He’s long gone. Few would remember him now, the ranks of the unhoused change so.
And people on the streets forget, or they want to forget. They remember faces, but not names, or at least birth names.
Let’s call him Bobby C., a veteran, a smart dude, too. He survived some military action, returned home and got married, married to the bottle that is. Beer for breakfast, wine for lunch and dinner, occasional weed, maybe some coke from time to time, the kind you snort not the soft drink that you might sip on in a hot summer day.
We got to be friends with Bobby, and he did with us, too. We cared for him – a lot. We tried to help him. He appreciated that. But he couldn’t help himself. In wet sneakers one winter day he froze his feet and lost four toes. Then he fell and got all smashed up. He told us that he couldn’t go through another winter outside.
Spring came and Bobby took his place on the bench at Victory. He was a staple there. We’d get upset with him from time to time, would buy him a nice pair of shoes and clothes. Then, the minute we left, he’d exchange them for alcohol or drugs or to settle a debt. We’d see him again, no new shoes, wearing those foul-smelling worn-out sneakers.
Booze was his thing. At times it would make him happy, very happy. And he could be so funny. One morning we approached him and he was soaking wet. He’d slept on the grass at Victory Park and forgot about the water sprinklers. He said it was the first real shower he’d had in months. Knowing he’d laugh, we jokingly told him we believed it. And laugh he did.
With another winter coming, Bobby’s mood changed. It was said that he got some fentanyl and purposedly overdosed and died. We didn’t know about it until days afterwards and didn’t know about the ‘memorial service’ that they held for him at the park. We didn’t show, and his lady friend Polly (not real name) got angry with us because of it.
One cannot do outreach as we have for so many years and not have memories etched in our minds of people who got on something and ended up dying with few to care. As we approach the sixth year of your passing Bobby, we remember you bro. We cared!