by Hulden Morse
Shortly after the seventh anniversary of the company, in 2016, Reaching Dreams had become one of the largest nonprofits in the United States. They had helped rehabilitate over 250,000 people by giving them clothes, an apartment, food, an education, and job opportunities specifically designed for the individual. The majority of the Graduates—as they were labeled by the organization—from the program attained a position where they could pay their own rent, buy their own food, obtain health insurance, and even buy a car. However, if some members of the program relapsed by falling back on the streets or into prison or in a hospital from overdoses and drug-related injuries, Reaching Dreams vowed to never give up on them. Charles, as per his character and professional pledge, would stop at nothing to show the collateral damage of human greed—great in number though they were—that someone in the world still cared about them, still wanted to lend an ungloved hand, and saw them as more than teaching material for children: This is why you stay in school. This is why you don’t do drugs. This is why you step on the little man in order to reach the big man’s ass. Charles and his employees led a different campaign: This is why we work hard. This is why we care for people who have forgotten what it’s like to be loved. This is why we are better than our worst.
Chapter 2
A downtrodden man with a broken smile was guided through the open doors and into the brightly lit Hall of Visions. He admired the soft couches and stacks of magazines for guests to enjoy, and looked to the counter just inside the door that boasted an array of pastries and drinks for anyone to happily devour. The floor was a highly polished, cream tile with small specks of silver glistening back at him, but the ceiling was what truly caught the man’s attention. It was a cathedral-high, domed roof filled with natural light shining down and a banner crossing the expanse that read “WE ARE HERE TO HELP YOU REACH YOUR DREAMS.”
Never before had Kenneth seen something so beautiful and so promising. He had heard stories about Reaching Dreams and had even met someone who had gone through the program before, though he was unaware of how the enrollment process worked. It was unclear, and many of the homeless men and women he knew showed no interest in being rehabilitated, for they saw nothing wrong with their lifestyle. It was freedom to them, liberation from a system that demanded too much of every individual. Like so many, he had lost his job a long time ago, been evicted from his apartment shortly after that, and now wanted to break away from his content, homeless companions in search of the assistance necessary to restart what should never have ended.
Therefore, it was with great excitement and relief when a recruitment vehicle came by his makeshift home, offering to take the man away from his personal Hell and give him a place to stay, food to eat, and classes that could help him succeed in the modern world. He was then escorted to the housing complex operated by Reaching Dreams, introduced to his Companion, and finally brought to the main office (or clinic) where he would undergo a brief orientation, during which the operations and desired outcome of the program would be explained. Throughout this transition period, Kenneth was eager to commence his classes. He had always wanted to go to school but could never save enough money to make it possible. There, he would be given the opportunity to learn new skills, develop a trade, gain experience, and eventually become a well-respected RD Graduate.
He had tried drugs in the past but was in no way an addict, feeling himself of stable mind and body. Kenneth was told that if he remained focused on the classes and worked hard in the program, he would graduate within a few months. His particular case was labeled simple and straightforward, in comparison to some of the other Residents who required more attention.
Within Reaching Dreams, there were various categories of dependency that a Resident was given. Of course, those categories were not labeled as dependencies, just as the men and women within the program were not labeled as homeless. A careful focus was placed on political correctness in order to make those being assisted feel as comfortable as possible rather than third-rate citizens.
Through much deliberation and counsel, a system arose in which new members were relocated from their dwellings (or lack thereof) on the streets and placed into an available apartment. Those apartments were set up in various ways depending on the category of dependency, labeled as ANI (Area Needing Improvement). A Resident with an education ANI lived in an apartment with five separate rooms and a communal area attached, each room containing a Resident of the same ANI. Those with an ANI related to a lack of motivation (or some other non-drug-related and non-mental-status-related reason for not working) were placed in similar apartments.
Those with a drug ANI were put into a similar apartment setup, except one of the rooms was occupied by an employee of the company, otherwise known as a Companion. Those members of the Reaching Dreams team were specially trained to rehabilitate the Residents and deal with certain ANIs. Each Companion had several Residents for whom they were responsible, this number being as few as four or as many as ten, the range being determined by the level of care required by the Resident. Each apartment building owned by Reaching Dreams had several floors dedicated to the most difficult Residents to treat: mental ANIs. Those persons were plagued with an array of brain disorders that rendered them handicapped in some way. They were the Residents who required the most attention by the Companions. Nevertheless, Reaching Dreams did not discriminate and was able to outfit many of those good citizens with a suitable job and a stable income.
The pathway Residents took in their program hardly varied from person to person. Typically, a new member was allowed time to relax and recover within the clinic: a small building typically located near the apartments. Within the clinic, new members were assessed, underwent orientation, and were then assigned to an apartment. After a week of acclimating to their new (and hopefully temporary) home, the program officially started. Addicts were weaned off of their drugs, those without an education were taught in classroom settings and by private tutors, those with some excuse for not working were given the tools necessary to be successful in the world, and those with mental disorders were (if possible) taught to cope with their impairment, manage it, and were provided with a job that suited their interests and abilities.
After working at a job successfully for one month, the Resident was encouraged (and sometimes forced) to find independent housing with the intention of living outside of the program. They were checked on once a week by a Companion, and after another month, the weekly inspection was adjusted to once every two weeks. After another month, they were visited every four weeks. Following that point, the Resident was considered to have graduated from the program and was a functioning member of society. Former Residents were always welcome to contact a Companion (especially their own) when in need of some help, advice, or just someone with whom to speak. It was important to provide a constant connection, a reminder that they were never alone in the world, even though they were perfectly capable of living on their own.
Many former Residents remained at their job and even moved into what could be considered a career. Some got married and had children. Some bought their first car and then their first house. Some, unfortunately, found themselves back on the street and moved through the program for a second or third or fourth time. Reaching Dreams would rarely deny someone a place in the program, no matter how many times they had fallen back into poor habits. Special consideration was, however, given to those who showed an interest in giving back to society.
Toward the end of 2016, Reaching Dreams was located in almost every major city in the United States. They operated 38 apartment buildings, which housed over 20,000 Residents at any one time. Each city that had a Reaching Dreams apartment building was considered a district, meaning that they operated with their own management team, but were a part of the overall brand. That allowed the San Diego headquarters, run by Charles Pearson, to focus on the overall mission of the company, while the individual districts focused on the detailed logistics of aiding a const
ant flow of people. It was a system that worked, one that had been tested and refined numerous times, and one that was praised for its efficiency and effectiveness.
Kenneth prayed to his god, a deity in which he had never lost faith, that those men and women of Reaching Dreams would have the hearts to fight for his survival. To him, they were saints. These people, these strangers, were undeniably patient and caring, constantly offering encouraging words and taking the time to work out any issues if they arose. He had only just met his Companion after walking into the building and already felt a connection with her. She looked at him like a human being, like he was her equal and didn’t evoke pity in others. She somehow made him feel confident, powerful, as if he had possessed the strength to save himself all this time but simply did not understand how to use it.
He shared these thoughts and emotions with his Companion, Alexandra, and couldn’t help but shed a tear when she hugged him and thanked the man for such a wonderful compliment.
“I am here for you, Kenneth. But I’m not the only one. I’m not kind because it’s my job. This is who I am, this is who we are, and I want you to remember that there are tons of good people in this world, just like me. Like you. I’m truly excited to work with you, laugh with you, and ensure that you get to where you want to go. Not where we say you should go, but where you want to go. Okay? Always remember that. We are here to support you and your decisions, not force you into something. Sound good, Kenneth?”
The man nodded, overwhelmed with the incredible situation blessed upon him. He hadn’t even made it out of the lobby, and already he felt as if his entire life would never be the same. Kenneth then looked over at some people sitting on a couch against a wall, unable to determine if the individuals were previously homeless since they were wearing well-pressed clothes that could have been provided by the company. He listened to them speak excitedly in elated, hushed voices, hoping he could be included in a group someday, before noticing that there were numerous framed awards hanging above their heads. The awards were simply framed, not shouted or rubbed in the face of every guest within the building, but presented humbly to those who happened to notice them. One of the framed papers said, 2009 Startup of the Year: California. Another read, Goldman’s Award for Outstanding Service to the Community: 2013. And another was, Top 5 Nonprofits of 2015. There were more awards that he could not make out from that distance, but it provided Kenneth with an extra coat of security.
Everything was going to be okay. As long as the people of Reaching Dreams were there, at his side, everything was going to be okay. The brilliant, welcoming smile of Alexandra supported this, the awards on the wall said the same thing, but most of all, his gut instinct told him that Reaching Dreams was the right place to be.
Kenneth was led into the orientation room by his Companion. During the short walk, he imagined the person who had founded this amazing company. He pictured a young college student, with a need to help the forgotten and an unstoppable drive to achieve his or her own dreams. Such a person, in his mind, had soft, warm eyes, an inviting and friendly smile, and a firm handshake. They were now a successful CEO, but never once did they let such fame and fortune go to their head. Kenneth was sure of that. He knew that whoever the person was, they would not let any obstacle impede the flow of progress. No matter what problem arose, great or minuscule, complicated or elementary, threatening or mundane, that individual would stop at nothing to overcome the hurdle and continue pushing forward.
In actuality, Charles Pearson was all of those things. He in no way commenced operations as the ideal CEO, but he grew into the role over years of dedicated service. Through extensive experience, he learned—and bestowed upon other people—a fact that he held as the source of his company’s prosperity: “Every human has potential.”
That simple motto was embodied with so much verve that he often repeated it to anyone who would listen. A little boy, growing up as one of the sheltered majority in an affluent neighborhood with doting parents and a specialized education, had just as much potential as a young girl being raised on the streets by those she had come to randomly meet beneath freeway overpasses, in parks, and down alleys. One may have a greater chance at success than the other, but the potential for wealth (financial and spiritual), fame, comfort, and health was equal amongst all. That young girl may be the one to cure a deadly disease, given the right support and education, while that little boy may develop into an unmotivated couch surfer who couldn’t hold a job for more than a few months. The future was never set, and the past did not determine one’s future.
Charles Pearson, the CEO of Reaching Dreams, preached the potential in every person, and built a company on that vision. He would soon meet someone who had also built a career around the core belief that others had something significant to offer. This man also saw every person as holding unfathomable potential that could be tapped into with the right tools.
Unfortunately, his purpose fell far from the noble ideal of rehabilitation.
Chapter 3
The first thing anyone noticed when entering the office was an elegant, handmade bookcase of untreated redwood that boasted leather-bound classics of the ages. The bookcase was a work of art as much as the stories that graced its shelves, and a sense of awe befell anyone who laid inquisitive eyes upon it. The literature on display was beautiful, thought provoking, and canon worthy, showering the onlooker with such names as Hawthorne, Banks, Hugo, Fitzgerald, Salinger, Nabokov, and other timeless writers born with an angelic way of touching the human soul through written words.
Amongst those incredible novels, standing on its own as a unique item upon a shelf, was a thin picture book that seemed utterly out of place against the featured backdrop and its companions on other shelves. That small book, intended for children, was My New Neighbor. It spun the tale of an old man who moved next door to a sweet, young girl. She wanted to meet her new neighbor but was told by others in the community that he was incredibly rude and that she should stay away from his house. People would walk by the man’s unkempt lawn and wave at him as he sat on the porch, but he simply stared back at them and offered no greeting. The girl’s parents went so far as to bring over a freshly baked pie, a sort of peace offering given to those requiring material items over common courtesy. As they stood at the base of the porch, waiting for the old man to invite them onto his property, he ignored their kind offering. People were angry that the new member of their small community refused to provide any greeting or even an acknowledgement to his neighbors. The young girl was told to avoid such a sour individual at all costs. Such a sweet child would certainly be adversely affected by any interaction with such a grim, stone-hearted man.
Ignoring the warnings of her peers and elders, the girl decided to personally invite the man to her home by bringing him her favorite book as a gift. However, as she stood at the bottom of his porch steps, waving at the old man in his chair, she was not responded to in any way. Undeterred, the girl ascended the creaking, wooden stairs and looked her neighbor straight in the eyes, saying to him, “Why won’t you say hello?”
“What? Who said that?” the man answered, looking around as if he could not see her.
“Sir? I am right here. In front of you.”
“My goodness,” he said happily. “I am very sorry. I’m blind. Please, have a seat next to me. I’m so happy to have a visitor. You’re the first one to say hello to me in this neighborhood.”
The young girl smiled and offered her present to the old man, knowing he would have no use for it.
“Oh my. Thank you, my child. I shall cherish it forever. Truly. But, do you think you could read it to me?”
And so the girl returned to her neighbor’s house every day to read the book out loud, watching the smile spread across his face and knowing that those blind eyes were seeing a fantastical, brilliant, imaginary world around him, a place more wonderful and beautiful than any reality.
My New Neighbor h
eld a permanent place in Charles Pearson’s heart because it was often read to him by his mother when he was a child. Anytime he felt scared or distressed, she would bring out that book and slowly allow the tale to unfold for her small son’s enjoyment. He knew every word in that book and every line of its illustrations. He kept it as a reminder not to judge someone too quickly, and as a talisman for those in need. A person’s unique experiences did not give them reason to look down upon others, nor did it give others a reason to look down upon this person.
He used this philosophy to build himself into a powerful leader and overall better human being. It was that way of thinking, that open-mindedness, that awarded him a nationally recognized nonprofit, a fulfilling career, and a stunning office building in San Diego. Still, even with his success solidified, he always felt there was more to be done to help the public.
Charles called in his right-hand woman, Paula Hamilton, to discuss an idea he had been developing for a couple of weeks. Hamilton was the Chief Administrative Assistant and someone the CEO trusted over any other person on his staff. She was kind-hearted when that was needed and brutal when the time was right. The woman not only ran his life but served as a competent advisor for corporate decisions. She was indispensable, sensational, and Charles included her in every executive discussion.
The assistant sauntered into her boss’s office and took a seat across the desk from him. She wore a grey fitted pantsuit that accentuated her toned buttocks and ample breasts. She was a desirable force, someone who could negotiate not only with naturally gifted intellect but also with her seductive instincts. Charles was happily married and had never considered his assistant as a potential mate, though he recognized the power of her physical beauty. To the CEO, it was an asset of which the foundation could take advantage.