Living Rough...

When I lived in Boston's Back Bay, I spent a lot of my time on the streets, I walked to work, I walked to play and I walked my dog. I walked all the time.

When you walk, you get closer to everything, you not only see the weather, you feel it on your face and hands, if it's cold you feel it everywhere. You see people up close, you interact with them, you make friends with them. My fellow "dog people" and I would go out for drinks to celebrate our pet's birthdays for god's sake. Any excuse for a get together for cocktails. Hey, it was always fun!

Being on the street on a daily basis I got to know a guy named Vern. Big guy, barrel chested guy, big handed, big footed guy. Big Vern had thinning gray-blonde hair and a big friendly smile. 

Vern caught my attention one morning as he was shaving, a Gillette razor in his left hand, a small mirror in his right. Vern was shaving outside next to a park bench on Commonwealth Avenue, shaving in the early morning sunlight. On the bench was a backpack, a US Army Alice. On the ground, propped against the bench was a bundle of cardboard, a sleeping bag and a small pillow all wrapped and neatly tied in a clear plastic drop cloth.

After that I saw Vern almost everyday, the days I didn't see him, I figured the cops ran him off and he slept somewhere other than Comm Ave. 

Vern and I went from nods, to hellos, to short conversations. The dog liked Vern and so did I. Each morning I bought two coffees at Marlborough Market, one for me, one for Vern. Vern liked cream and two sugars, I skipped the sugar.

Over the summer I got Vern's story. He had been a skilled carpenter, his wife died of cancer 14 years ago, she was 38, Vern was 40 at the time. Vern started drinking heavily, he drank on the job, got fired, got fired again and again.Vern drank all day, everyday for 12 years. 

Out of work, behind on his mortgage, he did what drunks do, he got drunk. He crashed his pickup, totaled it. Arrested for DUI. Vern had no money, he spent 6 months in jail. When he was released on probation, everything he had was gone, no house, no furniture, no tools, no truck and no family to help him. 

Vern had to hit the streets, he'd been dry for 6 months. He was on the street, but he went to an AA meeting everyday at the Arlington Street Church. On warm days he sat on the bank of the Charles River, on cold or rainy days he could be found in the reading room at the Boston Public Library. Vern kept himself clean, as clean as somebody who lives outside year round can be. I'd let Vern shower at my place, he used my washer and dryer too. 

Winter was coming, one morning in November it was 10 degrees outside. When I handed Vern his coffee, I asked him why he didn't spend the night at a shelter. All he said was, "Have you ever spent the night at a shelter?" I never have, but I think I knew what he was saying.

One of the dog people had an idea, she knew a woman, an older widow who owned a house on Comm Ave with 4 rental units. The woman was always complaining how difficult it was to find a good handy man. Vern came over to my place, showered, washed his clothes and I gave him an old winter jacket of mine. he looked good and ready to interview. 

The dog friend introduced Vern to the lady with the apartment building. She liked Vern and liked him even better when she heard his story. She made a deal with Vern. In exchange for taking care of her building, doing the routine maintenance, he could have the dark, tiny, impossible to rent efficiency apartment in the back of her building's basement. 

Vern took her offer. he was off the street for the first time in a long, long time. Within a year Vern was the go-to handy man in that part of the Back Bay. He's healthy, happy and warm in the winter. And he's got a few bucks in his pocket, the last time I saw Vern, he bought our morning coffee.