OUTREACH STORY #6: The Unlikely Inspiration!
The men filed through one by one printing their names, writing their ages and signing their autographs. Different demeanours, temperaments, smells and personalities would grace us as we checked each man in. Every fella was assigned a mattress and two grey woolly blankets.
I would always discover a lot about people through this simple procedure. One man waits patiently for his turn, another tries to push in, and another manipulates his way up the line. There would be a drunken sleepy man stooped in posture next to an energetic twitching man grinning and talking to a friend only he can see, followed by four friends who joke, talk and laugh loudly with each other. Each fella in each night’s line represented different journeys, traumas and stories, I always considered it an honour to meet and greet everyone.
One gentleman graced us frequently throughout the shelter's duration. He was Italian and Polish, he was 53 years old, and was known as Nick. He would stand quietly in line, keep to himself and would often splutter into a horrific coughing fit which would disperse the crowd around him. His neighbours, worried for their health and safety, would loudly accuse Nick of having rampant TB. Nick would try to defend himself by yelling. We'd step in, assuring the crowd he was not contagious and did not have Tuberculosis. We knew this because we frequently did TB tests.
Nick shuffled to the sign-in sheet and murmured “Hi Jeremy” and with snail-like swiftness awkwardly wrote N I C K with his face several centimetres from the paper. No last name, no age and no signature. He often scribbled his name in the place he was not supposed to write on, hardly ever keeping his 4 letters between the 2 lines.
Nick lived with a horrific disability rarely seen or admitted on the shores of America (or Aotearoa). He was illiterate. He could not read or write a single lick, except for those 4 magic letters – N I C K. Until you witness a person struggling through life, it is hard to put yourself in their shoes. Illiteracy affects every aspect of their lives.
Nick’s struggles did not end there. He had some horrible asthmatic and bronchial problems, issues dealing with excessive weight and mental illness and a host of medications; thus, we ended up calling 911 for him more than any other man. After a few nights in a hospital, he would arrive again on our doorstep needing another night’s rest. Nick always wanted to offer something; he picked up a broom or mop and cleaned, often resulting in rapid panting and needing to sit. We told him repeatedly that he did not need to help us, but he insisted and would stubbornly grab the broom. It was his way of saying "thank you". Nick had a heart of gold.
Penniless. Unemployed. Homeless. Alone. He was drug-free, he didn't drink alcohol or have a criminal record. His struggle was being unable to read or write. He was unable to breathe like the rest of us. The Western world fails people like Nick. But, as with all of us, Nick was a human being searching for his God-given purpose. He wanted to be free of suffering. Nick wanted to be loved and to love. Nick found and experienced glimpses of that at our shelter.
We loved Nick. Nick loved us. He erupted with outbursts of emotion from time to time, but Nick was part of the Cornerstone family. We never knew of any family he had. Occasionally a new guy would arrive and start bullying or taunting poor Nick. He seemed like an easy target. He looked so vulnerable. He looked so alone. Picking on Nick was a big mistake because many of the CCO regulars would jump to his defence. Nick found a family at CCO, and we proudly accepted him. We needed Nick! Nick needed us!
Nick had one highlight every day; it was “The Word” which was shared with the men as they lay on their mattresses nightly. For 5 – 20 minutes a few of us encouraged the men with Bible verses, testimonies and our thoughts, and then we prayed for their night's sleep. They didn't need to listen during this time, but it was Nick’s highlight after his long days. He waited in anticipation. He sat up gazing at the speaker. He was angered if anyone made a noise. He was frustrated if he thought the wrong person delivered the message. He would burst out with questions as he tried to understand. He longed for “The Word”.
Over time the shelter changed from being overnight to providing a 24-hour supportive service programme. As a result, we were able to help him more thoroughly. We spoke with the doctors who monitored his health and prescribed his medication from the local free clinic. We helped him take the right dosage. We helped him eat the right foods. He was losing weight, looking healthier and had a gentler deposition.
In light of all this positivity, Nick's world was suddenly rocked. Government agencies decided to cut funding and we had to close the shelter just before winter. They promised to come in, house many and place the remaining few in other shelters. My thoughts and prayers went out to all the men; I knew some guys would make the most of the situation, a lot would find their struggle harder and some would resort back to the life they had been fighting to defeat. The stories were immense! My heart went out to many, but especially Nick, as I knew he'd be one of the hardest to house. I asked myself, how would he, or could he, survive a brutal winter in Chicago?
The government agency came in with promises and systematically broke them all. Nick, being the weakest and most vulnerable, suffered the most. Being mentally ill, family-less and illiterate, he couldn't comprehend what was going on, so he angrily and loudly questioned the agency's Commissioner, who arrogantly swore at him, told him to "get out", he didn't want to see his face again and told him he wouldn't be helped at all. Scott (coworker) and I were horrified by his callous lack of compassion and we begged the Commissioner to have mercy, but he brushed us off like we were a couple of annoying fleas and doubled down on his judgment of Nick.
We intentionally disobeyed the Commissioner by secretly allowing him to sleep in the shelter until its final closure. But in the end, Nick needed to leave our building like all the other men. Most of the other fellas were given another mattress on another floor in another large open room, just around the corner. But not Nick! The Commissioner had wielded his power. The City of Chicago had refused to offer Nick a solution. He had no place to go! He disappeared into the concrete jungle. His whereabouts quickly became a mystery.
Nick died a couple of months later. He died under a tree in Uptown. He died of pneumonia and an infection. He died alone.
I don’t want Nick’s legacy to die! I want him to be remembered. I want Nick’s name to inspire us all to do and be better! His story irritates me like an annoying flea, spurring me to fight harder for all those marginalised and ostracised. Nick has spurred in me a desire to fight against the lies and brutality of governing bodies, especially when they lack any compassion for the poor and oppressed. Nick’s legacy challenges me not to sit and wait. Nick's journey inspires me to move, reach out, and become an outreach worker. In Chicago, I kept a picture of Nick in my office to remind me not to give up.
We offered Nick a little light in his dark world, a little family in his family-less world, a little hope in his hopeless world, and a little love in a loveless world.
I always wonder what more I could have done, and upon reflection, I believe Nick would want us to do these 5 things…
- Meet people’s needs, especially those who have the greatest needs.
- Provide opportunities, especially for those who are without opportunity.
- Fight for the underprivileged and oppressed, especially opposing those who abuse their power and privilege.
- Follow the example of Jesus, especially how he brought healing and liberation.
- Love our neighbours, especially those who cannot give us much back in return.
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