PPCSinc Blogs

Did you see the cartoon recently? A man is sitting at a desk in his den, surrounded by vast wooden shelves full of books. He’s working at his computer. His wife stands behind him in the doorway and asks, “Let me guess, the Great American Blog?”

Every “Writing 101” class starts by telling students to write what they know about, or at least, what they are interested in. Well, my interests are my family, my faith and values, and how those beliefs are played out daily in the public sector.

OK, so I could write er, blog, about family relationships (and vacation photos)…religion…and politics. Those all seem like safe subjects to write about. And surely no one else on the Internet is blogging about any of those topics!

When I was first asked to write a blog for this website, I had lots of questions. “Where would I find the time?” (After all, I’m a busy man.) “What would I write about?” (It’s the homelessness, stupid.) And most certainly, “Who would want to read it?” (I guess we’ll find out.)

Well, we’ll see where it goes from here. If you look for it, there is news every day from around the country regarding issues of homelessness. This Sunday’s St. Louis Post-Dispatch will carry an article about people who are homeless in the downtown parks. Check back next week for our thoughts.

Yep.

That’s right.

CollabARTive.

Eight years ago next month we started what was supposed to be a time limited project bringing art into the lives of some of our residents, and the lives of some of our residents into art. At the time, I felt my time spent with the project was a guilty pleasure. It would have been very easy to send the men off with the artist and do something more “productive” with myself.

What I found, as a program manager, was that by participating with the men under the instruction of the visiting artist, we had opened up an avenue of communication that has become essential to the program. In the nuts and bolts of what we do, I, the case manager and the substance abuse counselor, are professional nags. “How is the job search going?” “Have you made your 12-Step meeting quota this week?” “Did you make your bank deposit this week?” These questions define our relationship. They also put up a wall between us. The men have to account for themselves to us and we become… how shall I say…tiresome.

For a couple of hours once a week, we step into other roles. One of a rotating series of artists come in and run workshops on art of various disciplines: writing, photography, drawing, painting and clay sculpting. The process lets us step back from our official roles and provides a forum to relate in a more natural way. It allows us to learn about each other’s issues and concerns in a more relaxed fashion. It allows us to step around the wall. It doesn’t work miracles. It creates more opportunities.

It has also fostered greater support among our clients for one another. They become mentors for one another. Several alums from the last several years drop by from time to time to reconnect with us and contribute to the current class of transitionals. One man from eight years ago is still quite regular with us.

One of the artists we have worked with extensively over the years is Jane Ellen Ibur. Jane is a certified “master teacher” who has spent most of her career teaching in non traditional settings: prisons and jails, nursing homes, community centers and shelters. She is a published poet and well known in local literary circles. And she has done a poetry and literature program on KDHX FM-88.1 for the last umpteen years, “Literature for the Halibut”, (Thursday’s at 8 PM).

Janey has been working with the men on a performance piece based on their writings turned in over the years, that tells something of their stories. The piece is being directed by Con Christeson, who has been the managing artist all these years . There is something of early home life and setting out on the road to homelessness, substance abuse and recovery, life on the “trail” and recovery. And it is hopeful. It is the story of men redeeming themselves.

Next week, some of us will be traveling to the KDHX studios and performing excerpts on Janey’s show. You can listen in at “Literature for the Halibut,” Thursday, August 30th, 7 PM, 88.1 on your FM dial. The following week, we will be performing the whole work at Christ Church Cathedral’s Art & Soul Cafe at 7PM, September 7th. 

I can remember parties with my dad’s side of the family as a kid in the seventies and early eighties.  As the youngest of his litter, my dad missed out on World War II.

His brothers did not.

Parties on my dad’s side followed what became a predictable routine.  The women would prepare the meal while the men sat and smoked and imbibed various products from Anheuser-Busch.

At some point during the party, which inevitably would last into the late hours, the topic of the war would come up. 

And there I would sit…spellbound, listening to their stories and occcasionally interrupting to ask a question. I learned early on about the attack on Pearl harbour, our response at Midway, MacArthur’s long promised return to the Phillipines and my uncles’ involvement to make that dream a reality at Laihi, Rommel outfoxing the British in North Africa, the Allies landing at Normandy, the bombing of London, the battle for Anzio and, of course, the Sullivan Brothers.  In fact, I still hear the anger in my uncle Bill’s voice as he retold the story of the latter.

I can still see them all…laughing and carrying on.  Everyone happy to be together, reminiscing about old friends while Bacchus smiled on.

I remember having the thought as I grew older that I should write their stories down.  I feared they’d be lost forever. But I never did.  “The road to hell…” and all that I suppose. Slowly, but with all of the certainty that time has in its store, my uncles passed away one by one.

By 1999 my dad’s last surviving brother died. To date, I have interviewed several WWII vets, their wives and others who lived during that time.

In some cases, I’ve approached perfect strangers and inquired about their age and involvement in the war.  Most are quite happy to share their story.  In fact, their families are often thankful for the effort.

“I had no idea my dad lived through so much” is a response I hear or “She never talked about the war until this interview.”

Stories are essential to life’s experience.  Mosaics, tapestries, whatever image you prefer to use to describe them, stories surround us on all sides.  They entertain, educate, celebrate and sometimes call us to action.

Working at PPCS allows our staff an opportunity to capture stories that might otherwise have been lost.

They are stories of those who are homeless and often invisible to the community. 

Like all of us, these are folks who have been wounded in one way or another.  Their stories are of genuine heroic effort, accomplishments, set backs, honesty, dishonesty, addiction, illness, redemption, unimaginable rejection and hope.

So who knows?

Maybe by sharing some of their stories, PPCS can snare some unsuspecting bystanders who just might take an interest in the issue, come to appreciate its complexities and get involved.

Once thing is for certain, their stories deserve our attention.