PPCSinc Blogs

“What is Past is Prologue”
William Shakespeare

We owe the location of our nation’s capital to George Washington himself.  The trick was to choose a site that would be considered neutral to both northern and southern interests. 

Washington’s answer? A 10-mile square that allowed for Pierre Charles L’Enfant to work his grand avenue, Versailles-like magic along the Potomac. Too bad for George though, the President’s House or White House, today the oldest surviving Federal structure in America, was not available until 1800 when John and Abigail Adams moved in.

If you’ve never visited Washington D.C., you owe it to yourself, your family and friends.  This city, or to be more precise, district, belongs to you.  It always has, with the exception of a few months during the war of 1812 when the British got a little carried away.

Washington D.C. is perhaps the single greatest symbol of freedom in the world today.  It represents the great American experiment, which is far from over.  A visit to the National Archives Museum underscores this point.  A commanding female statue keeping vigil over the contents therein reminds passers-by on Pennsylvania Avenue that, “what is past is prologue.” 

That quote recently caught the eye of Daniel.  Daniel is homeless and plays street soccer for the St. Louis Roadies, our own hometown homeless soccer team.  A few weeks ago, Daniel and 5 of his teammates traveled to D.C. to compete in the US Homeless Cup.  “What does that quote mean exactly?” he asked.  The question went on to become a theme for his teammates during the tournament.  For the purposes of a travel column, a unique look at Washington D.C. through the eyes of a homeless soccer team is worth the read.

The US Homeless Cup is a tournament that allows for cities across America to showcase the soccer talent of those who grapple with freedom on a daily basis.  Men and women living on the streets or in shelters across the country are invited to compete on behalf of their city.  Tournament organizers then choose from a hundred or so athletes to represent the nation on the global stage.  The Homeless World Cup, as it’s known, is approximately 5 years old.  This year’s US National Team will travel to Melbourne, Australia in December to compete against 60 plus nations from around the world.

With limited sponsorship funds, the St. Louis homeless soccer team, aka, St. Louis Roadies, had to be very careful on per diem type items.  Lodging, for example, was our first challenge. 

Frugal travelers will be happy to know that it is possible to stay in the heart of the capital for $20 per person per night.  That is, if you’re more interested in experiencing D.C. than remembering the quality of the towels from your hotel.   Very modest accommodations can be found at Luther Place Memorial Church Youth Hostel (Thomas Circle, 1220 Vermont Ave. NW) located in the heart of D.C., thankfully within walking distance of Ben’s Chili Bowl (1213 U Street). 

One of our players uncovered Luther Place church records from the 19th century in our room.  Pastor John George Butler served 50 years in the district in the 1800’s.  His career was marked by service to the poor and counsel to Presidents and dignitaries.  In fact, he served as chaplain to one of Lincoln’s assassins, assuring him of divine compassion even to the gallows. 

With one day to sightsee before the tournament began, we were short on time.  Our first stop was to pay a visit to Senator “Kit” Bond.  Room 247 in the Russell Senate Building is set aside on Thursday mornings for Missouri visitors to D.C. to meet with the Senator.  He was kind to listen as players described what it is like to be homeless in St. Louis and asked for his support of the many programs offered by Peter & Paul Community Services (www.ppcsinc.org).   

Senatorial visit complete and with “All Day” metro passes secured, group consensus brought us to the Declaration of Independence and the Lincoln Memorial.  Like so many of the world’s great cities, there is only so much you can do in a given timeframe.  An entire summer is needed for a visitor to take in what is offered at the Smithsonian alone.  We were content to focus on just a few of D.C.’s landmarks.

After sightseeing, players and coaches connected rather interesting dots on the day.  A theme surfaced and carried the conversation prior to lights out.  The men reflected, for example, on why they were in D.C. and what the soccer tournament meant for each of them.  The common denominator for each was freedom.  From the reverence they observed in the National Archives for a document that set the world on fire with hope, to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial where Dr. King delivered his famous speech, each player realized he was fighting to be free of all those things that up to this point had dominated him, leaving him enslaved to homelessness.  For some this meant alcohol, for others, drugs.  Still others sited mental illness, anger and low self-esteem as their particular chains. 

The St. Louis Roadies went on to finish 3rd in the beginner bracket of the US Homeless Cup.   They managed 4 points in all and won their last game against Richmond.  The Roadies received the “Fair Play” trophy, an honor set aside for the team that best captured the spirit of the tournament.  And finally, our goalie was chosen from over 1 hundred participants as an alternate for the National Team.

While people-watching on the Mall one evening, the Roadies welcomed President George Bush back to the White House via Marine One.  We were also lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the new President of Iraq, Jalal Talabani as his 1 mile motorcade exited from a nearby restaurant on 15th and Pennsylvania Ave.  More signs of freedom.

Our weekend went on to include shopping at Union Station, cruising Georgetown at night, taking in the sunset from the roof of the Kennedy Center and driving along the George Washington Memorial Parkway on route for a group photo outside the National’s ballpark.  Aside from the shopping, all free, all fun.

Homeless World Cup organizers estimate that 1/3 of those who participate in the tournament do not return to homelessness.  No one is quite sure why.  It may have something to do with the dynamic of belonging.  It could be linked to the dignity that comes from knowing that others are depending on you.  Perhaps a renewed sense of

pride and self-esteem is at play or the feeling of being connected to a bigger picture?  Whatever the reason, the men who make up the St. Louis Roadies are some of the greatest people you’ll ever meet.   Whether they will belong to the fortunate 1/3 who leave homelessness behind as a result of playing soccer remains to be seen.  Until then you can bet on one thing. 

Like all of us, their past is prologue and their future holds the promise of hope.

Recently our 5-year old granddaughter was visiting.  She moves about our house with the confident air of one who knows she “belongs” here…knows where everything is kept…knows the rules.  She helped me bake a pie, and was positively bursting with pride when it was served.  Seeing others enjoy the fruits of her labors, knowing she did a good job, receiving praise…seemed to fill her with joy.

I know how she feels.  It is good to work hard and be appreciated and “belong.”  The quality of life is greatly enhanced by the sense that I am a contributor.  But what if that were taken from me…by illness, accident, or other circumstance?  Where would I then find my worth?

I think of such things when I look at the faces of the those we serve in the Meals Program at Peter & Paul Community Services.  How hard it must be to maintain a sense of dignity in a world that only values or praises what you earn/have/do?  Sometimes they share their stories, and I am humbled.  What was it my Grandma used to say? O yes, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”  Sorry, Grandma, but I don’t think God had anything to do with it.  But yes, “there, but for a quirk of fate, a misstep, an illness, an instant, go I.”  And I don’t want to forget that.

     Ronnie came to us from a drug treatment program. He was in his mid-thirties. He had never been homeless before. He had been a somewhat functioning alcoholic and chronic pot smoker over half his life, occasionally indulging in other drugs. Then his life completely unraveled. He had supported himself with a series of low-demand jobs, never staying in one for more then a couple of years. It is one thing to live that way when you’re twenty…and quite another when you’re thirty-six.

     In interviewing him, I asked him how he became homeless and this is how his story unfolded.

     He became homeless when he was evicted. He was evicted because he stopped paying his rent. He stopped paying his rent when he got fired. He got fired because he was always late. He was always late because he couldn’t get up in the morning. He couldn’t get up in the morning because he was closing the bars every night. He had nowhere else to go except treatment. His mother wouldn’t take him in…and none of his close friends had places of their own, a rather telling sign for a man in his thirties.

     “So”, I asked, “you became homeless because of your drinking?”

     “No, I became homeless because I was evicted.”

     It wasn’t the best first interview. He wasn’t seeing the connections between all these things. Still, he said he wanted to have his own place and be independent. More importantly, he said he wanted to stay sober. Those are two goals we always want to hear from candidates for our transitional program. He hadn’t processed everything that had happened to him, but that isn’t unusual for someone with a few weeks of sobriety whose head has been in a cloud for  twenty years. We gave him a chance.

     Ronnie went to work immediately. In no time he was working sixty hours a week. This became a problem because, within a couple of weeks, he let his aftercare program go. It is easy to stay clean in a residential program. The challenge comes when you re-enter society at large. I doubt he was thinking of backsliding, but that is just how it begins.

     We gave him an ultimatum. He could not stay in the program and not have an aftercare plan. He grumbled and moaned but complied. He was going to at least three twelve-step meetings a week and he found a sponsor.

     One of the other things we told him was to avoid his old friends and hang outs. It is not about judging them so much as recognizing a weakness in himself. This is probably the single hardest part of recovery. Building a new social world for yourself isn’t easy, especially when you’re in such a fragile place. You just can’t stay clean hanging out with all the folks, and in all the places, you’ve been getting high in all your life. Between his work and meeting schedule, this wasn’t the problem it might have been for someone else. We weren’t that close to his old haunts.

     After about six months in our program, six months of sobriety, he went to his mother’s. He got there early in the day and spent time with her. When she got busy preparing dinner, he went out into the old neighborhood. He ended up over at an old friend’s or rather an old friend’s mother’s house. Some of the old gang were there in the basement smoking pot and looking out for the “old lady.” Ronnie was embarrassed to be there.

     After six months of sober homelessness, he had sober friends. Friends who were striving for goals and achievements and supporting him in his goals and applauding his achievements. He had more money in the bank than he had ever had before. He felt dirty hiding in a basement with grown men doing exactly what they had been doing since they were teenagers.

     When he was back at the shelter and we talked about what had happened, he said he could no more go back to that than go back to high school. Six months earlier, it was normal to him. It was all he had known since before entering adulthood. He wouldn’t have hesitated to pick up the pipe and get high. The space and time we provided him allowed him to see another possibility. That possibility allowed him to hope for a different and better life, something he didn’t even know he was lacking. He had built a new life for himself. And the only thing it had in common with his old life was the same ‘only thing’ that made a difference, himself. A year later he owned his own construction/demolition company with several trucks and employees and was working toward owning his own home.

     In all these things, I always point out that the work, the accomplishment, is theirs. We provide an opportunity. It is always up to them to take it or not. Ronnie took it. He found a vision of another possibility. Finding a way to create hope is our challenge. For so many of those who are chronically homeless, their whole life has been chaos and disorder. Our challenge is to show them something that may never have entered their field of vision. Or something that left their field of vision so long ago, it is like seeking Helen Keller’s “Wa wa” breakthrough.

     Ronnie was never “chronically homeless.” He could have moved either way. He took the right turn. He had much to reckon with, but compared to someone who grew up between the Department of Corrections and the Department of Mental Health (not as uncommon as you might think), he had it easy. He knew what a “normal” life could be.

     It has been said, you can’t tell somebody something they don’t already know. I think this means you have to have the mental construct that allows something to be comprehensible. Were I to start writing in a foreign language, it would be gibberish to you unless you knew the words, syntax and grammar of that language. Most of us share some common notions of how we are to live together and relate to one another. We have ‘faith’ ‘trust’ and ‘values.’ Most of our experiences reinforce these. They are common but not universal. There are variants in all our experiences, for better and worse. For some, it has been much more for the worse. Our goal is to reach those people and give them a vision of hope for a better life.