3
Pennies
Rev. Lawrence Gray Sr.
Three-Pennies.com
Copyright 2010
ISBN – 978-0-615-43632-6
l_gray58@yahoo.com
Twitter (grayysr.)
Facebook-Lawrence Gray
Cover Design By – Nick Chavez47@ymail.com
As I look back over my life
and I think things over
I can truly say that I been blessed
I have a testimony
I am a living testimony
I should have been dead and gone
But God let me live on.
I am a living testimony
And I thank the lord
That I’m still alive.
TO GOD BE THE GLORY
TABLE OF CONTENTS
There’s Always A Song 4
The T.L. and Otis 14
Beam Me Up 27
Madness 40
Night Walk in the Razor 45
The Aliens 69
Hopeless 88
No Where To Go 108
There is No God and The Cement Bed 128
What Did Crack Do? 156
Gaffled 168
A Rude Awakening 179
Flashback 196
Panhandling 210
Time To Work 220
It’s Over 235
Blew It Again 262
Quit-Not Today 273
Epilog 282
There’s
Always A Song
A
s I stood on the corner at the bus stop many thoughts crossed my mind not knowing the ride that I was about to take would be so detrimental; and yet, one of the most significant experience lessons of life that I do not want to ever live again; that is being homeless. Palou and Third Street was always a popular point of gathering for young people in the neighborhood. One block up at Third and Revere Street years ago when I was but a teen was The Five and Ten Cents Store; the equation of the dollar discount store in today’s time where they sold the best tasting buttered popcorn in the world; ice cream and cake with an innumerous choices of penny candies; a child’s playground of heaven on earth. And one block down from there was Lee’s Chinese Restaurant owned by Mr. Woo who knew everyone in the community better known as The Ghetto; “Talking bout the Ghetto, THE GHETTO, talking bout the ghetto.” A song sung by Donnie Hathaway; yeah, but the ghetto was home. One block down from Third and Palou at Oakdale was Frosty City where you could get a big juicy cheeseburger or a hot dog, hot link or grilled ham and cheese, fries and a milkshake; strawberry, vanilla and or chocolate for about the price of five dollars. Corner to Corner Third and Palou was one of the main spots where we would meet and greet.
Not today; things from back then had drastically changed. There was no more buttered popcorn, candy, ice cream and cake; there was no more spending money on that big juicy cheeseburger with a strawberry shake and fries. Frosty City was gone and so were The Five and Cents Store. Mr. Woo passed away but the family still lives up to the legend he created; good Chinese food. Instead of the simple life of fun, food and games; the concrete jungle of the ghetto had become a cesspool of degradation and ruin for many of the lost souls in its element and I was one of those souls. I was a junkie, strung out on crack cocaine; a crackhead. Lost In Space “Danger, Danger Will Robinson; Danger Straight Ahead.” (An old television program) Lost; trying to find my way home again out of the nightmare that I was living in; a nightmare that I could not awake from; a nightmare so frightening lost in the deep forest of my mind; a nightmare that haunted me day and night, week after week, month after month year after year; LOST.
Standing there waiting for the bus to come; no money to pay the fare of fifty cents, not one red penny. My friend Alvin or so-called friend had just asked me to leave his house; no crack, no money; no stay. I couldn’t go back my mother’s house because of stealing anything that was not nailed down; consumed in the darkness of my addiction. Yes, I was extremely lost in space and time; suspended in the animation rather the reality of living in hell here on earth.
I burned all my bridges and had nowhere to go, no one trusted me, and no one wanted to have anything to do with me, no one cared anymore and now I was on my own. How did it get like this? How did I end up standing here alone with my backpack hanging over my shoulders waiting for the trip to my new home? These were some of the thoughts that slowly crept through the hallways of my mind. Horns blowing, people laughing, people talking, all the sounds of the streets and still I could not hear a thing; the smell of Bar-B-Que and the aroma of Chinese food from a new restaurant across the street enhanced the deep need of my hunger pains; there were a lot of pains that I have encountered in my life; pain of an injury, pain of the hurt of love, pain of desertion and betrayal but I had never felt the intensity and the force of pain like the physical pain of hunger.
It was a brisk evening winding down to dust and there were not too many people heading in the direction I was going in. I thought why am I standing here waiting on the bus? Why can’t I go home? Why did I do what I did? Dog gone CRACK; again. I can’t win for loosing.
Mama dared me and I like a fool bit the bullet and now I was about to pay the ultimate price on the outside looking in. “Lawrence, don’t you take another nothing from this house if you do you’re out.” I did; I stole again from my mother’s house; what—I can’t even remember since I stole so much in the past, food, linen, money, household items; anything to support my drug habit but one thing was for sure I was not welcome anymore. She told me to leave and don’t ever come back to live there again as long as I was a drug addict. “You can stop by and get you something to eat if you get hungry then you got to leave.” But the words from my mother that cut to my soul that made me think harder than ever before about quitting crack were so penetrating and piercing that they would stay with me as long as I lived. “SINK, SWIM OR DIE…I AM NOT HELPING YOU ANYMORE.”
As I stood at the bus stop those words kept echoing in my mind;
“Don’t Ever Come Back.” I had been staying with Alvin for the past three days; he was living in a three bedroom house on Quesada Avenue in the Bayview Hunters Point District. It had a living room, dining room, three bedrooms and a two car garage with a big backyard that was given to him by inheritance when his Aunt passed away. Even though he too was a crack addict he had it going on; rent free, no charge but all good things come to an end even for Alvin. It was only a matter of time before he would loose his house to foreclosure on the loans that the bank gave him along with many others in the neighborhood whose parents had left them the house after their death and most all squandered the house away all in the name of crack. But my end was already in the making. I ran out of money while taking up residency with him and when you don’t have any money or drugs coming in you are not good for nothing in the dope world. He told me that I had to leave.
I never wanted to leave the security of my own stomping grounds but yet there I was with no one who would take me in. So my next stop was the homeless shelter. The bus pulled up at about 6:00 p.m. I got on with my backpack that contained my life; socks, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, underwear and my books, The Bible and The Dictionary. These were my tools for life as I would continue to write my first book about the addiction to crack cocaine. I had written four chapters up to this point and I was not about to stop even though I was in this awkward position. The bus driver said “Step up and pay your fare.” I didn’t have any money; none at all. I said “Sir, I’m going downtown to the homeless shelter; may I please have a ride, I do not have any money.” He looked at me and waved me passed. I sat down staring out the window as darkness began to fall on the city that never sleeps San Francisco; or is it New York? Tears filled my eyes as I rode the long ride to my new home where I did not want to live and I wondered what was next for me. What am I going to do? How am I going to survive? While sitting there riding to my new home I noticed three pennies on the floor; I picked them up and said to myself this will be the title of my next book and okay, Lord if this is what I must go through to make it back or where you want me to be not knowing if I would ever make it back to normality then so be it.
The ride downtown to the shelter was so long; at least it seemed that way to me; block by block, street by street; my mind was racing with What Ifs. After bout twenty minutes of riding I stood up and pulled the cord that rang the bell for the next stop at 4th and Townsend the train station; a stop stepping into no-mans-land; a stop of bewilderment of wondering what lies ahead; (I felt like a character in a plight of Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone)
•
“You’re traveling through another dimension – a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. There’s a signpost of up ahead: Your next stop — The Twilight Zone.”
Picked up my backpack, hollered “Thanks” to the driver and got off the bus.
Walking up the street heading for shelter at 5th and Bryant Streets one block away from the police station (nice place for a shelter) many thoughts continued to consume me; mainly the unknown not knowing what awaited me, not knowing whether or not the men in the shelter would come at me; hurt, harm, or danger and if they did which way would they come. It was almost like the environment of prison yet with freedom. Never went to prison; did some jail time but from the encounters of some of my street folk who were ex-cons I understood the habitation of prison and the homeless shelter was not to far from it. The shelter was like a jail with the freedom to come and go with all walks of life that lived therein. Men who were violent, some crazed, some homosexual, some hustlers, liars, dope fiends, rapists, murderers and thieves along with those who were mentally challenged and some just down and out; all of them including myself fell into one or the other category.
When I turned the corner and looked up ahead at the long line of men waiting to be admitted into the shelter to have a place to sleep for the night I knew I had to hold my ground. As I began my ascension walking towards the door of the entrance I seen faces watching, checking, looking at and through me and yet I did not address one in the least because I too had to wear my own face. Growing up in the ghetto; running the streets you had to know the look especially in the drug world with its criminal elements of danger and more importantly you had to wear the look and if confronted you loose the look and address the issue at hand; could mean life, injury and or death. But basically if you held your own you had nothing to worry about. It was only if you were weak then you had trouble. I never was a bully or even a brawler; was not even that good of a fighter but in the hood you had to be sometimes more than the two in order to get respect; in order not to be picked on; in order not to be bullied and or taken advantage of you had to step up to another level that everyone absolutely respected and that level was called Crazy. Sometimes you had to be crazy and I would go crazy; if need be. As a matter of fact it was really easy acting or being crazy because if you had that jacket on you then not to many people messed with you. But the difference was that these guys did not know me from Adam and as far as some of them were concerned they too were crazy.
I passed the stares of the eyes that were stalking me; looking for weakness. I made it known that I would not go down and be punked out by anyone or anybody. Looking straight ahead going to the end of the line the only eye contact I made with any other eye was to speak without speaking saying “I’m not the one.” The street life has a pulse of its own; a heartbeat and you move with the beat of the rhythm of the music of the dance that’s being played and you better be in step.
It was 6:40 p.m. on this windy night in June 1996, as we stood in line waiting for the doors to open to let us in for the evening at 7:00 p.m. the line grew and kept increasing in numbers as the time drew near for admittance. The doors opened and everyone felt a little relief of knowing and hoping that they would have a place to sleep for the night. I never knew the detriment of its blessing to be housed in a warm shelter but would soon learn first hand. I thought about how many times I’ve taken life for granted or never really even thought about being homeless on the streets because that was one of the last things that ever crossed my mind and now I was about to find comfort in my new home in the homeless shelter.
My first night I had to fill it out and learn quickly because I did not want to become prey to the predators and not all of the men in the shelter are predators but you never know until you know and until you do know you have to play it smart. But for the most part everyone wanted a place to sleep; where it was warm and perhaps a little food. The security guard begin to count sequential numbers as they proceeded walking in one by one 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, “I’m moving forward, what is all this counting about?” I said to myself. 47, 48, 49 50, 51, 52, “Still moving, maybe they just want to know how many people are coming in” 59, 60, 61, 62 “Whew, I’m in.” I was elated that whatever that counting was all about it would not bother me anymore as I walked through the shelter standing in another line waiting to get my blanket and pillow. What a relief. “65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80.” BAM The door shut and the counting stopped. “That’s it gentlemen the shelter is closed for the evening.” Looking back at the door through the plate glass window watching as the men begin walking away in all directions; left, right, up and down; I wondered what they would do or where they would go after being rejected not having a place to sleep for the night when the sidewalks of brick and cement would be their beds of comfort. Little did I know at the time that I would soon learn and have my own first-hand experience of that rejection?
I found myself an available cot amongst the eighty in the room laid my backpack down; put the pillow down and spread the blanket; pulled out my Bible, opened it up and started reading. It was hard trying to concentrate with all of the commotion going on in the shelter; shouting, people talking to themselves, laughter and conversations; English and Spanish.
The guy next to me said
“Hey man, I seen a lot of people with Bibles but you the first one I seen reading it.”
“I’m trying to come out of this mess that I’m in.”
“I know what you mean, it’s hard.”
“Yeah, but something’s got to give.”
“You right, something will, when you do.”
I thought about his statement and he was right something will give when I give.
When I surrender my will, When I finally get tired of doing the wrong thing, When I decide to make up my mind, When I realize that I’m spiraling down into the embodiment of Hades, When I realize that my looking up is down and my down is looking up, When I realize that there is nothing left to do except to take the easy way out; stay addicted or commit suicide, might as well I’m living dead anyway; a zombie walking dead.
Someone shouted “It’s time to eat.” Man was I hungry. The men begin to form another line standing to wait to get some food. Everyone who stood in line received a tuna sandwich and an orange. Never knew that a sandwich could taste so good. As the night rolled on some of the men gathered around the television set, some laid on their cots, others stood around and all were content to be inside the shelter; even me. I read my Bible some more until the lights were turned to low and then I begin to think. “What am I doing here?” “Why am I here?” I knew the answer. I was here because I put myself here. Thinking about life as a drug addict and a thief,; loosing my family, my wife, my sons and my daughter; ostracized by my mother and father, I laid in my solitude as the tears rolled down my face in the emptiness of darkness; the silence that no one could hear; the break-up of the calamity in my mind; the turmoil within my heart tearing me apart with my soul deeply disturb I started talking to God. “God what’s happening to me, evidently you got a plan for me and whatever it is I’m going to see it through. I know it is not going to be easy but I believe that there is a method and a plan to all of this madness and you want me to go through it to get to you. So, I will live this life as a homeless person until you say its time is up.
The night was long and tireless, snoring, talking, stinking and an occasional sound of laughter. It was funky in the shelter, imagine all these men lying on there cots from who knows where—which was not so bad until the shoes came off; man some of the stench. Sleeping wasn’t easy; as a matter of fact I slept very little, off and on, on and off; waking and searching, searching and waking. Man I wished I could just go to sleep and never awake, sounds good to me but then again that would be too easy. The good thing about being in the shelter is that you did have the option to take a shower and get cleaned up for the next day. I chose to pass; did not want to be contaminated from some other man’s disease but in actuality I was afraid.
Looking around I began to read the room. Reading the room was something I learned many years ago when I used to hang out with my cousins and friends going out to parties, night clubs, dances or other social gatherings before drugs became the focal point of my life; depending on where we were at; we always and foremost Read the Room. Because
“Smiling faces, smiling faces, sometimes; they don’t tell the truth, Smiling faces, smiling faces; tell lies and I got proof.” Undisputed Truth
I remember we would walk into a club, three or four; sometimes five or six; split up on different sides of the room and then we would casually observe everyone in the room. We looked for the main players and threats if any; there was always a threat or two in the room; someone who just might not be cool. However if you remained cool you could always avoid them just don’t go or get in there way and if you so happen to you just make sure that you were ready to strike first and move on if need be. In all those times I think there were only about three times at the most where some action had to be taken; fighting that is; nothing really bad just covering ourselves. There was no gun shooting; very seldom a stabbing. We handled our business from the fist-of-cuffs. Reading the room was an art; knowing who’s who.
I gathered that everyone in the shelter had one thing in common and that was to sleep but there is always someone who will get out of line; not so much as to start trouble rather they were intoxicated, doped up or not medicated from their use of prescription drugs but the workers handled these guys pretty good because if it got too bad and out of line these people would get thrown out of the shelter for the night, or a call went out to an ambulance or the police where they would end up in jail.
Relaxing on my cot, I began to think about my next move now that I was officially a homeless person. I asked the guy next to me; his name was Floyd. “Hey, Floyd give me the 411 (Information) on the shelter game.” In and on the streets everything is a game and you better know the game and learn how to play it real quick because if you don’t you will get messed up somewhere along the line and you could just so happen oose your life and that’s no joke.
That night I learned enough of the homeless shelter game to carry me through and the rest I would pick up soon enough. I said my prayers and tried to go to sleep again but instead I found myself waking up every two hours or so because of all the other stuff going on not to mention my own demons pursuing me; like a bad dream being chased; falling off a cliff, dropping from a tree and yet never dying. It was a dreadful night that I would soon not forget.
Six o’clock in the morning and a voice said “Good morning gentlemen; it’s time to rise and shine. Please return your blankets and pillows to the front as you leave and have a nice day.” I returned my pillow and blankets to the front counter and received a piece of fruit with a carton of milk and departed with the rest of men; moving in all directions. Ready or not I had to play the hand that was dealt to me rather the one I had dealt to myself with full force. I said to myself “Okay, God; here we go.” I walked up Harrison, to Folsom, to Howard and thought about my cousin who lived on Claremont Street which was about a five block walk from the shelter.
Some things you have to learn as you go and some things you just know from living the street life. I figured I had enough heads-up information to get me started and even more I had the gift. Man, I thank God for The Gift of Gab; thinking, knowing and figuring out how to survive yet keeping it all above ground because even in the streets there are rules, regulations and principals built on the word “Respect.” If you bring respect you get respect and if you don’t; you command it but for the most part everyone falls into alignment and if not…oh, well, then you would have to suffer the consequences.
Otis; my cousin lived in the low income housing apartments for the elderly and disabled they were mostly all Chinese, a few whites and as strange as it was Otis was the only African American in the building of about three hundred people. He’s kind of slow but He’s a good dude. No one comes and visits him from the family including me but He’s a good dude. He dresses kind of raggedy; sometimes spots and wrinkles on his clothes but He’s a good dude. He didn’t brush his eight upper teeth or comb his hair but He’s a good dude. He didn’t have too many friends but He’s a good dude.
•
“He come on flattop, he come grooving up slowly; He got joo-joo eyeballs, he’s one Holy Roller. He got hair down to his knees; Got to be a joker he just do what he please; Come Together—right now—over me… The Beatles
I remember seeing the movie “A Hard’s Day’s Night” George Harrison, Ringo Starr, John Lennon and Paul McCartney; The British Invasion. Those white dudes were bad; turned America upside down with their music. I even loved the Beatles; I wanna hold your hand, Can’t buy me love; Seventeen. That was a trying time; the Civil Rights Movement was just starting to illuminate all over the nation and going to a movie to see these four white dudes was not supposed to be on the agenda for young blacks; especially males but I loved music black or white there was no color as long as it sound good even Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and Andy Williams.
He always came around on the holidays to get a plate of food from Mama, Annie (Aunt Mildred) or Aunt Jean; Fourth of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Everyone welcomed him but no one wanted to hang out or was close with him but He’s a good dude who would soon become my best and only friend.
Which apartment is his I forget; so many buttons, seven floors, fifteen apartments…
Otis was on Social Security Disability and his case worker found him this apartment
where he has lived for over ten years; someone came out the front door of the building and I
walked in and asked the receptionist.
“Can you tell me what apartment Otis lives in, he’s my cousin.”
“Who you see, who you see?”
“My cousin, Otis.”
“Otis?”
“Yes, Otis.”
“He no here, he no here. You wait, you wait, in there.”
“What is your name? You must sign in.” (In Broken English)
“Okay, I’m his cousin; is he at home?”
“Oh, no, he leave to store. He be back, you wait.”
“Okay”
“He be back, he be back.”
I waited in the family room that had big comfortable couches and chairs watching Good Morning America on the big screen television as many of the residents came down from their apartments to do their morning Tai Chi exercise looking at me as if I were a pet at the Zoo, a pet that they did not want see, pet, or play with it; a pet that they would rather have on the opposite side of the door from where they lived. It made me uncomfortable. After about twenty minutes of waiting for Otis and being reminded at least twenty times from the receptionist “He no here, he no here. You come back, you come back, he no here.” I just sat there and played dumb as if I did not understand or even hear her speaking to me.
I heard her say “Oh, Otis, your cousin here, you cousin here.” I thought why she has to say everything twice. “Hey, couz.” I heard Otis say. “What’s up?”
I said “Otis, I had a little problem at home trying to get myself together.” “No problem” Otis said. “Come on up.” He was happy and surprised to see me. As we rode the elevator to the third floor he flashed a smile of eight yellow tobacco, coffee stained teeth at me and all I could think of was why don’t some of the family members come and see about Otis. Heck, everybody doing their own thing including me. I started reminiscing on what Otis used to be. He had nice car, a good job working at Bank of America, a nice apartment and girls, girls, girls. We looked up to Otis because he was the oldest of all the cousins in the family and he used to have it going on. Now, he looked just as bad as some of those men who I seen in the shelter last night.
He opened the door and man…his apartment was a pigsty, dirty clothes stacked up in the corner, dirty dishes, dirty bathroom, dirty floors, the bed covering—dirty I said “Come on Otis you don’t have live like this.” He said “Yeah, yeah, I know it. I was gonna clean up.” I started to clean his apartment. He sat down on the bed lit a cigarette, turned on his television and began sipping on his beer; Country Club Malt Liquor. His apartment consisted of a table in the kitchen with two chairs; the stove and the refrigerator which were dirty too. As you walked down the hall passed the bathroom you could not help but smell the stench of urination from the toilet; there was a Chester draw his bed on the other side of the room along with a chair and a little end table and a stand up lamp. One thing was for sure is that Otis did have a home and somewhere to lay his head even if it was the way it was. He still had an advantage over me. He wasn’t homeless.
“You want some beer Lawrence”
“Na, Otis a lil bit too early in the morning for me. I stayed at the homeless shelter last night and it looks like I will be staying there many more nights to come but what I want to know is that if I don’t make it to the shelter on time before they close the doors can I crash at your pad? Don’t want to put you out of your way.” (As if I would)
“Okay couz that would be all right. You saw Peter?”
“No.”
“He don’t even come by or call me, he show treat me bad to be my brother.”
“People busy doing their own thing.”
“Yeah, you too, what brings you by Lawrence?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I ain’t got nothing but time.”
“I don’t want to bore you with it.”
I see us in the park, strolling the summer days of imaginings in my head and words from our hearts told only to the wind felt even without being said. I don’t’ want to bore you with my problems but there’s something bout your love that makes me weak and knocks me off my feet. Stevie Wonder
Being a singer I have always related every situation, every circumstance and many words of conversation with a song. My daughter Natalie who was my step child but I have always looked at her as my daughter from two years old; she was thirteen at the time would get so frustrated with me singing a song about any and everything.
She would say “Lawrence, Things Ain’t Right.”
I would answer and say “Sometimes things don’t turn out right and you just have to say goodbye. I hope you find someone that needs you someone who cares and never leaves you but if that someone ever hurts you; you just might need a friend to turn too.” Gloria Estevan and Miami Sound Machine.
“Please, Lawrence; not now”
“Please, please, please, please, please…please, please, don’t go; darling please don’t goooooooooo, I love you so.” James Brown.
“Can you say Something without singing a song?”
“Something in the way she moves and all I have to do is think of her, something in the way she woos me, I don’t want to leave her now. I know I believe in how.” The Beatles
“Lawrence; just Stop.”
“I just want to Stop and tell you what I feel about you baby, I just want to stop, The world ain’t right without you baby. I just want to Stop for your love.” Niki Giovanni
“Mom, please come get him, he’s driving me crazy.”
Otis said “You don’t want to bore me with it…huh”
“I don’t want to bore you with it. Oh but I love you, I love you, I love you; more and more.”
Music, music, music, I was so full of music, song and dance because that was the only thing that kept my sanity. Music the universal language of the whole world. Music makes you laugh, makes you cry; makes you want to sing, makes you want to dance…music, music, music.
“I’ve been bored so long; I just appreciate your company. You know we had some good times.” “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
The T.L.
and Otis
T
he doorbell rang; Otis jumped up to go and answer the intercom. He said “Who is it?” The voice on the other end said “Slim.” Otis said “Okay, okay.” He pushed the buzzer to let him in and I said “Who is Slim?” “A friend of mine.” His whole demeanor changed. He became frigidity and nervous. I sat back on the bed as Otis ran to the door waiting for Slim to come in.
Otis said “Hey Slim.” Not knowing that I was in the other room when Otis answered the door. He said “You gone have my money?” and continued cursing calling him everything else except a child of God as he proceeded down the hall to the bedroom where I sat in one of the chairs. Otis said “This is my cousin, Lawrence; this is Slim.” He stood about six feet and three inches or so about 225 just a little bit taller than me at six feet and about thirty pounds heavier.
“What’s up?” He said to me.
I said “Yeah. What’s up, my cousin owes you money?”
“That’s between him and me.”
“Fine. I just want you to know that now it is between Otis, You and Me and I will be looking out for my cousin as long as I am here.”
“Who are you, his Guardian Angel?”
“Something likes that.”
“I don’t care who you are. I want my money and I expect to get paid.
“Okay.” I did not want to say too much to this parasite named Slim and make matters worse for Otis. In actuality it really didn’t matter to me what he said I knew that I was going to help Otis out of this situation and he was not about to give him all his money when he got his check.
Otis says to me “Hey, Lawrence, he’s alright; he’s my friend.
I said “Well, friends don’t usually greet each other cussing them out.
“Anyway” Slim said “I want my money when you get your check.”
I said “How much does he owe you?
“Like I said; that’s between him and me.”
Otis said “It’s alright Lawrence, I can handle it.”
I said “Okay, but how much do you owe him?”
“$300.00.
I said “WHAT!! Okay, we gone handle it.” Slim said “We?” I said “Yeah, as of right now I am my cousin’s financial adviser.” He said “Okay, just pay me, talk to you later Otis.” He walked him to the door and I could hear him whispering to Otis in a very stern voice. What he was saying I could not make out but it did not make a difference to me one way or the other of whatever was being said because I had already made up my mind the moment I seen Otis’ situation; that I was going to help him the best way I could. I decided no one else would take advantage of him as long as I was around even though I too was battling in my own addiction of trying to get clean and sober.
I started quizzing Otis and asked him “Why do you owe this dude?” He said “I got a loan.” “Yeah, I bet; a crack loan, right?” Otis said “Right.” I said “It’s okay Otis. I’m here now and believe you me nobody is going to use you as long as I am here.”
Now I know how the game works and I’m thinking to myself that this dude has been pimping my cousin; man for how long I didn’t know. Nobody comes and sees him but he’s a good dude, nobody calls him on the phone but he’s a good dude. Nobody make sure he’s got food and that no one is taking advantage of him but he’s a good dude. Nobody comes by and blow their horn and say let’s take a ride but he’s a good dude; he’s my double first cousin, he’s my blood and more than that he’s a good dude. (Double first is when brother and sister marry brother and sister of another family.)
“Okay, Otis check this out; I know that you are on disability and I don’t want your money and I’m not trying to rip you off but I want you to know this… that I will not stand by and let anyone rip you off. You got that?” “Yeah, okay Lawrence.” Ring, Ring Otis is so anxious for company and not being alone; he jumps up. “Yeah” He answers. “It’s Clyde.” I said “Who did he say?” Otis said “Clyde, our cousin.” He’s younger than both me and Otis at least 10 ten years my youth and probably fifteen by Otis. He’s been in and out of jail and will steal your socks off if you don’t watch him. I said “Okay, answer the door; keep him in front in the kitchen; offer him something to eat or drink; whatever—I want to know what his business is. Otis said “He stays here from time to time.” I said “Oh, spare me…Here we go, everybody in your life is using you including your cousin. What other cousin is using you.” Otis said “Well, Luke; Clyde’s brother; he comes by and from time to time, not all the time and he wants to borrow money sometimes.” Knock, knock, knock; Otis unlocks the door.
Clyde says. “Remember, you gonna have my money?”
“What money?” I asked. He didn’t know that I was in the bedroom listening. He walked back and seen me and said
“Hey cousin, what’s up?”
“Nothing, how much money do Otis owe you?”
“Eighty dollars, I loaned it to him a couple of weeks ago.”
“Okay, we gone handle it.”
“What do you mean We Cousin.”
“Just like I said We As of right now I’m Otis’ financial adviser.”
“Ah, it ain’t nothing like that.”
“Whatever; the tables are turned as of right now.” Clyde gives Otis some money and asks him to go to the store and buy some beer and cigarettes. He eases back to the bedroom and sits in the chair next to me with the table between us; he breaks out his crack pipe and some crack. “Hey, couz, good to see ya, take a hit.” I took a hit and exhale and he says to me, “Here, couz, go ahead and smoke it’s cool, I got some more.” I’m on my way out of my addiction and here comes Clyde keeping it in my face, strung out and tore up but I said “It’s cool.” That’s the one thing about addiction when you are seriously trying to come out of it someone in the circle will always put it in your face. You got to get out of the circle and change your environment if you are serious about quitting and I was serious…I knew his game.
He says, “Look, couz, Otis gets about eight hundred dollars a month and his rent is cheap; about three hundred a month because of his disability, so you know…”
I said. “I don’t know nothing…but what I do know is that you and all the rest of the leeches that are around him are stealing his money and I am not going to let that happen.”
“Hey, it’s enough for you and me and he’ll still be all right.”
“You must have not heard
what I said to you; nothing like that is happening anymore. He’s going to pay you your eighty dollars and after that don’t give him no more loans; money or crack because you will not get paid unless I know about it.”
“Oh, you trying to have it all to yourself couz; is that it?”
“If I were like that, it would be like that because even if I were lower than dirt I still would look out after him but I’m not and it’s not like that and I could care less what you think but as of now the party is over for you and anybody else who has been using Otis.”
“Okay, couz, you don’t have to be all that serious.”
“I’m more than serious, I’m for real and that’s that. And if anybody got a problem with it let me know and we’ll go from there.”
“It’s cool, couz.”
“Yeah, I know it’s cool and even if it wasn’t, it’s still cool.”
Otis stuck his key in the lock and turned the knob; “Hey, Lawrence you want a beer.” I said “Okay.” I popped the top on the can took a sip and began to reflect on how Otis got himself in the condition that he was in. I remember when we were younger going to parties and having fun; he had his mind right until someone unknowingly killed his father.
“This beer is good, thanks. Now, I got to make some moves and see what the streets are like in the Tenderloin because I got to know my grounds and who’s who and what’s what.” He said “Okay, couz; I’ll come with you.” I said “Look, Otis, I don’t want nothing to come to you coming at me; so let me cruise for myself, I’ll be back in a couple of hours or so. Okay. You gone be here?”
“Yeah, I’ll be here.”
Strange grounds I thought as I walked toward the “The Tenderloin, The T.L., The Razor all the names the district carried; strange, because I was not familiar with the environment or the people within the most dangerous district in the city; skid road; the last stop before the penitentiary or the graveyard or in my case homelessness. I decided that I’d rather be on the ladder end than the other two; only time would tell.
I remember back in our hood in Hunter’s Point when we would talk about The T.L.
. and say things like “Man you don’t want to never get caught in the Lion’s Den, The Tenderloin.” I said “Yeah, right; Man, I’m gonna handle whatever and wherever I’m at.” Little did I know I was calling my own destiny; someone said “Man they call it The Razor.” I said “Is that right?” “Yeah, you’ll get cut t shreds in a heartbeat.” Those words were fresh in my mind as I said to myself “Now, here I am taking the plunge;” living in the Lions Den not knowing who or what was waiting to devour me but one thing was for certain and this I knew that I was on new stomping grounds and I had to know some of the players; not all but some.
As I approached the den heading up Sixth Street; I seen all the low-life’s hanging around from flee bag hotel to flee bag hotel; from the stores that mainly sold liquor to pawn shop to pawn shop; just hanging, shooting the breeze, smoking dope and drinking. There were at least three hotels on each side of the street in a three block radius. I would learn later that these hotels housed all type of people the drug thing included. I passed by the crowd not anxiously but rather as if I belonged in the element because they can tell if you do not and if they sensed the slightest hint of fear BOOM they were on you somewhere down the line as you tarried in the streets. I walked into the store, went to the refrigerator bought a soda, pop the top and kept walking. As I passed going to the front door someone said “Where you from dude?” Challenge was at me; anytime someone speaks to you and you do not know that someone and that someone knows everyone around you then it’s a challenge to determine if you are a sucker or not. Your answer could mean your life. I looked at him and walked out; proceeding up the street to my destination. Sometimes no response is the best response, especially in the streets.
I proceeded up Sixth Street across Mission to Market heading toward Taylor Street on my way through the heart of the Lion’s Den to Glide Memorial Church; it was about 11:00 a.m. It was a good time to be on the streets because most of the night life people, the walking dead were recuperating from the night before of all their shenanigans. (Illegal activity) I walked across the street to Glide at Taylor and Ellis Street and stood in line with all the other people waiting to be admitted down into the cafeteria for lunch at 11:30 a.m. to l: 00 p.m. and then they opened again at 4:30 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. for dinner and breakfast at 8:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m. everyday seven days a week except Sundays when they only served a bag lunch because they would close for church services. It’s a strange church at least it was strange to me being raised in a black Baptist church. I went to a service one Sunday and noted that the congregation was mostly built up of the gay community; homosexuals, lesbians, transvestites and the like headed up by the great Pastor of the City; Cecil Williams Whatever; I say “To Each His Own” Just goes to show you that if you want a church to preach what you want to hear and except you for who you are you can find it, especially in San Francisco.
As I was walking to the church trying to figure out my dilemma and how I would prevail nothing seemed to make sense -- strung out on crack had finally took its tow; and here I stand homeless; no money, no home, no stay, no crack.
•
“I Ain’t Got Nobody That I Can Depend On. No Tengo A Nadie (I Don’t Have Anybody) Carlos Santana
Yeah, I can’t depend on no one; especially in the dope world. There are no friends; there are just those who want to use you up as long as you got dope, as long as you got money and the moment you run out is the moment they will sell you out. The walk to Glide was refreshing to the say the least; the sun, the fresh air and the hustle and bustle of people moving about took my mind off of the reality of my predicament but that soon would fade away.
As I got closer to the church I snapped back into the certainty of reality; seeing the pathetic souls of those lost in their world of delusion, confusion, and occlusion; stuck in the midst of the cement jungle of the Tenderloin, The Lion’s Den. Here I am just like Daniel the Prophet thrown and tossed into the pit of carnivorous flesh eating mammals called humans waiting for the moment of consummation to tear and shred apart the souls of the wayward and the lost as they moved through the deadly forest of no-mans-land. I said to myself “God keep their mouths closed.” Junkies, dope dealers, prostitutes, transgenders, gangbangers, gays and lesbians all made their home in the Lion’s Den; murderers, rapists, liars and thieves, the poor, the helpless, the down drowned trodden choking on their own saliva, choking on their essence of being, choking and dying bleeding internally from their souls were all a part of this play called life. The scene was set and the curtain was up and now I was included as a character but only oh so real; my role; a junkie in recovery; a crackhead but I was on a mission and determined not to stay in the black forest of sure doom. I was determined to write my book “Hooked On Crack.” “S.O.S. Stuck On Stupid.” “Crack The Untold Story.” Which title I would use upon its completion; I did not know, I only knew that the book had to become a reality along with Three Pennies; the only question is which one would I get published first.
The line at Glide stretched from the front door all the way up to almost the end of the next block. I took my place and waited patiently as we began to descend into the cafeteria with meal tickets awarding us a place to eat some hot food. Glide was a place of comfort from the elements, a place of solitude, a place where you could find a job or get training to get a job. It was a place of refuge if only for the moment for the people who lived within the community of The Razor. It was a place that would be an avenue of benefits for me within a few weeks; Glide, St. Anthony’s and The Salvation Army would all be my vehicles of escape for food and shelter in the months to come.
I proceeded down the stairs into the cafeteria after giving the guy at the door my meal ticket; got my tray, silverware and waited for the volunteer workers to give me some food. I thought why anyone would want to volunteer to work in the cafeteria feeding the homeless; man they got to be a cut above of all the rest of the people in the world. Hats off to those people who volunteer their time and energy helping those who are less fortunate; the meal was rather tasty; roast beef with mash potatoes and gravy, steamed carrots, bread, milk, water and an apple turnover for desert. As I sat there eating I begin to dissect the people of the streets; the torn and the weary, my new family. I was always one who would methodically try to read the faces of those who were around me. The faces of the people were hard, tough and rigid from years of abuse living the street.
•
Street Life; there’s a thousand parts to play; until you play your life away. Randi Crawford
The eyes on many were hollow, red and yellow and yet some even white but for the most part they were all stuck in a place of no place in time and yet it seemed that many of them enjoyed exactly where they were at. It behooved me but I soon would realize why.
After I finished eating I went upstairs to the offices of Glide and found out that they offered a lot of programs to help you out if your were homeless, single, gay, straight, young, men and or women; whatever your circumstance they had the resource to help you get through to get a job, go to school, get some educational training, computers; software and hardware; if you had the desire to get ahead Glide had a program to help and that was a good thing; although I had some skills already as an Administrative Assistant and even though I was not planning on going to work I figured I would check there job listings just the same to see what they had to offer. They had all type of jobs if you wanted to work but many of the homeless people do not want to work; their work is working the system and since I was homeless my job too was to work the system and see how much I could get out of it for sitting on my butt being homeless. I did not want to do this but my thought was that God allowed my situation to be what it was and I had to do what I needed to do to make things right until it was time for me to make a change.
Now, I’m beginning to think that this homeless thing is not so bad. You see that’s what happens too many of the people who are homeless they get spoiled with the easy life of not doing anything and yet getting just enough to keep and be content. It’s very simple, straightforward and trouble-free; no stress, no difficulties; just laid-back, what a life. A set- up to keep you down or help you stay down but I also found out for the most that it is a choice.
Leaving Glide I began to walk through the jungle; catching a glimpse of the people who lived within; it did not seem threatening as I imagined it would be but then again it was daylight and the Children of the Night the vampires, witches, goonies and the warlocks along with the zombies were still asleep.
•
Late at night when all the world is safe within their dreams; I walk the shadows. Late at night I feel the need for someone who likes me needs understanding. So once again I search the darkness of the night all alone, I walk the streets until I find someone who is just like me looking for some company; Children of the Night. (The Stylistics)
The dope dealers were out making their money selling crack, methamphetamines, pills, speed, heroin, weed and who knows what else. Whatever a person needed to use to escape the reality of life getting high there was always a dope dealer peddling his wares; some even legal under the guise of pharmaceutical. I remember many years ago in the late 1980s I had a friend from the streets who had a doctor who would prescribe whatever kind of pills he wanted and or needed. It was about the money; the insurance company’s money; accidental accidents. You driving your car and get hit by another car (insurance). You go into a department or grocery store and slip and fall (insurance) and any other type of injury accident that called for the payment from the insurance company which would eventually lead up to permanent disability. His name was Dr. Disable. At least that’s what we called him. If you wanted to get paid by the State on permanent disability all you had to do was have an accident and go see Dr. Disable. He would have you fixed up within a year of making doctor appointments, medical and physical therapy along with a numerous of medication prescriptions. By end of the year you would be collecting permanent disability checks from the Social Security Administration. Heck this friend was fixing up everyone and anyone who wanted to go out on disability and all it took was time and patience and thereafter you would receive a check every month for the rest of your life.
The sting was so good that some people are still collecting Social Security. Me; I thought it was too good to be true, yet it was but for some Godly reason I knew that if had I taken that easy route I would have ended up in the gutter somewhere because when I go for the gusto I go for it all the way and in my addictive behavior state of mind to crack I would have deteriorated almost in a heartbeat or even worse, dead. As a matter of fact that’s what happened to some of those people collecting disability checks. They became alcoholics and or drug addicts and were broken down to the lowest denominator. Stands to reason that if you do not have anything to live for except getting high; you will eventually sooner or later wear yourself down; physically and mentally if you do not make a change that’s the bottom line.
I rang the bell. “Who is it?” I heard Otis say. “It’s me Lawrence.” He buzzed me in and there they were the Chinese Senior Citizens speaking their lingo watching with curious eyes my every move as I walked to the elevator. He greeted me at the door with a smile of genunuity; if there is such a word, if not it is now. After all, is that not what the English language is all about; think of a word, create a word; think of a phrase; name a phrase and pretty soon people catch on to the uniqueness of creativity and thus it is born. Heck, the rappers do it everyday.
Otis said “Lawrence if you want to, you can stay here at my place. I can have overnight visitors eleven days per month, so it’s cool if you want to. Clyde stays here sometimes.” “Yeah, that figures.” I said. Crack has got him too, snatched, hooked him line and sinker and many other young folk with the feeling of euphoria getting high; sinking fast, sinking deep down into the abyss of the black hole embodied by the prince of darkness; sinking on the shores of life knee deep in quick sand, waist deep in quick sand, shoulder deep in quick sand; somebody throw me a rope, a life preserver, a chain, a stick, a saw; I’m already cut up; shredded with thoughts of suicide and homicide; any excuse is a good excuse to do what I want to do. Any excuse would suffice for the moment of the thoughts that ran through my mind; thoughts of hate, thoughts of sorrow and sadness, thoughts of anger, blame, envy, jealousy; evil just ran all through my brain.
•
Evil running through my brain when evil is not same; but maybe if we learn to pray thank you Lord for another day.
Earth Wind & Fire.
Yeah, another day; thank you God for another day; let me pray, let me pray; pray that I do not go insane rather that I don’t stay insane, in and out, out and in; one moment I’m stable the next I’m crazy. What can save me from this body of death? JESUS…Yes, Jesus is the answer. “Where are you Jesus?” “I need you Jesus.” “Hey, Jesus can you hear me?” “Jesus, are listening?” Hey, JESUSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
I said “I’ll think about it Otis, right now I am trying figure out which way is up.”
“What you mean Lawrence?”
“Gotta write these books.”
“What books?”
“Crack and Three Pennies.”
“Three Pennies?”
“Yeah, life on the streets being homeless.”
“That sounds good Lawrence, when you gonna do it?”
“Now, right now.”
“Where’s your paper?”
“I’m writing in my mind and I’ll put it on paper later.”
“Cool, do you think that you will be able to remember everything?”
“With the help of God, I show hope so.”
“Me too, I’m going to the store. You want to take a walk?”
“Okay.”