The Rising of the Phoenix

And then there was AIDS.

Again, I was introduced to the epidemic when it began. I was in Louisville, Kentucky working as a professional Christian in charge of a building called a sanctuary with bars on the windows. Sunday School rooms were converted into apartments and homeless people moved inside. A few years later, I was known in the City has someone who could help people find housing.

Then AIDS happened. I still remember the first time the very thin man with the droopy moustache entered my office at the Church. His landlord had evicted him because of the HIV+ diagnosis. He was asking me to help. I was scared to death because everybody was scared to death at the time. We all thought that we could catch it from breathing the same air or sitting on the same toilet seat.

So I was invited to become one of the founding members of the St. Jude’s Guild. St. Jude is the patron Saint of the sick and dying so my friend and co-founder Father Vernon Robertson named us. We were four clergy of different faiths and four gay people. We established Glade House, a residential facility for people living with AIDS in the mid-1980s. It was among the first of such housing programs in the county.

So when I returned to Savannah to work at Union Mission in 1987, I had first-hand knowledge of AIDS. I was too busy to pay much attention in 1990 because of the crowded Grace House shelter filled with women and children sleeping on the floor. We were in the midst of building the Magdalene Project. HIV was the farthest thing from my mind.

Then one of the homeless men came into my office and told me that he had AIDS. We converted a broom closet into a bed room and he moved in so that we could segregate him from the others. I remember calling his father so that his family could come and get him. He needed to be at home surrounded with those who loved him. After I explained the situation to the father I can still recall how stunned I was when the Dad said, “Call me when he’s dead”.

There was a gay guy in the shelter named David then. David was one of the resident managers. He was a caregiver to the AIDS-infected guest. He asked one day what I would do first if I were going to start a program for people diagnosed with HIV+. As I’ve explained, we were totally pre-occupied with building a program for homeless women and kids. But I told him and the next day, David had done it. He asked “What would you do next?” and I told him and he did it.

Then, Joe Daniel, who was Chairman of the Union Mission Board of Directors, Mills B. Lane (a Savannah philanthropist) and the First City Network (Savannah’s emerging gay association) all came together and in a matter of months, Phoenix Place opened. Work began on it after construction began on the Magdalene Project but it opened before the women and children’s shelter was completed.

David named the place Phoenix Place, for the bird rising from the ashes. I remember the neighbors saying that they did not want us there until an elderly black grandmother stood and explained that she wished such a place existed when her son died of AIDS. They then demanded that the City grant zoning for the HIV facility.

J. C. Lewis, Jr. the principal financer of the men’s shelter and the soon-to-be completed Magdalene Project wanted nothing to do with the AIDS project. When we would meet, which was often, he never asked about it which I always thought was weird because he was such a compassionate man.

I remember the grand opening when Mayor John Rousakis arrived and shuttered when he learned that the place was for people with AIDS. He left as quickly as possible after his remarks to the boos of some in attendance.

And I remember the pride and joy of the First City Network. The opening garnished a lot of press and this was the first time that FCN had been publically acknowledged in Savannah. I can still see one man with tears in his eyes cheering loudly when they were recognized in front of the crowd.

So Grace House came first in 1987. Followed by Phoenix Place in 1990. Followed by the Magdalene Project in 1991. The foundations of Union Mission as it is today were miraculously put together by people who normally wouldn’t be caught dead together. But they did because people were dying and they cared more about that than their prejudices. It was Georgia’s second residential program for people living with AIDS but only by a couple of weeks.

More than anything that I have experienced at Union Mission, Phoenix Place was the most special. It should have never happened but it did anyway and it reminds be that miracles can still take place on most any day.

Discovering Me

The sun blazed upon the surface of the calm ocean establishing its dominance over the sea and creating a glare so strong that I could not look directly at it. "Staring at the sun, blazing like the eye of God" is how Bruce Cockburn describes it.

It is low tide and the wind is coming out of the west. The only waves are far in the distance, washing over the sandbars in the mouth of the back river. The heavy breeze tries to blow them back to sea but they persist, one after the other, attacking the wind. The sand is flat and gray. I watch one foot go in front of the other as I make my morning run. I see the erosion that as taken place. Tybee spend $7 Million to re-nourish the beach last year and the ocean has already reclaimed $2 Million of it.

Most every morning I have this time. It is my time. I run the beach and intensely observe the daily changes. It is sculpted and molded every day and I feel privileged to see the act of creation taking place.

For the past two decades this has been my alone time, when I could do something good just for me, listen to my music and touch one of my holy places which is the ocean. Throughout the ups and downs of my life the beach has been my constant, though now I know that it is ever changing just like I am.

I am spending more time alone these days so there is more time to think and reflect than the one hour run that has been my only real alone time for so long. I'm beginning to either learn new things about myself or affirm aspects of me that I already knew.

I am a morning person. I love the newness of the day, the rising of the sun, the dew on the grass, the chance to start over every day. I think better in the mornings, write better, observe better, laugh better, and probably love better. Conversely, I am not my best at night. I grow weary, forgetful, and my thoughts are jumbled. Many get frustrated with me because of this, but I've finally accepted that it is who I am.

I am an ocean person and an island guy. I never mind taking Goddess for a walk because at the end of our street is the march and I linger over the smell, especially in the summer at low tide, when "the smell of the marsh is like sweet sex in the tropics" according to Marshall Chapman. I think that she is right. The pup and I turn left at the marsh and follow it to back river and I never grow tired of that view. Often we walk to the end of my friend Shirley's dock and sit and enjoy being in the middle it all. I've never been weary of it.

I am a passionate person about what I do. Not too long ago I was at lunch with a Judge who suddenly threw out, "Well, your creditability has been questioned in this community."

"My creditability?" I asked grabbing her hand and looking her dead in the eyes, "Let me tell you about my creditability. I'm still here after all of these years. In spite of everything that has happened I'm still doing it. That's my creditability!"

I love my friends and do my best to enjoy them, help them when I can, and stay away from them when I should. In the middle of writing this, my friend Johnny O (a Tybee Legend) called to tell me about the latest news in Naples, Florida which he thought I should immediately know. Of course, this is after yesterday when I sent his wife the registration link for the nude bowling tournament in Georgia.

Every morning I start with a kiss on Julie's forehead while she sleeps, a hug of the pup, then I am off to my friends at the Breakfast Club. We slide into each day together. And most of the slides involve laughter and there is no better way to start a day.

I often tell Julie that life is a journey. We are all on one, ultimately looking for ourselves, I think. Before we can really love anyone else, we must first discover who we really are as individuals and learn to love ourselves for who we are. Nothing more. Nothing less. In my work, I see so many people who have never learned how to love themselves and they take it out on everyone else. The results are pain and destruction.

The first step to loving our lives, I believe is to learn how to love ourselves. Discovering me is the first step for each of us. Then it is like my morning run, watching one foot go in front of the other, again and again and again.

Wacky Traditions!

My friend Bill Shearouse loves tradition. He keeps them religiously and is frustrated when they are interrupted. I celebrate a great many of the same traditions that Bill does and we do so together. University of Georgia football, the Hibernian Society on St. Patrick's Day, lunch with the boys, and a thousand other things. He loves tradition and I love him loving them.

So this morning on my Thanksgiving Day jog down the beach (I may as well have jogged, the power was out on island and no one was doing anything else, including cooking the turkey) I was on the look out for a Tybee Island tradition. Every year around this time, someone goes down to the beach, finds a tree that has washed up on shore, and they plant it in the sand. It is always a majestic sight! A barren winter beach with a dead tree defying death and standing proud towering above the ocean. It is certainly something that you don't see every day.

Then this wacky tradition takes place. Over the ensuing weeks, people decorate the dead tree with Christmas ornaments. The naked branches become filled with shinny balls, tinsel, stars, and a host of other decorations. The tree remains until the days after Christmas and then either the ocean takes it or the person who planted it returns to take it down. I prefer to believe that the fish of the sea celebrate their holiday a couple of days after the rest of us and are waiting on the tree.

Anyway, it is one of the things that I love about living on Tybee. A dead tree springs to life and people notice it and celebrate it. One Christmas morning I jogged by the decorated tree and a man wearing a kilt played "Amazing Grace" on bagpipes standing next to the tree.

Holidays just do not get any better than that. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!

Women and Kids

Returning to Savannah from Louisville, Kentucky where I fell into this line of work, I was already aware that the city would soon be seeing waves of women and children on the streets after Grace House was built. I remember saying this in meetings with other providers of homeless services, the Army of Salvation and Inner City Night Shelter, only to have them respond that it would never happen.

When Grace House was built, there were two resident manager apartments in it for night time staff. I quickly converted these into use for families and they were immediately occupied. The first family was Hank, Heidi, and their two small children. In no time at all, it seemed women and children were everywhere demanding shelter.

So every evening the dining hall would be converted into a mass shelter. Mattress' would line the floor and they would sleep side by side. I remember Board member Cliff McCury coming by one evening and he witnessed a mother still wearing her McDonald's uniform tucking her two children under the covers of their mattress on the floor. He was shaken and learned that the stereotypes of homelessness do not apply.

Soon the Savannah Morning News and the television news stations began to cover the mass sleeping arrangement and the entire city began to learn that half the homeless population are women and children. It reached a zenith when the Sunday edition of the paper showed a large photograph of an eight year old child, blond hair still wet from a shower, sitting on her mattress looking up with eyes the size of moons.

The phone began ringing off the hook with people wanting to help. J. C. Lewis, Jr. who had mostly financed the building of Grace House said that he would again help. So one year after Grace House opened, construction began on the Magdalene Project, Savannah first shelter for women and children! It opened in 1990 to a packed house and the women and children left their floor mattresses for beds.

This Thanksgiving season I am reminded of how much people can be moved to care. And I am thankful to still be a part of something as special as Union Mission in Savannah, Georgia.

Grace and Beyond

I was hired in 1987 as the Executive Director of Union Mission. At that time, there was only one program, Potter's Place a 12 bed transitional housing program for male substance abusers. Grace House, the shelter for men, was still under construction and my first office was in Candler Hospital's professional building. The Chairman of the Board at the time was John Carpenter who was also the President & CEO of the hospital which is why I got the office.

Anyway, Grace House had a hard time getting off the ground. Local business legend and philanthropist J. C. Lewis, Jr. is the one who wanted to make it happen. He had approached the Union Mission Board about starting a shelter for the homeless because, as a Christian man, he had a burden for that population. Whenever he drove the streets of Savannah and see them, his heart would break. He had lots of money and decided to fund a state-of-the-art shelter (which is as funny an oxymoron as you will ever hear!).

So they acquired a property, announced the shelter would open, watched a neighborhood association form, and see them hold a press conference proclaiming that they did not want "those kind of people" in their neighborhood. So they purchased another property, held another press conference, watched another neighborhood association spring to life and hold another press conference proclaiming that "those kind of people" were not wanted, so Union Mission moved on. Mr. Lewis acquired five different properties, five neighborhood associations were formed, and Union Mission takes great pride in helping start more neighborhood associations in Savannah than anyone else!

Then the Mayor got involved and appointed a "Blue Ribbon Task Force" to help decide where the city's new shelter should go (even though the city was not putting up any of the money). After four months of intense study it was determined that Grace House should be next to the housing projects. I think the logic was that "those kinds of people" should stay close to "those kinds of people".

So Grace House opened on December 15, 1987 just in time for Christmas. I basically spent the next couple of months there, not as a homeless person, but because there was me and two other people to run everything.

So now, fast forward 21 years and visit http://www.vimeo.com/7601716 to see the latest episode on Union Mission's IMPACT, our television series. It focuses on Grace House and the program that sprang out of it.

I am proud of this show as it illustrates Union Mission's oldest program, still going strong all of these years later. What I like most about it are the interviews with the residents and former homeless people who tell their stories. They remind me of what it was like all those years ago. When we began.

Reaction Time

Last week's posts generated a lot of interest, especially Friday's when I tried to end a frustrating week by putting it into perspective. Three people gave that one a thumbs-up on my Face Book page. While they didn't comment and they represent literally all walks of life, the focus on having a friend to talk things through with, finding progress when it seems that none is being made, and realizing that someone else always has it tougher than you, hit a note with them.

Then Kathryn Preston, Executive Director of the Georgia Coalition to End Homelessness, wrote back that she had recently been through a similar situation and made changes. I assume that she changed her staff and she ended by pronouncing that "things are so much easier now."

Former homeless person and current friend Howard Jackson responded directly to the blogsite (www.socialsolutionsinc.blogspot.com or www.unionmissioninc.blogspot.com) and encouraged me to read something that he had posted on his blog. He ended by offering encouragement and told me to rely on the Big Man. I'm sure that he meant God who can just as easily be a woman or whatever else the Big One chooses to be.

My friend Bob Colvin also chimed in saying that I'm still doing the good work and that we need to catch up. Bob and I were part of a partnership that help develop the respite care movement in national health care and significantly enhanced Chatham County's ability to care for the uninsured.

I find that all of this makes for a nice way to slide into a Monday that is full of planning meetings. Last week's expressions of frustration led to expressions of affirmation and encouragement. It's hard not to feel good when you know that people support what you are doing. So it's time to dive in now. I don't want to disappoint my friends.

Reality Check

A frustrating week continued this week as far as supervision of staff and communication. I continue to be amazed that you can take the time to make yourself available to someone, offer them guidance based on experience, be very specific about what they should do, and they don't do it! Even though they say "Thanks Boss!" and give you every indication that they are going to follow the supervision offered. Then they don't! Go figure!

Peter Drucker wrote that the golden rule of being an employee is "Do what you say you are going to do." There are a lot of people that I work with who have obviously never heard of Peter Drucker.

So in the midst of mounting frustration (which is pretty evident in the above two paragraphs)yesterday ended with several reality checks. The first was when my Board Chairman showed up early for a meeting as is his custom and we sat in my office and talked for about an hour. We covered a range of topics from fund raising initiatives to employee performance. He mostly sat and listened offering his own experience of "been there, done that." Sometimes you just need someone to talk things through with to remain grounded.

The second reality check was the Finance Committee meeting which followed. The Committee had been asking for changes in the reporting format of the P&L statements and the finance team finally delivered. While the report was reviewed, they asked questions about anything outside of normal activity, offering suggestions based on their wealth of experience. During the meeting, it was obvious to see the tremendous amount of progress that the finance team has made and the Committee could see it too. The meeting lasted a bit more than an hour. They've been going much longer and I was pleased at reaching this milestone.

Most important, I stopped by the Chatham County Health Department because Dr. Diane Weems, the County Medical Director, was celebrating her birthday. She is also undergoing treatment for breast cancer. When I arrived, I was greeted with hugs and Diane and I stood in a corner talking about H1N1, homeless shelters, her treatment and the fact that the next time I see her she will have a new "do". Instead of shaving her head, she's getting a buzz cut. Typical Diane, adding her own spin to things! As we talked, she smiled and laughed a lot and I could not help but admire her all over again. This is one strong and classy woman that I am proud that she is my friend.

All of these things help to put things in perspective. When times are difficult, you need a friend to talk to. You need the opportunity to see that some things are getting better. And you need to be reminded that whatever you are challenged with, there are others who have challenges that are far greater.

Making the News

The title to the email read "Dutch Newspaper". Immediately I thought that it must be junk mail or even a porn site, but I opened it anyway. A reporter introduced himself as working for "de Volkskrant" or the People's Daily. It is the national newspaper of Holland. He is doing a story on the impact of the world economic crisis on poverty in the United States. He had run across Union Mission's work and is traveling around visiting sites and wants to arrange a visit. So we're working that out.

I do find it impressive that the work of Union Mission is know throughout much of the world. And it is also compelling that our work is featured in national and international publications. I can recall when getting a large story in the Savannah Morning News was the only occasion for a big deal. In fact, at Union Mission we have maintained copies of all of the press of the past 21 years in notebooks and in chronological order. Seven large notebooks illustrate the history of Union Mission over that time.

In addition to the local newspaper, Union Mission's been profiled in newspapers throughout the region. The work has been covered by magazines ranging from SOUTHERN LIVING to the JOURNAL OF THE AMERICAN HOSPITAL ASSOCIATION, from GEORGIA TRENDS to CONGRESSIONAL ROLL-CALL. Last week, I was interviewed by a reporter from Santa Barbara, California. We've been on CNN and on the TODAY Show (twice!).

It is good that I opened the email. Yesterday I was frustrated by a good many things at Union Mission and I focused on our shortcomings. And while we certainly have many areas where we need to improve, the reporter reminds me that the work of Union Mission is still among the best anywhere.

Parked On Hold

I had dialed in the number and the access code to the conference call and was now on hold waiting for the host to arrive. The Robert Wood Johnson Foundation was hosting the call of Community Health Leaders to talk about collaboration. I was the invited guest, but had been on hold for about ten minutes now. My blackberry buzzed and my friend Susan texted me. "Are you parked on hold?"

I texted back that I was, marveling at how far the technology of communication has come. We can now communicate even though we're on hold.

Less than a minute later she texted again that RWJ staff was also parked on hold. Susan was evidently multi-texting (ok writing that really cracked me up).

In the end we were on hold for 28 minutes. No one could talk on the phone but we were all texting one another while we waited. Finally, I texted that we would have to reschedule and ended the call.

A few minutes later an email arrived from the host to all of us begging forgiveness but she had gotten engrossed in her office and missed it. She threw out dates to reschedule.

Such is the world of modern communication. We talk, call, fax, e-mail, text, Face Book and twitter. We link them all together. Yet, we still not communicate all of the time. It is almost always human error that causes miscommunication.

Earlier in the day I was hosting a staff lunch and the setting was all wrong. The room was loud with people celebrating a birthday. There were 9 of us seated at a long table. One end couldn't hear what the other was saying. Worse than that, no one was really wanting to talk. One person stayed focused on her berry throughout the lunch. Another seemed preoccupied and not really there at all. One's body language was indicating that she was ready for battle. And I sat in the middle throwing out topic after topic trying to get the leaders of Union Mission communicating. Finally we found one surrounding the planning for the holidays and how everyone was frustrated with most everything about it.

For the most part the lunch meeting was a waste of money and time. We should long be beyond having communication forced and genuine planning taking place at these sessions. Human error had triumphed again.

Communication takes work. Someone has to always own it and never assume that it has taken place merely because words were spoken or emails were sent. And everyone has to own communication, both those initiating it and those receiving it. Otherwise, you find yourself always parked on hold.

A Special Day

Well, to be honest I think that everyday is special. This morning, my run took me to the beach for the first time in several days. The tide was high, the sky blue, the sun was a bright yellow ball, and the breeze had a tinge of coolness to it. Another day had just been born. At some point, most every morning, I have this thought. Another day has been given to me. It is mine to make the best of.

No matter how much I may have screwed up yesterday, or regardless if I failed to take advantage of it at all, or it was as perfect as it could have been, the gift of a new day is refreshing. I think part of the reason that I am a morning person is that I really enjoy the newness of each day. The dew on the ground. The rising sun dancing with the fleeing moon. And every day is the opportunity to start again.

Still, some days are more special than others. Today is Julie's birthday. It is a special day for her and certainly a special one for me. We've tried to celebrate this occasion for the past several days beginning with Chelsea making her a birthday cake over the weekend. This was followed by an extra family day in Athens complete with the Goddess. Friends have noted the birthday too with greetings, cupcakes, and signs. Face Book greetings have been numerous and from everywhere. Tonight we will celebrate dinner with friends at a new restaurant in Savannah.

And as I was running this morning, basking in the birth of a new day filled with all of its opportunities, I thanked God for a special day years ago when Julie was born. Then I said thanks for this day to celebrate. Happy Birthday Julie!

A Lesson In Learning

I was jogging through the campus and passed a building called the "Poultry Science Center." Immediately, I had a vision of screaming chickens tied down on an examination table. An old professor in a white gown holds a scalpel and begins explaining to the packed lecture hall what he was about to do. The students lean in closer. The chicken screams louder.

I wondered if the Poultry Science Center is financed by Chick-Fill-A. I also wonder if students who graduate with degrees in Poultry Science are all hired by Kentucky Fried Chicken. It was probably in this very building that someone came up with the idea for Kentucky Grilled Chicken.

Anyway, I was jogging through the campus and sleepy eyed students were making their way to their 8 o'clock classes. The bright sun wasn't quite strong enough to chase away the chilly morning air, and students hugged their books and laptops close to their chest. Most seemed too sleepy to acknowledge me as I ran by but several smiled and a few even wished me a good morning.

I love college campuses and have rarely met one that I didn't like. My favorites are the University of Texas at Austin (beautiful from one end to the other), the University of Chicago (it is what a college should look like), Harvard (just because of the rowing classes in the river)and, of course, the University of Georgia.

I was enjoying the run this morning and as I ran by the dorms, I can still remember the smell of what a dorm smells like. After all of these years, they haven't changed. I jogged passed Snelling Dining Hall and watched students stumble in and stumble out and could recall how much I could eat when I was in college. Then I found myself at the student athletic center and remembered the years of flag football and the good times.

I loved college and I loved seminary too. I appreciate the fact that I am still asked to visit campuses across the country from time to time. Not too long ago, one of my mentor college professors called and asked if I would read his manuscript for a book that he conceived while visiting me in my office. I did and it was published and I thought how cool it is to come full circle with professors who influenced my life so much.

I try to remember if this is where my love of learning came from. Throughout my life, I haven't stopped. After seminary, I explored American poverty from the streets and found myself at ground zero of homelessness exploding and in the front trenches of AIDS happening. I moved back to Savannah and learned how to build housing programs. Then it was the American Health Care system. This was followed by first hand exploration of how mental health services really work in the United States.

Along the way there was the discovery of Peter Drucker and outcome measurements, long before funders began demanding it. Collaboration became a buzz word for me 15 years ago, again long before funders began asking for it. Now, I am learning to break through the glass ceilings of the for-profit world as a non-profit executive. I am also enthralled by social medium as a way of managing relationships and information. Learning has been a constant of my career.

I linger after my run, wishful for some chance to do it all again. I would love to do college now when I'm probably most ready for it. But that is just wishful thinking. There is too much to do at work this week. And so much more for me to learn as I do it.

Connectivity

Yesterday was packed with connections. A critical issues forum hosted by Hunter, McClean kicked off the day with Memorial Health University Medical Center CEO's Phil Scheangold discussing the House and Senate versions of health care reform. He did an outstanding job! His basic point was that while Congress is moving to ensure coverage for most, not all, they are not increasing community access points or developing in capacity to actually provide care to all of those who will be covered. I said for a long time that reform will not be achieved from the top down, but from the bottom up based on the best practices that already exist throughout the nation.

Then I was off the Savannah Economic Development Authority for a meeting concerning Georgia's water crisis, especially in metro-Atlanta. Why would I be attending this Chamber sponsored event? Most of the jobs in this region are created because of the Georgia Ports in Savannah. Depending on the state's solution to water, jobs may be created or lost. Homeless people end their homelessness by buying their way out. Jobs are the key way in which they accomplish this.

I also had a conversation with my friend Brynn Grant, Director of the Creative Coast Alliance, about social medium and how it is not the future, but the present, of well, just about everything having to do with communication and relationship management.

Then lunch with a group of friends to mostly talk about this week's University of Georgia football game.

Then to the Dutchtown Development where I met with the principals as we finally come close to finishing this 48 unit apartment complex for people living with disabilities.

Then a meeting with Skip Eloge, our CFO, and Jeff Darley, out I T staff support as we discussed the infrastructure that Union Mission will need five years from now when we have a patient load of 20,000+/annually.

Then it was home for e-mails, phone calls, and connectivity. What a day!

Then Julie and I took Goddess for a walk. The wind was blowing across the marsh, and the misty rain tasted like salt from the sea. Massive purple clouds filled the sky, hanging low over the lighthouse. We walked out on our friend's Shirley's dock, admiring the beauty of creation. This was a different kind of connectivity. A more basic kind. The kind that gets you through whatever it is you are needing to get through.

The Gold Standard

I know that we are in bad economic times this time because gold is up and the dollar is down. I first learned that gold was up when my friend Jodee, owner and Chef of the World Famous Breakfast Club, told me the other day that he had converted everything to gold. He sounded frustrated yet satisfied when he announced this. My dear friend John O’Neill did not seem to care about this information as he continued breaking the law while having his first cup of coffee. I checked out the silverware which was, well, still silver so I wasn’t sure what to make of Jodee’s announcement. So I did what I always do when he starts talking politics. I ignored him.

Then tonight I was watching the news and, sure enough, gold is setting record levels and the dollar is down. Jodee, who is a great chef, businessman, fisherman, family man, and friend, took all of his investments, cashed them in and bought gold. Whatever losses he had incurred by cashing in investments based upon the dollar, he was quickly earning back.

“Damn!” I cursed while Brian Williams informed me of Jodee’s genius, “why didn’t I listen to him?”

I already knew the answer. Jodee’s politics are just to the right of Attila the Hun, and I’m normally listening to him before I finish my first cup of coffee. It’s hard to listen to anybody before you finish your first cup of coffee. Sure, Jodee’s been up since 2:30 and is primed but I’m still stumbling around.

Anyway, I stopped what I was doing and stared at Brian Williams as he delivered the news. Then I laughed and said out loud, “Good for Jodee!”

Then my mind flashed back to something from the morning. Keller Deal and I were at Bethesda where Jeff Walker was showing us the rough cut of the third installment of Union Mission’s television show IMPACT (check it out on the FB fan page or group page or through www.unionmission.org). Jeff oversees an incredible program that teaches the boys to make a career in video production. The kids produce our show.

Anyway, we watched as Keller interviewed Letitia Robinson who oversees Union Mission’s housing programs. Beside Letitia was Gail Odom, case manager at Grace House, the emergency housing programs for men. Letitia was saying that homelessness has changed. It used to be everyone had mental illness, addiction issues, no marketable skills or such, but now it was people who had just lost their jobs. After that it was just a matter of time before they lost their housing. I nodded as she said this. I’d seen it too.

Jeff continued showing Keller and I the show which was also filled with interviews of people who had been working and living somewhere just a short time ago but were now…homeless. Jeff stopped at one point and pointed at the screen. “Watch this,” he commanded. We did, and Stephen explained, “I was working and living with my girlfriend. Then I lost the job and there was no money. Then I lost the girlfriend and then there was no housing. Then I was … homeless.”

Again I nodded. It is way too common. We continued watching as another face took Stephen’s place and described how frightened he was when he first came to Grace House but then other men who had been there for a while showed him acts of kindness. They told him how to be comfortable and who to stay away from. Then he went on to explain how he is no longer homeless but he returns to Grace House so that he can return the acts of kindness that were bestowed on a frightened man spending his first night in a homeless shelter.

It’s a different kind of gold standard, I found myself thinking. People were freely giving the only thing that they had to give, their experience. They had nothing else to give so they gave of themselves and others were better off because of it.

It’s a different kind of gold standard. I do not think that one is more valuable than the other. Then again, I think that I do.

When Stories are Finished

I was seated in a canopy of vegetation in a covered courtyard outside of Polks on Liberty. Polks is a produce market in the middle of downtown Savannah. Inside was bins of fresh and organic vegetables, plants for sale, and other wholesome things. A restaurant also operates there serving the fresh garden grown stuff in a country cooking sort of way. It is one of the things that I love about the south. A touch of country is thriving in the city and somehow I felt better just being there, even though I was wearing a tie and everyone else looked...normal.

In front of me was a plate of chipped bar-b-Que, mac-and-cheese, pole beans, sliced tomato and a piece of white bread (this is the south!). A huge glass of sweet ice tea would wash it all down. My host was having back-eyed peas and corn bread. The banquet table in heaven can't be any better than this.

I was there at the invitation of my friend Dicky Totter. We are Face Book friends and his name had a familiarity that I could never place. Anyway we had gone back and forth on Face Book a couple of times and through that medium he had invited me to lunch. As soon as I walked inside, he greeted me warmly and introduced me to the people in charge of the operation. We then placed our orders and he led me outside to the garden area where we waited on our meals.

"You're probably wondering if you know me at all," he began with an impish smile.

I nodded and he explained that he had been a patient in the J. C. Lewis Health Center several years earlier and that it had saved his life. He spent some time at Union Mission after a life of success had crumbled into a life of poor health and no insurance. Through the efforts of Michael Freeman, a former employee and current friend, Dicky explored his faith and his future. He left us and now is my neighbor on Tybee Island and operates a successful marketing consultant company. He picks and chooses his customers and isn't in it for the money.

As he told me all of these things, I sat there dumbfounded and humbled. One of the things about doing this work for decades now, I told him at one point, is that there are so many unfinished stories. People come and I meet them in very difficult circumstances. The relationship is an intense and desperate one. Then they are gone. I am always grateful when someone reaches out and finishes the story as Dicky was doing.

He told me the good and the bad about being at Union Mission. He called out the heroes and the villains. But mostly we talked about the present and what he might offer us in the future. I must say that this was one of the most enjoyable lunches that I've had in a long time. Sure the food was good, but it was the company and the conversation that made it memorable.

When Hero Worship Goes Bad

Paul's ashes were int urned at the National Cemetery in Beaufort, SC yesterday. Paul was a veteran. He was also homeless. Unlike the Memorial service over which I presided last week, this was a much more solemn affair with very few in attendance, which is in keeping with most homeless burials. The Memorial Service had been a celebration of his life, even though he was homeless. A hundred people showed up to say thanks. Yesterday was more in keeping with the burial of homeless veterans. We'll give you a place to bury your ashes. Thanks.

Veterans have always been disproportionately represented among the homeless, consistently representing about 1/3 of the population. It is easy to figure out why. Most are kids when they join the military and a pre-determined structure molds them into solders. So long as they have that structure and accountability, they do fine. When many discharge out however, they flounder without the constant oversight. A downward spiral begins and they end up homeless.

With Vietnam, solders were ignored when they were discharged and a depression settled over many. Lack of structure coupled with depression led to homelessness.

Now we are obsessed with hero worship of solders which is fine as long as they are in the service and have the oversight to hold them accountable and keep it in check. When they are discharged out though they are suddenly no longer heroes. They are just like everybody else. Many struggle with the sudden loss of identity. The journey to homelessness begins.

There are many other reasons of course, but these are the ones that glare out to me after 30 years of working with the population. And yesterday I was struck again by what can happen when hero worship goes bad. A persons life is celebrated more for what he accomplished as a homeless person than what he did as a veteran. Something is very wrong with that.

An Airport Interview

“Did you say, ‘It sucked?’” she asked, as I conducted an interview on my cell phone, in an airport, sitting underneath a television screen that was loudly broadcasting an infomercial. The vacuum cleaner that was being promoted could suck up most anything, or so the guy loudly said as I tried to respond to questions from the reporter based in Santa Barbara.

“No, that’s not what I said,” I replied trying not to laugh, “I said that the Symposium was great! I don’t think anything about it sucked, including the hotel food.”

“Oh good,” she answered, “I was hoping that it was positive. This is a very positive story!”

“Good, the International Street Medicine Institute is an important growing movement,” I continued.

I answered questions about Dr. Jim Withers of Pittsburgh, the rapid growth of the movement (from 20 to 130 in 5 years); to how health care is really being reformed from the ground up rather than the Capital down.

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, “did you say he is dirty?”

I suppressed another giggle. “No Dr. Withers is a great guy! He’s really the founder of the movement. If he is dirty, then I don’t know anything about it. Now there is this other doctor from Houston…”

I was in the Atlanta Airport on my way back home after more than a week of being on the road. Sitting on the floor at my gate, I was trying to knock out emails when the cell phone went off and the reporter caught me off guard. I had known that the media was covering the Symposium, after all these are doctors and nurses who make house calls to the homeless, under bridges and such! It is certainly different from most gatherings of medical professionals.

Before I left home to attend this meeting, I was walking Goddess one evening and ran across my neighbor Tony. He and his wife Margaret had agreed to watch the beloved dog while I was away. He asked where I was off to this time.

I told him about the Street Medicine Institute. The Nurses and Doctors and Interns who go out on to the streets of their cities to provide health care.

“That doesn’t sound like any of the doctors that I know,” he said.

Nodding my head, I admitted that the Institute attracted a rare breed.

“What kind of cars to do they drive?” he asked.

Reflecting back to the last February when I was in Pittsburgh and Jim picked me up from the airport, I laughed. Jim’s van was dirty and the interior was filled with medical supplies and bags of socks. Before we could leave, he had to open the hood and fill the vehicle with transmission fluid.

“They drive clunkers,” I answered matter-of-factly.

“They don’t sound like any of the doctors that I know,” Tony repeated.

And that is one of the reasons that I love this work. It is filled with the mavericks of the world. It is occupied by the ones who think and live outside of the box. It calls those who really believe in the teachings of Jesus or the Talmud or any other religion and make it the basis of how they live their lives. It is a remnant community to use a Biblical phrase of individuals who really believe that they can change the world and make it a better place.

Early on in my career, my Dad and Mom used to struggle with what I do for a living. They thought that I could have chosen a profession where I made a lot of money which is how I think that they defined success at the time. I can remember visiting home and my Dad introducing me to his friends and then at a loss would say, “Tell them what you do!” He really had no idea.

And there are many days that I wonder too. Will I have enough money to retire one day? I’ve got one daughter left in college and she’s almost done and so far it’s ok. My car will need replacing. The ceiling in the kitchen is in need of a bit of work. My lawn mower died just before the end of the summer.

And yet, I have doctor friends who have to fill their dirty vans with transmission fluid every time that they drive it to give medicine to someone living under a bridge. A nurse friend who works two jobs so that she can help homeless people on the streets of Hawaii. An art student who believes that painting portraits of homeless people, and placing them in exhibitions, provide dignity and hope to her subjects. These are the people who I think are the real heroes in the world. I’m happy that I get to hang around them.

“I’m sorry,” the reporter interrupts my thoughts, “did you say that he used to be filthy?”

I suppressed another laugh and did my best to finish the interview, thankful to be here, doing what I do.

Taking It To The Streets

Taking it to the Streets
Atlanta's Gateway Center is a one-stop-shop for the city's homeless folk. It is located in the former jail and you can certainly tell that once a building is a jail it always looks like a jail. The metal doors to the rooms and offices slide open and when they shut it is with a clang. Each floor has the same layout so while everything is named something different, and each floor has a separate function, each seems very similar.

Still, many of the participants at this year's gathering of the International Street Medicine Symposium were blown away by the vast collection of services all under one roof. Work with the world's homeless population varies from city to city and each community seems to have something unique and different that no other site has. So when there are collections like this one, where every person represents a "Best Practice" it is hard not to be captivated by something.

Afterwards, many of the health care professionals who are meeting here, went out and did what they do best. They went looking for homeless people on the streets of Atlanta and delivered health care to them on the spot. Most of the Atlanta service providers were then blown away. This city doesn't have street medicine yet and it saw a completely different dimension to health care clinics.

Here, clinics are held but homeless people do not come. When a nurse or a doctor approaches a homeless person laying on a piece of card board, it is a completely different experience. The homeless person is receptive because their world is being turned upside down. Rather than being shunned or kicked out of emergency rooms, they are sought after. The human element of health care is made manifest again. And there is something holy about it.

Today after a visit from Dr. Wesley Clark who is the nation's funder of substance abuse programs, 8 different cities will highlight their unique best practice. And there are no real egos in this process. These are a different breed of health care professionals. Most of them do not drive new cars (I know because I've visited many of them and they have lousy vehicles)but care passionatly about they do.

It is a humbling experience to be with such a collection who I am fortunate enough to call my friends. Friends that you learn from are the best kinds of friends.

I Am Your Shelter

The Creative Coast's Innovation Awards ceremony was chic and hip and eclectic. A block of Broughton Street, Savannah's main drag, was blocked off in front of the renovated Trustee's Theater for cocktails and food. The awards ceremony was inside later. Union Mission won an innovation award last year in the inaugural ceremony. This year I had been one of the Judges and was looking forward to an evening celebrating a lot of things.

Then my cell phone rang and, seeing it was Letitia Robinson, Vice-President of Housing for Union Mission, I made my way to a quiet area and took the call. With emotion in her voice, she told me that Paul was dead.

My mind immediately carried me back to the worst days of the collapse of SABHC when Union Mission was doing everything that it could to save the collaborative while a mean spirited group of people fiercely fought to destroy it. I stumbled into the Resident Manager's office, we call it the cage, still groggy and exhausted from the previous day. Pouring myself a cup of coffee, Paul sat at the desk with the newspaper spread in front of. He was a large man, with a happy face and an electric smile and an infectious laugh.

Turning in his chair to face me, I saw pain in his large brown eyes. "They saying hurtful things about us," he said.

It was me that they were saying "hurtful" things about but Paul included himself in the efforts to make things better in Savannah for all. It was curious because at the time Paul was homeless, living in Grace House and working hard to improve his own life after a series of events led to his poverty.

"We gonna make it?" he continued.

From somewhere inside of me came an energy that I didn't think I had, and I patted him on the back and told him that we would.

"That's good," he said with his electric smile, "there are too many people who need us."

Walking to my office I shook my head thinking that strength often comes from the most unlikely sources.

Since that day, things did get better. For both Union Mission and for Paul. Though SABHC was purposely destroyed, Union Mission recovered from the trauma of the experience and is again focusing on carrying out its mission. And Paul moved into Beyond Grace, got a job, bought a truck, and became a coach to all of the residents of Grace House. Just this week he finished painting Lauren's office for her. And now he is gone.

As I was thinking these things on my run this morning, the darkness gave way to a beautiful sunrise. A thin wisp of clouds hung just over the ocean, so the rising sun cast off a dazzling array of lights, purples and blues and yellows and reds. A line of ships were heading out to sea, the furthest only a dot on the horizon but the last one was clearly visible. On the starboard rail, I could make out the shadow of a man waving back towards the land.

I raised my hand and waved back. Thank you Paul. You'll never know how much a homeless man can come to mean to someone. You did good.

Fighting the Flu

A group of us were given a private tour of the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. After passing through security, which took a while because three of the group were from other countries, we briefly looked at the museum which is opened to the public. We were then whisked to another building where we were given a tour of the command center. To say that it is impressive is a gross understatement. Imagine standing in the middle of the NASA command center during a space shuttle launch. One entire wall was covered with massive screens that showed literally everything that is happening in the world from a health perspective. World maps showed where the swine flu is taking place. Graphs and charts literally kept the room apprised of every major and minor health hazard in the world. Including hurricane tracking!

The rest of the room was filled with rows of computer monitors, well over a hundred, and faces intensely stared at each screen. These people were communicating with people around the world about the specific conditions of the hot spots that were broadcast on the massive screens that filled the wall.

Rounding out the control center were glass walled conference rooms, which were mostly filled with men and women developing strategy to combat epidemic after epidemic.

John Lozier and I were with 10 doctors from around the world. John is the Executive Director of the National Health Care for the Homeless Council. The rest were leaders from the International Street Medicine Institute. After the impressive tour, we were taken to yet another building and into a conference room where we met for a couple of hours to discuss the swine flu.

Specifically, we were wondering why homeless people were not considered at risk. After all, it is an air born disease and a great many homeless people sleep in dorms. If one person gets it, then everyone else in the dorm is at risk.

We also wondered about the strategy to slowly make the vaccine available which is causing a great deal of frustration among health care providers.

The CDC staff were very receptive. They were completely engaged in every point that was being made, which is very different from most conversations that I have with government staff. Most act like they already know everything. They are quick to rush through the discussion. Our meeting with the CDC staff lasted an hour longer than it had been scheduled.

So I found myself in the middle of the fight against swine flu. I often say that this job at Union Mission is one of the most amazing experiences anyone could ever have. From a ballroom in Atlanta filled with people reforming health care from the ground up to the CDC where we were literally influencing policy makers to protect all of the American people are things that are not reflected on my job description. Yet they are very much a part of the job.

And today I get to continue doing it again. It is amazing and I am humbled to do it.