by Gary Beck
They waited patiently, because they knew they were minutes away from solving their major problem, but they would have eagerly lynched the man for making them worry up to the last moment. After an eternity of five minutes the papers were produced, two year leases were signed, keys were promised for Monday and the landlord said they could officially move in on March 1st. Peter pushed vigorously for them to move in as soon as they got the keys, but the landlord contended that he had to make changes with his insurance company and the earliest move in date was March 1st. He absolutely refused to accept an earlier date. With signed leases in their hands the group relented in their demand and consoled themselves that they only had to stay in the hotel for one more week.
The children had been listening intently to the adults’ conversation and Pablo asked, "Are we getting a new place to live?"
"Yes, chile. In one week, we’ll have a real nice place of our own."
"Will us kids still be together?"
"Yes, chile. Even better than now."
The euphoria of imminent escape from the homeless system lasted until they got back to the hotel. The police were in the lobby, along with an EMS crew supervising the removal of a body on a stretcher. A little boy was standing next to a female officer, looking about as bewildered and unhappy as a child could be. The group rushed their children upstairs, so they could avoid any horror scenes and Peter stayed behind to chat with Ephraim, who was hanging out in the background inconspicuously.
"Hi, Ephraim. What happened?"
"They’re takin out some woman who was killed by her boyfriend."
"Did they live here?"
"She did. She had a court order of protection against him."
"How did he find her?"
"I guess he was lookin for her and just showed up."
"How did he know she was living here?"
"I don’t know. Maybe somebody told him. Anyhow, he got her to open her door and they argued. Then he kept beatin’ on her till she died."
"That’s terrible. Did the cops get him?"
"Nah. He just walked right out the door. By the time the cops got here he was long gone."
Peter said goodnight and went upstairs, musing about what happened. He didn’t know much about orders of protection, but now he understood that they couldn’t prevent someone who was out of control and willing to risk the consequences of violating the law from committing violence. He realized in a flash how fragile the protection of the law really was. Only people acting morally could preserve the rights and safety of others, in a nation where criminals and the mentally disturbed were no longer deterred by the threat of incarceration. Thinking back to his experiences in Detroit and recently in New York City, he sensed that the material pursuits of our society had dissolved the bonds of respect for others and allowed the loss of self-control. As a parent with two children, these were scary ideas for the future. He began to accept that he had a lot to consider about his responsibility to make the world a better place for the sake of his children and others.
When Peter got off the elevator the group was waiting in the hall, still talking about what happened downstairs. The adults and the children started asking him questions. He quickly decided that he couldn’t lie to the children, because they would hear about the incident on the hotel grapevine, but he told them a modified version. "A man and a woman were arguing, and she got hurt."
Pablo asked in his direct way, "He killed her, didn’t he?"
"Yes."
"Why did he do it?"
"I don’t know. I think it was an accident."
Pablo looked doubtful, "What’s going to happen to the kid?"
"What do you mean?"
"I saw the little kid with the cop. Are they going to lock him up?"
Peter was taken aback by Pablo’s question, and before he could respond, Miss Lily said, "The police don’t lock up children. They’re goin’ to find a safe place for him."
Pablo nodded, without indicating whether or not he believed her. "What about the guy who killed the woman. Is he coming back here?"
"No, chile. The police are goin to find him and lock him up so he don’t hurt anyone." The adults looked at each other uncertainly, aware of how many criminals avoided capture and not wanting to deceive the children, but reluctant to frighten them with grim reality.
Beth and Peter talked to Jennifer after Andy fell asleep. They told her that sometimes grown-ups did bad things, and that’s why it was important that she not go anywhere in the hotel or the neighborhood without an adult.
"I know there are bad people in the hotel. Some of the kids who live on the other floors tell us about them in school, or on the school bus."
Beth believed that Jennifer needed to know about certain dangers, in order to better protect herself. "What do they say?"
Jennifer looked at them as if assessing how much to tell her sheltered parents. "There are these gangs upstairs and they do bad things."
"Like what?"
"They use drugs and fight all the time and do dirty things with big girls."
"What kind of dirty things?"
"You know."
"I don’t. That’s why I’m asking you."
"I don’t want to talk about it, Mom. It’s nasty."
"All right. Just remember you can talk to us about anything. We’re here for you."
"Thanks, Mom. I’m tired. Can I go to sleep now?"
A little later the adults met in the hall and discussed the latest incident. Their only conclusion was that they had to get out of the hotel as soon as they could, and in the meantime, they had to be very careful. Peter and Hector helped make a schedule with Beth and Miss Lily for weekdays, so they always knew when and where they would be. They reminded each other that they should never go anywhere in the hotel alone and if there was an emergency, one person would guard the children and the other would call 911. Kiesha didn’t have school on Friday, so that day the three women would do everything together. The men would be with them on the weekend and they would get the keys to their new apartments on Monday.
Peter tried to leave things on an optimistic note. "If we get the keys early enough, maybe we can get out of here on Monday night."
"I hope so," Kiesha said fervently. "We’ve been lucky so far, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this place."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Although there was a big accumulation from Thursday’s snowstorm, the older children went to school and Beth, Kiesha and Miss Lily tutored the younger children. It was a quiet day and when the bus brought the older children home in the afternoon, Beth and Kiesha got ready to go shopping. They made sure that the battery was fully charged on Miss Lily’s cell phone and that her door was securely locked. The horde of children in the tiny room had been induced to good behavior by milk and cookies, to be followed by one of Miss Lily’s famous stories. Pablo and the older boys wanted to hear the story of the fox and crow again. The rest of the children requested a new story. There was a spirited debate, that included lots of ‘oh yeahs’ and ‘yeahs,’ without their reaching a consensus. Miss Lily solved the problem by offering the fox and crow first, then a new story. This mollified both factions and the serving of milk and cookies sealed the peace.
Beth and Kiesha went to the elevator, leaving behind a silence that they knew could only be attained during the consumption of special snacks. They paused at the front door to bundle up, because it was bitterly cold outside, and waved to Ephraim who was loitering in the lobby. They carefully descended the steps that were only partially cleared of snow and headed towards the supermarket on Third Avenue.
Beth slipped her arm through Kiesha’s, who said jokingly, "Don’t you care that people might think we’re lesbians?"
"Screw em."
Kiesha was startled, "I don’t believe it. I never heard you talk that way, missy."
"I haven’t had a girl friend for a long time. After what we’ve been through, if someone thinks I’m a dike because I show a little affection, I’ll say it again,
screw em."
Kiesha squeezed her arm. "That’s fine with me. The only thing we’ve got to decide is who’s the butch and who’s the femme."
"It doesn’t work that way anymore. This is the era of equality. You lead a sheltered life, honey. No pun intended." They both giggled foolishly as they made their way through the snow down the unshoveled street.
Despite the foul weather, some of the homeless men who redeemed cans were gathered in front of the supermarket. An old black man with white hair and a serene expression on his face was wearing a thin jacket and Beth felt sorry for him. She took a dollar from her wallet and offered it to him, but he refused it.
"No thank you, miss. I don’t accept charity."
He spoke with such dignity that Beth was intrigued, "I didn’t mean to insult you. I just thought you could use the money."
"No insult taken, Miss. I know you meant well. I just make it a rule not to take money from anyone on the street."
Before she could say anything else, Kiesha tugged her arm, "Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here."
Beth started in, then turned to the man, "Would you accept a cup of hot coffee, if I brought it to you?"
He grinned, exposing some missing teeth, "It would be real rude of me to refuse such a nice lady. I thank you."
Kiesha couldn’t understand her interest in the man, "He’s just another poor old guy who lives on the street. We’ve seen a lot of them lately. He’s probably one of those mentally ill homeless who hustles cans."
"No. He’s different. There’s something special about him."
"I don’t think so."
"I know I haven’t been exposed to the system for very long, but I’ve changed since that first night at the E.A.U. Up until then I thought things were bad because the government didn’t do it’s job. Now I see that people aren’t doing their jobs."
"What do you mean?"
"Remember Ms. Weller at the E.A.U.?"
"Sure. I won’t forget her for a while."
"She’s a social worker who’s supposed to help families. Instead she sent them to horrible places that could destroy them."
"Lots of social workers are like that, missy. Either they don’t care when they start, or they get overwhelmed by all the suffering they see and stop caring."
It was warm and comforting in the supermarket and Beth didn’t feel in any rush to get back to the hotel, so she just stood there and talked to Kiesha. "From my little experience I agree with you, but I think it’s more than just not caring."
"Then what is it?"
"It’s like we don’t have any good examples to follow, or role models. Everyone’s so busy trying to get what they can that they lose the sense of community that binds people together."
"It’s hard to help others when you’re drowning."
"Maybe not. Look at us. I know things can always get worse, but this is as bad as it’s ever been for me."
"Me too."
"So this helped me understand the oreo theory."
"The what?" "The oreo theory. People at the hotel nicknamed us that for a reason."
Kiesha grinned broadly, "Yeah. Because we’re black and white and we stick together."
"True. But it’s also a symbol of different people coming together in terrible circumstances and supporting each other."
"I can’t argue with that."
Beth was quiet for a moment, then her thoughts almost ran faster than she could speak, "So many of our negatives come down from the top. I haven’t been in New York City very long, but many of the problems here are the same in Detroit. I’ve heard of Mayor Giuliani becoming outraged about a painting that offended his religious sensibilities, but he couldn’t care less about children in those drug motels."
"So what’s your conclusion?”
"Decent people have to rebuild from the bottom up, or things will get worse and worse."
"That’s a tall order. What are the chances of that happening?"
"I don’t know, but I want the world my children grow up in to be better than mine. There’s something very wrong when baseball players get fifty million dollars to hit a ball, while teachers barely make a livelihood."
"We’ve got a lot to talk about, missy, but right now, let’s go shopping."
They quickly got everything they needed, and Beth bought a ready-made sandwich for the old man outside, as well as coffee. They used food stamps to pay for their purchases and lugged them through the automatic doors.
The old man was walking away and Beth called, "Sir. Sir. I’ve got your coffee."
The man turned back, "That’s very nice of you, Miss. I don’t know why you’re bothering, but thanks."
She gave him the coffee, which he drank appreciatively. "I also got a sandwich for you, if you’ll take it."
He looked at her appraisingly, "Why are you doing this?"
"I think you’re an interesting man and I want to know more about you."
He looked offended, "I’m no charity case for rich girls to play with."
Kiesha giggled and the man snapped at her, "What are you laughing at? Do you think this is funny?"
"Yes. My friend and I are homeless. We live in a welfare hotel with our children, and you think we’re rich."
The man looked genuinely abashed, "I apologize, ladies. I hope you’ll excuse a foolish old man."
They looked at each other for a moment, then he bowed to them in a courtly manner, took the proffered sandwich, then started to go.
"Wait," Beth said.
He turned back. "Yes?"
"I really meant what I said. Will you tell us about yourself?"
He searched her face until he saw something that made sense to him and nodded. "It’ll have to be a short version, because it’s too cold to stand around for long."
Kiesha nodded. "That’s fine with me."
"I grew up in the Soundview section of the Bronx and later went to Fordham law school. I worked as a congressional liaison in Washington D.C. for several years, then came back to the Bronx and opened a private practice. I got involved in local politics just as the Bronx was going through some drastic changes. Poor rural blacks and island Puerto Ricans started moving in, and their presence threatened the blue collar and middle-class whites, who started moving out. The newcomers weren’t used to city ways and nobody welcomed them, and pretty soon communities were deteriorating. White flight became general, landlords cut back on services, neighborhoods decayed, and people started setting fires out of frustration, then out of rage. At times it seemed that entire neighborhoods were burning."
He paused for breath and the two women snapped out of their rapt attention.
Kiesha turned to Beth, "You were right about this gentleman. Sir. How did the fires affect you?"
"I was working with the Bronx democratic party to get federal aid for my community, which was now considered part of the South Bronx. It had become the international symbol of urban decay and some of us desperately tried to change that. Once the worst was over, I was appointed a judge as a reward for my service to the community. A few years later, a big corruption scandal sent a lot of Bronx politicians to jail. A lot of political appointees lost their positions and were fired. Suddenly I was bankrupt and had to take any job I could find. I worked for a community develop.m.ent agency, but it was so corrupt that I quit in disgust. Then I worked at a local school district and it was worse than the last place. I found out the managers were ripping off everybody, the federal government, the state, the city, while the kids didn’t have textbooks. I blew the whistle, but nobody cared. After a superficial investigation, it was business as usual. The superintendent had a limo, but the kids couldn’t get hot lunches."
Kiesha was fascinated, "You were a judge? A real judge?"
"Yes, miss."
"How did you end up on the streets?"
"I was punished for being a whistle blower. The school district took me to court and my assets were impounded. They won a judgment against me and I had to pay them the bulk of my earnings
. Then my wife got sick and died. I thought about moving elsewhere and starting over, but it didn’t seem worth it. One day I just walked out of my apartment and didn’t go back. I did day labor for a while and slept in cheap rooms, then I started hustling cans and sleeping on the steps of the Bronx courthouse, where I once worked…."
"I know where that is," Beth said. "I stayed at a homeless shelter near there. That’s where I met Kiesha."
"I hope you’re in a better place now, miss."
"We’re living in a welfare hotel on 28th Street. Maybe you’d like to have dinner with us. We’re in room 503."
"I don’t socialize much but thank you anyway."
"How do you manage in the cold weather?"
"I volunteer part-time at a nearby church soup kitchen. They let me sleep there. Well, I’ve got to be going. Thanks again for the coffee and sandwich."
They watched him walk away, a lone, enigmatic figure trudging through the snow, bound to an uncertain future. Kiesha was trying to make sense of the man’s story, "How did he go from being a judge to being a bum on the street?"
"He’s not a bum. He takes care of himself and still helps others."
"You know what I mean. He had so much and now he’s got nothing."
"Maybe he just got tired of all the terrible things he saw."
"That’s no answer, missy. If we all felt that way everything would fall apart."
"I don’t know, Kiesha. It seems like such a waste, doesn’t it?" "Yeah. You were right about one thing though…." "What?" "There was something special about him."
"I had no idea it would be anything like that."
"Well I’m freezing my booty off. Can we go home now?”
"Sure. Or we could stop on the way at a coffee shop and get warm."
"You twisted my arm. Let’s go."
There weren’t many people on the snow-covered streets, even though schools remained open, despite the storm. Third Avenue had a clean, reborn look that would only last until the city soot and trash blackened the snow drifts. Traffic madness was a notch or two above the usual dangerous assault on vehicles and pedestrians. It was as if a certain percentage of the regular offenders; road rage drivers seeking confrontations, cell phone users blind on one side and brain limited on the other; unskilled operators of SUVs and pick-up trucks, barely able to control their vehicles, careless users of expensive German cars, smug in the delusion that cost equaled safety, stopped lurking in front of the home entertainment system. All these abusers of the public roads, plus others; druggies, drinkers, pill poppers, the mentally infirm, the angry, resentful, envious, hostile, demented and ignorant, stupid or suicidal in attitude driving population, were speeding north without any special precautions for hazardous conditions. These sub-groups represented the loss of ability in a techno-cubicle society that no longer values fixing things, so that the repair of appliances, the capability of operating machinery, or the handling of a motor vehicle competently is no longer a virtue.