the years, a ladder to escape their current situation. “The soft bigotry of low expectations”, as one of the President Bush’s said.
Lamont opened the meeting when the twenty or so people calmed down a little. If he didn’t call things to order, there would be chatting the whole hour. “Thanks for coming tonight,” Lamont began. “We don’t advertise these meetings so much as AA or NA because we welcome everybody regardless of their drug of choice or even their behavior challenges like gambling or sex. We are here to share our experience, but if we don’t have that particular experience, we can still share our strength and hope with each other.” It was never clear to Lamont whether the attendees listened or just tolerated these openings. Sure, hot coffee, a few cheap cookies, an activity was better than lying in your bed until the lights went out. He hoped, though, that some of the messages would get through with a few of the residents.
“I consider myself an alcoholic and I have been clean and sober for thirty-five years now”, Lamont continued. “I grew up in a poor, single parent household. There were no male figures in my household although in my twenties I did meet my father quite by accident. I dropped out of high school and worked menial jobs, fast food and so on, but my main gig was partying. I had a few scrapes with the law, I had violence both by me and to me. One day my Mom and aunts called me in and said I should go to a rehab in town. Those things were new then. They dropped me off to a new and unfamiliar world. But I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I felt the bad catching up on me. I was willing and that is the key. Willingness”.
Jim then told his story briefly. A big, tall, country boy, Jim provided a contrast to Lamont the poor, urban black man. Jim talked about growing up poor in the country, his strong faith in God, but how demon rum had lured him. He spoke about how he had found his way to the streets, how he tried the “geographic cure”, escaping trouble by moving, about how that never worked. He ended up in a Christian shelter in Atlanta where he reconnected with the faith of his youth and AA. He had been sober three years now. For Jim, faith alone would not work. He needed a program of recovery.
Lamont opened the floor for discussion. It was always tricky at the start to keep the discussion heading toward alcohol and drug issues. Statistically 70-80% of the people in the shelter had a problem. Lamont and Jim intended to normalize discussion of those issues through their upbeat appraisal of their own situations and a non-judgmental discussion of what the clients had to say.
The task was complicated by the fact that 50% of the people in the room likely had a comorbidity in some other behavioral health issue. Lamont hoped one of these clients would not speak first but on this night he had to deal with a discussion of the tone in the city and how the Mayor did nothing to help the homeless. “Thanks Bridgtte”, Lamont said by way of brush blocking the discussion. “I suspect that you are right, but there is nothing you, Jim and I can do to change that. We can help with issues around drugs and alcohol, you know, abuse and addiction, so let’s see if we can keep our discussion there if we can.”
There was the usual debate about whether or not weed was a drug and it was important not to shut that conversation down too quickly. Thomas, a regular attendee, spoke up. “You know I like weed as much as the next fellow but now weed can kill you. These bastards lace it with all kinds of shit. I just stick to a few beers I’ll tell you.” At some point after participation loosened up the group Lamont took his turn. “When we hang around with people who use weed we think everybody uses weed. The fact is, though, that less than half of the country has tried weed and one in six use it for recreational purposes”, he suggested. “Now I know you don’t believe that so go to the NIH web page and look it up.” He knew they wouldn’t, and he knew they didn’t believe him or didn’t want to believe him. “I have to tell you that the data does not support switching drugs as the solution neither,” Lamont continued. “It’s not that one drug is like the next or leads to the next but switching drugs eventually seems to bring us back to our drug of choice”. By the way, I do know a way of not getting OD’d on weed if you catch my drift”.
This evening was uneventful for the most part. At one point Jim picked up a discussion of faith as a solution. “Like I said before”, he started, “no one was more God fearin’ than me. I grew up with church three times a week, I volunteered, I spoke from the pulpit. But I think looking back that when “shine” got in me from the hills the first time it just took over step by step and in the end, there was nothing I could do to stop it.” “There’s an old joke about the minister that takes the teens to a boxing match. Before the first fight one fighter blesses himself in the corner. “Reverend, will that help him?” one boy asks. The minister replies, “Not if he can’t box,”. Now don’t misunderstand, I rely on God”, Jim said. “I just think she wants me to do my part.” Jim and the ladies shared a chuckle at “her”.
Comments sometimes turned to the shelter staff and that was tricky for Lamont. He understood that the perception of the staff depended on whether you went to your own place or lived in the shelter. He understood that the staff had a hard job, and they were imperfect people too. On the other hand, he couldn’t allow the discussion to stray away from personal responsibility. He usually managed this well.
It was 7:55 and Lamont always said that no souls were saved after an hour. He didn’t talk about it, but the staff asked him not to go too much past 8:00 so they could get everybody settled in before lights out. Lamont didn’t like participating in the jailer mentality, of treating homeless folks like children. But he understood the staff as mostly good people, way underpaid, way understaffed, trying to do their job.
“I know that some of y’all think that at 35 years clean and sober people like me got it all down. Maybe in comparison to the first day, people like me and Jim have come a ways. But, what Bill Wilson and Bob Smith discovered in Ohio all those years ago was that helping others we help ourselves”, Lamont said as segue. “Thank you for helping me today.” He wondered if they believed that. He sure did. “We have a nice way of closing,” Jim said, “and I hope you all will join me.”
They formed a circle and joined hands as usual and Lamont asked if anyone wanted to pray. One of the women who had spoken that night offered. “Lord, I hope you heard us tonight. Please help us get through another day and night. Thank you for sending Lamont and Jim. Thanks for the staff. We know they are trying even if they piss us off sometimes. Take care of all the people outside tonight. Help them make it safe through another cold night. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”
There was lots of hugging as the coffee area was cleaned up, the chairs returned to their right place. There were good byes and many thanks to Lamont and Jim. The men and women went their separate ways to their bunks.
As Lamont drove home, he was filled with more thoughts than usual. How was there so much pain out there? Why did God let these things happen? Why does the city look down on these homeless folk without knowing the pain that got these folks to this point? Drunks, junkies, mental health issues – sure. He had heard over and over, “they want to live on the street.” Bull shit. There were lots of causes. Did several, even most of the homeless contribute to their own downfall? Sure. But there were many factors that drove them here. And these were the fortunate ones having a bed tonight. What about the thousands who would sleep under a highway, behind the ball park, behind the big box store, in the camps. So much pain.
Lamont was happy with the thought that he was fulfilling his walk with Christ. He was helping the needy, the down trod, all children of God. What kids’ movie was that from he tried to recall? He was also fulfilling his twelfth step responsibility in AA to “carry the message to those still suffering”. Above all, after all this tonight, there was no way he would drink yet today. He was grateful.
He thought he heard a bad clunk when he hit a pothole. This car was ten years old now and he wondered how long he could nurse it along. He had retired from EMT service two years ago and that pension wasn’t going to be enough. He had applied for jobs but nothing yet. His wife worked but he often thought he wasn’t pulling his weight. They lived check to check. What about retirement? What if one of them got sick? How far was he, financially speaking, from his apartment to the shelter? But thinking about the folks he just left he was grateful. He was almost certainly one drink away from the shelter. He was close before.
*************
Lamont woke up Sunday at his usual time around 6:00 a.m. He was always the first out of bed, so he wondered what the talking was in the living room. He pulled on some pants and a tee shirt and left his room. The “Happy Birthday,” came from a chorus. Lekeisha spoke first. “We know you will want to watch football so we thought we would get up early to celebrate. I already spoke with Pastor Wendell, and he thinks that God will consider us celebrating your birthday over breakfast with the family will be a very spiritual thing. Maybe we can skip services today. We are thinking about breakfast at IHop.”
Lamont noticed the crowd. His wife Lekeisha and their daughter Noel ( a Christmas baby). His mother-in-law, his son and his wife from Cincinnati, his son Jarrod from across town. His nieces and nephews totaling five. He opened one card after the next. A card from his mother-in-law, “I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye, Lamont, but I always love you like the son I never had”. There was a card from their dog, “woof, woof, bark, whine, happy birthday, thanks for the steak bone sometimes”.
This time it was Lamont misty in the eyes. He opened a book from his friend Marty who joined at the shelter sometimes. His wife gave him a sweater as they were saving a bit by turning the heat down at night; a recognition that she was a part of his team in managing their paycheck to paycheck budget. The dog gave him a drawing of himself signed with a paw print. “I wonder where the ink ended up that I will have to clean up”, he kept to himself. They went to breakfast. A great birthday; the best ever.
*************
The family returned in time for the 1:00 p.m. game. The first games were meaningless, but Baltimore, his team, and Cincinnati was for the division lead midseason. Lekeisha brought him a sandwich between the 4:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m. games. “Happy Birthday baby. I’m off to bed”. A quick kiss on the forehead.
A great day. Somehow Cleveland, awful Cleveland, led at halftime when the voice came again. “Like I was sayin’.” Lamont tuned out the halftime report. It was clear as a bell this time. It was like the room had gotten a little softer with light. Nothing supernatural, just stiller. Lamont sat for a couple of minutes. “Well played, God,” he thought to himself or maybe said to the voice. “Well played”.
Lamont turned off the TV, closed down the living room, cleaned up his plates and so on from the kitchen. He went into bed softly by Lekeisha, but she woke up anyway or maybe as intended. “How was the game?” she asked. Lamont thought about the voice for just a second. “There will be other games.”
