Homelessness for Stupid People
The foibles of the most pampered homeless population in the Bay Area...
One automatically recognizes this
man. Tall and slender and wiry almost to the point of being
emaciated. He wore his kinky red hair a little long, framing a face
that matched his form with sunken cheeks, a prominent nose and an
Adam's apple out to there... he appeared to be the spitting image of
Ichabod Crane of Sleepy Hollow fame save that Mr. Abernathy's
carriage had a dignified aire to it. He strode rather than shuffled,
walked upright rather than hunched. And he had a sternness about
him. He was not a man of easy humour, tending far more toward
seriousness, though he did laugh at the occasionally forgiven crack
from his students. He rarely tolerated such things, of course. When
he did, it was well worth his approval.
His tenure over me lasted one year,
my first at Runnymede
College, a secondary school that educated children of the
international expatriot community in Madrid, Spain. I was twelve
years old that year, and, after two years living in Madrid under my
father's care, I still could not speak the language. My brother,
three and a half years my junior, was already quite fluent. But I
needed something more of a push. The reasons for my inability to be
a good student have much to with cluelessness, a disease I'll
encourage any parent to correct if they can. It stifled my ability
to learn for the entirety of my time as a student.
Mr. Abernathy taught Latin and
Spanish at Runnymede College to our Lower 3rd Form Class
(roughly equivalent to 7th Grade). I remember him reading
to us with his not quite monotonous speech and accentuated Rs, which
he tended to roll on his tongue whether he was speaking English or
Spanish. He did not have the same talent Mr. Ballard, our history
teacher did. So he could not shoot a piece of chalk twenty feet
across the room and hit me square between the eyes, but his ability
to get attention with a simple stern gaze was second to none, and his
reluctance to tolerate any distraction kept those of us in his class
focussed on what we were supposed to be learning.
If we did not turn in our homework,
there was hell to pay. Mr. Abernathy would make sure everyone knew
who the lazy ones in the class were. I was guilty of this more than
once, and assigned extra as a result, which I diligently did rather
than face his wrath again. Even so, when his wrath faded from
memory, I repeated the mistake (twice)... but eventually, there was
clarity in my mind of what was expected and what the consequences
were.
Toward the end of that school year, I
knew the name of every boy and girl living in our apartment complex,
and I was becoming part of that group (you might call it a clique,
but not really, Spanish culture makes groups of friends very well
defined though it has little resemblance to what American's would
recognize as a clique). For the two preceding years, I had been that
stupid American kid that nobody wanted anything to do with. I'll
never forget Pablo Caballero putting his finger on my chest and
saying “Ju no in my hause!” the summer before meeting Mr.
Abernathy. Pablo and I became inseparable for years later.
I have never known any teacher that
had Mr. Abernathy's teaching model. He did what fit his character,
and what fit his character fit very, very well. He reached me, and
he has coloured my approach to the world ever since, though I did not
recognize this till quite recently.
I had not thought of Mr. Abernathy
for quite some time, but I was reminded of him today.
I've been collecting laundry for a
few weeks, and desperately needed to get things washed. I'd meant to
do it last night, but it was simply too hot to ride over to Bubble
Brite. So it was this morning (Sunday, June 30) I woke at six, and
made my way over there, getting my load in by a quarter to seven. I
sat down to finish “Ship of the Line” by CS Forester (I did “Beat
To Quarters” for LPL's
Summer Reading Program... which I recommend to everyone who
reads, Ship of the Line was just about enjoying the book... won't be
reviewing it, it's just THAT GOOD!)... anyway, on one of the two TV
Screens, this story was playing:
I'm not
sure what it was about the image on the screen that caught my eye....
(okay, pretty girl... does it every time...) But the story was this:
a couple from Novato take in foster kids, and the teenagers they take
in, mostly failing in High School, graduate with honours and go on to
college.
I
expected some new-age explanation, but, no... Roy and Claudia Asprer
don't play at that. They banned Television, Imposed Behaviour
Standards and took No Lip from these kids! The latest of their kids
to graduate High School was failing miserably in her freshman year.
WHAT?
You mean the Asprers have Standards and give Clarity? What's that
about?
Anyone
who has been homeless and survived it will, in some way, express the
force of will necessary to escape it. People able to self impose
discipline are rare in the real world, and almost unheard of amongst
the homeless. Down here clarity is elusive and standards of
behaviour non-existent.
It is
true that there are certain behaviours that will get one ejected
permanently from any of the various programs out there. But there is
little in the way of education. Who tells these people what is and
is not acceptable, much less educates them? To know, one usually has
to break a rule before these things are communicated. Not always,
but most of the time.
What
most do not understand when working with the homeless is that common
sense amongst them is not so common. Very often codes that come from
Prison culture are applied which are at odds with the community at
large.
For
instance, if homeless man steels, and another homeless man knows of
it, and talks to police, or often, anyone else, that person is a
snitch. That person is not looked on as a good neighbour by the
community at large, but as a homeless man who has no value. Amongst
the homeless, he's looked upon as the worst possible element, someone
to avoid or to be punished. If I had any experience in the gang
culture, I believe I might see the same thing.
The
beginning of my education on this was two years ago. Rob Hamblet and
Joey De La Rosa were passing a bottle of vodka between them. This
would not have been an issue safe that they were doing it at a
church. And it was a church where Joey's brother Johnny was in
charge. After I told Johnny about it, I was immediately labelled a
snitch by both of them. For me, the issue was the services given by
the church. Incidents like drinking on church property tended to
offend not only the pastor, but the parishioners. How many such
incidents would it take before they ceased that particular program.
Just an aside, that particular program did, eventually, shut down. I
don't know what the reason was. Joey and Rob did not see it that
way, of course. I had committed a sin against them, and should
immediately pay for it. Nothing came of that save that I was never
again trusted by either of them. Rob has since died, I believe it
had to do with liver problems, and Joey is no longer homeless as he
can no longer take care of himself. He lives with family in Modesto,
who care for him. This is the first of several personal examples I
could recount, but it was the most shocking to me. I had never
experienced its like before.
The
prison culture amongst the homeless is getting stronger, not weaker.
As the homeless problem in Livermore grows, and make no mistake, it
is growing, the only way to defeat this is to find a way to apply
standards of behaviour on the homeless, and nobody at all is doing
that. Not here, at least.
Mr.
Abernathy had standards. He knew his job, he stepped up to the plate
and in spite of whatever character flaws he had, he overcame those
and made consistency and clarity part of his method of teaching, and
I benefited greatly from his efforts. I wish I knew people like him
today. I am very proud to say, that as I was nearing my thirteenth
birthday on the very last day I saw him, I thanked him. He smiled
his little Irish smile, bobbed his head, and walked away. I'll never
forget him.
