Life in Nashville, part 3

One thing I noticed about the staff at the mission, is that while sometimes they appeared just as rude as the transients staying there, there were those times when talking to them would just brighten up my day. Granted, at one time many of them were homeless themselves and at some decided to make the choice to get clean, from drugs I mean, and work towards changing their life around. I guess those characteristics that they brought from their past life helped them deal with the transients better than most people. It’s a kind of tough love that one shouldn’t be so quick to judge but realize and remember what Paul said to the Corinthian church, “I have become all things to all people, so that I may by all means save some.” (I Cor. 9:2). As I made my way into the front offices, I was excited to tell the staff that I had decided to join the rehabilitation program. One of the chaplains sitting down was named Tom. He was a very cheerful elderly man. When I told him that I was from California he became very excited and told me that he grew up there and that he was in fact moving back there in a month. He told me that there were no more applications to sign up for the program so I would have to come back later that evening before chapel and talk to one of the other chaplains. He gave me a Bible and I went to go sit back outside and find some way to hopefully pass the time. I tried to read a little scripture but it was too difficult with everything going on around me. Everywhere, there was smoke from cigarettes. I got used to this fairly quickly and made sure that no one would see me coughing.

A young guy named Jake came up to me and we started talking. He was in the program and had arrived at the mission about four days before me. He seemed very happy and it was very nice talking to him. He told me about how he was glad to be there and how he had started to read the Bible and pray. I could easily picture him at some young adults group at any church, or even leading one. Meeting people like this made me want to join the program even more so I could be around these guys more and hopefully build some friendships. Right now, I had no clue how strict it would be or the rules I would have to live by. Jake asked where I was from and I told him Los Angeles. He was surprised I was so far away from home and asked how I ended up in Nashville. I guess I could have pretended to be more of a local but there’s no way I was able to pull off a Tennessean accent; at least not yet. I had to be careful not to expose too much of myself, especially about the real reason why I was there. I decided that I would tell no one about how I was on a road trip seeking to do ministry with homeless people across America. Unless asked, I would not tell people that I’ve never struggled with drug abuse and most importantly, NO ONE would know that I was only there to learn and observe with the intention of only staying a couple of weeks. My story to Jake was simple. I had been traveling for a while living in different places. The last place I was staying at was in Texas and since I was with a friend, I came along to Tennessee. However, that friend was able to find a place to stay in East TN so I decided to stay in Nashville since it was a bigger city with more opportunities. I also wanted to change my life around and was nearly broke financially. Now I ask you to find a lie in all that.

Afterwards, I continued to sit around just watching and observing people; the way they walked about, talked to others, talked to themselves, who associated with whom, who was the lonely outcast. One older man who caught my attention was an individual I would later learn was named Leroy. He never talked to anyone except sometimes himself. He always had a straight face and never smiled or looked angry. Every once in a awhile in random places he would start jerking his whole body and swing his arm up and down very quickly as if he was stabbing some invisible enemy. The sad thing I found out is that Leroy was once a university professor who later spent time in prison for killing his wife and the man he found her cheating on him with. Everyone here had a story… Along with that I noticed that everyone at the mission was either African American or white; nothing in between. I had heard about the racism in the south even before I had set out on the trip but here it didn’t seem to have much of an impact on the people. I could faintly trace any dividing racial line among the transients. I guess when you’re down at the bottom of society with few people to acknowledge and respect you, you can’t afford to hate others; except maybe yourself.

Red was an interesting kid; probably about 24. He told me his real name was Mike but since he was the only redhead at the mission, everyone just called him Red. When I first talked to him he appeared to have rather well to do clothing on that was pretty clean and spiked hair. He always hung around an older middle-aged man named Clark. Not once in the mission did I not see Red at Clark’s side. Red told me that he use to be in the program for a couple months but quit because it was too hard for him. He began telling me all the rules of living under the Anchor House, which was the name of my potential new home. Members could not leave the Mission grounds until about three months when they would receive their first 3 hour pass to the city. Also, if you were under the program, you could not have any interaction with the other transients living there other than a simple “Hello.” I knew I was going to break that rule. Also, he told me a little bit about how structured your schedule was every day and any form of disobedience to that would be punished. He told me how he was tired of all the Bible stuff you had to do. I had already heard though about all the Bible studies, chapels, and spiritual tasks you had to do but it didn’t really bother me. In fact I looked forward to things like that finally coming my way.

Dinner seemed to come at the perfect time. I felt like I was starving even though I had had a huge breakfast and lunch. As I was sitting in the waiting room lobby I was kept entertained by a man who kept complaining that people were stealing his seat, which was wasn’t true. He was a very interesting character who approached me earlier outside. He was a young black man probably in his late twenties, a little chubby with dyed bright red hair, and walked around in cowboy boots with shorts on. When I was talking with him outside I asked him why he wasn’t in the program. He said he tried it once but didn’t like it. Apparently they tried to “change” him and force him to be a different person. That’s when he admitted to me that he was a homosexual. As my row was called up, I was greeted by a wonderful surprise for dinner. Tonight’s meal was Popeye’s Fried Chicken. Back home I always ate here despite the memorable experience of once getting food poisoned there but that’s a whole different story. I ate every piece of chicken on my plate besides being tempted by the allure of trading it for a biscuit, which seemed to be the popular item of trade for the marching barters strolling around. As I sat down with a group of middle aged men, I listened in on their conversation about homeless abuse in the city. I learned that it was against the law to sit along almost any building let alone have a sign up hoping to panhandle. I knew that must have been true because when I was taking my stroll around downtown I found virtually no homeless men or women begging for money or resting anywhere. Most were just chilling in the Public library; drinking fountains everywhere, bathrooms on every floor and even free access to the internet. You can’t beat that. All it needed was Popeye’s chicken and a place to crash for the night and the mission would be closed for good.