Dear Anonymous,
These are toys from Dear Anonymous for Mike to distribute at the shelter.
Mike has told us giving to others, particularly kids going without, is a high. 'I love these kids. It's their parents who get a little grabby!'
I say I hope it makes someones' day.
'You kidding?' he belts out on the sidewalk 'It's makin' MY day. They're gonna love this. '
He looks at me impishly and says ' I can't wait to play!'
And he trudges off like the Street Santa. Toys in a garbage bag. Goodwill.
The Day Joe introduced me to Kenny, and Transience, chapter 64 "Babes in the Woods"
This is Kenneth W Beek who I met out on the streets a few years ago. More of his memoir TRANSIENCE will be published in Julys' edition of MAINER NEWS. His writing is...remarkable.
Here's an excerpt that he offered in the comments of an image I posted on Father's Day:
'Ashlea had given me a phone. She actually traded me for a cigarette, but when was the last time you bought a phone for a dime? My guess is, phones probably cost more than ten cents when the first telephone was sold. And so it was a gift.
The first thing I did was download a free text app. The second thing was text my “elder” child, who happened to be with my “younger” child- who is more accurately my middle child- the two of whom happened to be in Old Orchard Beach. That's not two hundred miles away like Bangor. That's two towns away, or somewhere between Biddeford and Purgatory. So we made arrangements to meet. It had been awhile… I hadn't seen Rachel since she had to go, and I hadn't seen Bowman since the weekend I lost my last wallet and found myself in jail rather than Heaven. I was waiting for them in Monument Square across the street from the library using the public Wi-fi. I was listening to Hank Williams and wondering how my dad was doing. I was wondering about a lot of things, the sorts of things normal people don't seem to wonder about at all. I wasn't worrying about anything, which also seems to distinguish me from normal people. Maybe that's just a misconception, but I seem to encounter a lot more worry than wonder, most places I go.
“Dad!”
It was Rachel. She was approaching from across the park with her brother and her boyfriend. I waved to them, and Bowman waved back. He can't get too excited about seeing his father. He's a teenaged boy, a young man. He has to be kool. I can relate. Being kool made me what I am: The Beast on a bench with nowhere to go.
“What's going on?” he greeted me, the drawl of Kool Kids of America.
He had waited until he got close enough to not have to yell. Kool kids only yell at concerts and cops… but an ear to ear grin was fastened to his flush and blushing face. He kept his kool, but just barely. He was excited to see me. I was happy to see him, but with that level of elation only possible when it springs from a deep well of regret, like a bucket hanging clear to Hell, drawing its final drops of Joy. The reservoir of those emotions is a ravine of regret, a hidden landscape forged by remorse for the sins of a condemned soul. I'm pretty kool.
I got up and hugged them both and shook her boyfriend's hand. I'm not much for hugging. It's difficult to embrace anyone else, even my children. I've always felt like that. My mother never hugged me that I can recall, and my father mostly only did so to apologize for taking a beating beyond the reasonable level of discipline. I figure that's how most tough guys are made. Lord knows, my father was tough. The Lord also knows my father was beaten often as a child, and quite beyond any reasonable level of discipline. I've never hit Rachel. I spanked Bowman once, but it hurt me more than it did him. I'm not just voicing an old cliché. I spanked him once. I could never have done it again.'
Transience, chapter 64 "Babes in the Woods"
The Day Joe introduced me to Kenny
The coffeecake is long since gone. But now he sits in the sun not entirely happy...
Dear Anonymous,
The coffeecake is long since gone. But now he sits in the sun not entirely happy I have my camera out. But he is kind. Tells me about baking berry crisps. He has his standards as a baker and my coffecake has made it through the gauntlet. He recognizes the flavor of unsalted butter. He recognizes the favored 'crumb'. Tells me he had brought me a package of blackberries but someone swiped them. Tells me he only drinks on days ending with y. Tells me the last time he 'dressed up' was at his partner's funeral.
He wears the hat offered by you this winter. A fleece sweatshirt too...
Dear Anonymous,
He wears the hat offered by you this winter. A fleece sweatshirt too that had been handed to him about that same time. He has managed to hold onto them. Nothing short of a miracle out here. I notice. He smiles.
And socks are distributed and there are not enough coffee cards but they eye the stack of clean and beautifully folded tshirts. And they settle. And they choose. And there is dignity in the offer (thank you Dear Anonymous) and there is dignity in the receiving.
Just that. That's all. And that is a lot.
And he stays by so I may photograph and I am so taken by his eyes that I fumble with my camera. Is it on? Oh, settings? Is it focusing? All the while those eyes...
Someone donated a big bag of tshirts and part of the joy was unfolding each one...
Dear Anonymous,
Someone donated a big bag of tshirts and part of the joy was unfolding each one with the guys and watching them figure out who would like each one. This guy will only wear plain shirts, 'I ain't no billboard.' So, the plain one goes to him.
This guy loves Batman so the Batman shirt goes to him without question. The skateboard shirt goes to the younger fellow along with the band tshirts.
Mike calls out 'THAT one's for Tyler!' and we put it away for him. Tyler arrives and Mike is excited to hand it to him. And Tyler's response, so worth it.
Thanks Dear Anonymous.
A few days ago Mike overdosed near Preble Street...
Dear Anonymous,
A few days ago Mike overdosed near Preble Street. A man, a stranger to Mike, jumped in to administer narcan, not once, but three times before the ambulance arrived with the fourth shot on the way to the ER.The man even retrieved Mikes' gear and kept it all safe for him until he was released from the hospital.
That man speaks little English and is an immigrant, we believe from Iraq.
Mike found him yesterday to thank him. Offered him a beautiful medicine bundle gift from his own culture and tried to describe its meaning and value to the man who saved his life.
'I tried but I was gonna' start ballin' my eyes out. Years ago I woulda' said GET LOST to someone like him....'.
Someone like him refers to the mans' immigrant status.
Mike is struggling this morning with inner disappointment, that shame of relapse. A heavy burden.
He's taking some actions to start painting again.
He stuffs a bag with donated womens pants and tshirts to bring 'up the hill' to the resource center.
Mike is showing me that he attached a card sent to him along with a medicine bundle from a friend in the Penobscot Nation. He says it's a prayer that helps him. Sometimes I watch people who have almost nothing, and what is it they hold onto. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
It's Father's Day. And that can be a trigger out here...
Dear Anonymous,
It's Father's Day. And that can be a trigger out here. Abusive dads. Dads that are dead now, that despite their abuse, they miss with their broken hearts. Dads they are afraid to call because they are calling from the street. And that call is likely not going to go well.
Grief over not being able to be present to their own children. Or failing at yet another relationship. Abandoning their own children as they have felt abandoned. There is love in the story. Ferocious love wanting to be lived but it's strangled with trauma. Riddled and choked with shame. Complicated with mental health issues.
So, hey the pain is too much and I don't wanna feel ANY more pain, so...let's get high.
And by the grace of a stranger on the street and three narcan shots administered by that stranger and another narcan shot in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and he's here to speak about it.This is the story Mike tells me of his yesterday.
An empathetic ER doc who fed him popsicles and talked straight with him is on my mind. Thank you. The stranger is on my mind too. Thank you. That Mike will share this story is a sign of strength I pray he someday recognizes if not already.
The ghosts of guilt, shame and remorse are flying about his head like those old cartoons of birds flying in a circle to illustrate the effect of being pummeled in the head.
I arrived in a pissy mood, not aware of the situation. And he made every attempt to lift my spirits. He tried to soothe my aggravated little, puny self. And then this story tumbled out.
Sometimes it is really best to shut the f*** up.
Every card. Every shirt. Every pair of socks. Walked away clutched in hands and stuffed in packs.
Tyler always offers himself to be photographed. He steps into the experience of being seen in a way few do...
Dear Anonymous,
Tyler always offers himself to be photographed. He steps into the experience of being seen in a way few do. And I always love that he allows us to see him. In good times. In bad. That somehow he seems connected to something far deeper in him than appearances.
This morning he drops his gaze into that lens and looks straight into me as if he can see a distant galaxy, and simultaneously as I squint through that viewfinder, he becomes the galaxy himself. The camera disappears and I am standing holding nothing but ferocious love.
And then there's socks and coffee cards.
Today arriving with a generous donation of shoes and boots, pants, socks and coffee cards...
Dear Anonymous,
Today arriving with a generous donation of shoes and boots, pants, socks and coffee cards. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Mike is a shoe guy and was really pleased with this donation. Happy feet help on the street when you're pounding the pavement without regular hygiene.
It's a morning of loss too.
This young man lost his family to his drug use. Worried about his mom.
And this woman. She lost her job, her home, her kids. Drug use.
He lost his backpack. Again. Pants, no belt...and all I can find is some clothesline.
He, well, he lost his patience long ago. Along with a grandson.
Some have lost their minds.
Mike apologizes for the behavior of one person, 'She 's been out here so long she's lost her politeness.'
And so it is.
Aboard the Haley G.
Very, very sad to hear of Todd Miller's death. Obituary below.
You were one of the Heroes of the Working Waterfront. Damn. Condolences to your family and friends.
Aboard the Haley G.
https://www.pressherald.com/2020/06/18/todd-miller-avid-skier-beloved-at-sunday-river-dies-at-53/
Upright. Arrived in time for coffeecake. Great to see you Tyler Scott.
Dear Anonymous,
Upright. Arrived in time for coffeecake. Great to see you Tyler Scott.
Lots of socks. Hungry for socks. Hungry for shoes. Tshirt supply is gone.
The open maw of the street. The maw of lives pushed to edges.
But there is water to distribute. Boxer briefs to hand out. And it will never be enough.
One young man I offer socks to puts up his hand.
'I'm all set. Hold onto them for somebody who got nothing.'
And I do.
Another man hands me a sweatshirt to 'recycle'. I'll wash it and back on the streets it goes.
He has lived experience of addiction. And recovery. And all the messy territory that lives between...
Dear Anonymous,
He has lived experience of addiction. And recovery. And all the messy territory that lives between these two shores. He has sustained deep personal loss. One of his brothers died from a fatal overdose. Recently. She, as well, recently lost a boyfriend to the same path. They are both employed. Live in a lovely apartment. They choose to visit.
I am just sitting with how that was yesterday to have them hand out packs to folks on the street in his brother's memory. Reflecting on the conversations. How impossible it can feel to make any change. Just how difficult it is to do so. Just how diminished thinking can become out here. Desperation. Urgency. Drama. Being overwhelmed is the norm. Mental illness partners with substance abuse. Trauma is leaking everywhere. Everyone talks at once. No one listening. No one realizing they are talking over someone else. Triggers. Triggers. What's the plan? I need a drink. I need a fix. I need boxers.
For these two to simply arrive. Stand with us. Be kind. Offer something without needing anything. Good medicine. Thank you.
I met Nick Giacoppo at MaineWorks and his brother Chris Giacoppo. Beautiful men...
I met Nick Giacoppo at MaineWorks and his brother Chris Giacoppo. Beautiful men. They lost their brother Ricky to a fatal overdose this year. This morning Nick joined me on the streets and distributed backpacks from his family's non-profit RICKY,INC. A tribute and living memorial aimed to assist those struggling on the street. Though they are operating out of the Boston area Nick was able to distribute many here in Portland this morning. Nick's mom...I'd be very, very proud.
Two really bright and involved people who give my world great hope. Nick and Virginia...
Two really bright and involved people who give my world great hope. Nick and Virginia. Having wrestled with and survived awful odds in recovery. Who have sustained intense personal loss. Out this morning at 5:30 AM sharing backpacks loaded with street useful items from RICKY,INC. Named after one of Nick's brothers who died from a fatal overdose.
Rickyinc.org
'I been upset lately. I can't even visit the kids. Can't give 'em anything....'
Dear Anonymous,
'I been upset lately. I can't even visit the kids. Can't give 'em anything. That's such a high for me. I was sittin' outside usin' and a 10 year old kid came up to me. I know him from the shelter. He said 'Whatcha' doin' Mikey? That stuff's no good for you, Mikey.' A TEN year old lookin' at me, tellin me this.'
He heads out with a few RICKY,INC. backpacks to help distribute. Bringing a streetfriend up to hopefully find a caseworker. He wants help.
There are tears and tissues and no more coffee cake.
These two young, bright people joined me to distribute backpacks for RICKY,INC.
Dear Anonymous,
These two young , bright people joined me to distribute backpacks for RICKY,INC. ( Respecting Individuals with Care and Kindness You Matter) This is a non profit started by Bernadette and Rich Giacoppo who lost their son to a fatal overdose. This is Ricky's brother Nick Giacoppo and his girlfriend Virginia Norton, who has also lost people very close to her to fatal overdose.The packs are filled with resource information and practical items, from food to socks to hats to personal hygiene products.
Their presence initiated some conversation regarding use and addiction and rehab. Tough and real.
And one man listening, uncharacteristically wipes his eyes with a wadded up tissue. And asks for help.
'I don't want to live like this no more.'
Thank you Nick Giacoppo, and Virginia and RICKY,INC. for joining us this morning.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
His face is swollen. Stitches. He leans on his cane...
Dear Anonymous,
His face is swollen. Stitches. He leans on his cane.
Somedays remaining upright is not possible.
Sometimes that ground hits hard.
He struggles.
He is in our world. In this world in which we move about together and move about apart. Soft spoken. Courteous.
He always turns toward me as he leaves, new socks tucked into his front pocket, with a dignified smile and makes eye contact as he lowers his chin, looks up at me and says 'Now you have yourself a good day.'
And when he says it I can feel that possibility. I can feel like I'd like my day to be good because he wishes it so. Maybe I COULD have a good day.
You too, friend. You too.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Did you sleep at all?...
Dear Anonymous,
Did you sleep at all?
'Sleep? What's that? I roll over and she's not there and then I'm wide awake. I rearranged the bedroom my uncle let me sleep in. I had to do something.'
Have you eaten?
'Nah, can't keep anything down.'
He is thanking the tribal representative who sent this bundle for him. I read the message on the card that was included. He listens. Both our hearts melt. Our eyes collect dew. Yeah, that must be it.
He tucks it tenderly into his shirt pocket. Thank you, Dear Anonymous.
He contributed to Dear Anonymous when he received his stimulus check.
Dear Anonymous,
He contributed to Dear Anonymous when he received his stimulus check.
#maggiesmission is the effort of a woman whose daughter died of overdose. She had spent time on these streets...
Dear Anonymous,
#maggiesmission is the effort of a woman whose daughter died of overdose. She had spent time on these streets. #maggiesmission has supplied in the neighborhood of 100 backpacks for the streets. The streets of 'my pack was stolen last night. AGAIN'. The streets of 'I got nothing'. The streets of people wandering with all they own in a ripped plastic shopping bag. The handles cutting into their fingers.
She had asked me 'Do you think anyone would find any use in this?' holding up a leather over the shoulder bag.
This was his response and his gratitude.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.