Lancaster

  Tom Eggleston and I had been co-directors of the Drama Ministry at St. Andrews Baptist Church in Columbia back in the mid-2000's.  He went on to be the Minister of Music at First Baptist Church in Lancaster, SC.  We ran into each other one day, and he asked if I would come there and narrate their 4th of July presentation.  I could also do one of my Bible-character monologues on the Wednesday night before the 4th.  He said they would pay me to do it.  I said yes.

 I hadn't done anything in a while, but it is like riding a bike.  He took me up there on Wednesday afternoon, and I met with the pastor.  I was torn between two monologues.  The first was Hosea, which I was most known for.  I had done it the most, having written it in 1979.  It had gone through some changes over the years.  It was mostly about relationships and marriage.  The other was a monologue that was more improvisational in nature.  It was called "The Fishing Disciple".  I had a basic outline for it, but I would interject things in it that would appeal to the audience I was doing it for.  After talking with the pastor, it was decided that I would do the fisherman.  I asked Tom what was the predominant sports team that Lancaster would cheer for, and he said the Gamecocks.  They had just won the College World Series, so it was easy to weave that into the piece.  When I came on stage, the first words out of my mouth were:  "How 'bout them Cocks?"!  The audience cheered, and I knew I had them in the palm of my hand.  That is a feeling that every actor wants.  It is better than crickets.

 The monologue was well received.  Tom had given me a copy of the musical program for Sunday with the narration.  I went over it several times at home and worked a little with the choir.  Tom had introduced me to them as an actor who had worked with Burt Lancaster and Halle Berry, among others.  One elderly man pulled me aside and asked if I had ever worked with Jimmy Cagney.  I politely told him no, while wondering how old did he think I was.  

 As I was preparing for the program, I realized that I had a hard time seeing the narration that I was to read.  I had bifocals, but they weren't helping.  My suspicion was cataracts, but I couldn't let Tom know.  I was afraid they wouldn't pay me, so I went ahead the best I could.  One thing you learn as an actor is how to build your emotion to a point and then come back down.  There was a place at the end of the program, where I had to say "This is My America!"  I had built up to that point a little too soon in the narration.  By the time I got to that line, I was screaming.  It wasn't what I wanted to do, but I couldn't avoid it.  The audience never knew.  They thought I was supposed to do that.  It worked.  Afterwards, the Drama Professor at USC-Lancaster came up and told me that I was a good actor.  I would have preferred "great", but I took it as a compliment.

 A word about First Baptist Lancaster.  My great grandfather was the pastor there in the late 1800's.  My grandmother was born there.  I saw his picture on the wall in the History Room and read some of his sermons.  Some people said there was a resemblance between me and him.  I guess.  There is an old family story that didn't paint him in the best light.  He had a black woman, who took care of my grandmother as a baby.  One day, she was putting the baby on a wagon and accidentally dropped her on the ground.  The pastor whipped the woman for dropping his daughter.  It was a different time.

Support

  There were some homeless people who had tried USC Supportive Housing, but had dropped out of the program.  They didn't like jumping through their hoops.  When one is homeless, there is a sense of freedom.  There is very little community responsibility.  You just have to find out where to eat and where to sleep.  The rest of the day is spent filling up the time by walking around or going to the library.  You have to develop a sense of discipline to be in that program.  And, there needs to be a level of trust on both sides.  They need to trust you that you will follow their rules.  You need to trust them that they will keep you housed.

 I had to go to meetings at their office once or twice a week.  They gave constructive counseling on living a life off of the street and getting back into society.  I went through a 12-step AA program there.  Even though I hadn't had any alcohol in 11 years, I knew it was easy to relapse.  They also had an NA meeting.  I hadn't had any illegal drugs since 1981, but I have an addictive personality.  I have tried to stay strong, but it only would take one time for me to go back into those depths again.  I was assigned a case manager who visited my apartment once a month, and I would see her in the office once a month.  So, we would visit every two weeks.  She also would inspect my apartment to make sure I was following the rules.  The main rule was not to let anyone live with you.  I had homeless friends who wanted to do that.  It was hard to say no.

 Once a month, I would visit with their licensed therapist.  We would talk about stuff.  Sometimes, I would laugh or cry during those sessions.  She helped me with the transition.  We also had group therapy with others in the program.  I got to meet some great people who had gone through what I had.  We helped each other.  One man in particular was a guy named Mickey.  He had a 4th grade education and could barely read.  He had a great spirit about him and loved life.  Another guy named Duck had been on the street for a long time.  They helped me in figuring out how to become real again.  Mickey went onto get his GED.  

 I grew to love the folks who worked for USC Supportive Housing.  So much so that I encouraged others in my circle of homeless friends to get into the program, too.  One did.  His name was Marcus.  I'll write more about him later.  God sent these helpers to me as His angels.  Yes, angels do exist.

Villa

  It came time for me to move off of the street and into an apartment.  The one chosen for me was on Fairfield Road near the split with North Main Street.  It was called Villa Hermosa.  It had a common locked door that opened up to a courtyard.  The apartments faced the courtyard on both sides, and it had two floors.  It also had a pool, but the management must have been doing biological experiments in it, because it didn't look good.  It also had a couple of washers and dryers on each floor.  Each apartment had its own key to their door.

 When I walked in, I was amazed how big it was.  There was a living room area with a kitchen.  The next room was the bedroom.  There was a walk-in closet, and a bathroom with a tub.  The Supportive Housing folks had furnished it.  I had a love seat couch; a Sony 19" TV (without a remote); a large table with 4 chairs; a mattress set; a wooden chair that broke; a vacuum cleaner; plastic hangers and a dresser.  They also gave me a blanket and comforter.  My bed frame was in storage, so I had a temporary one until I could get mine.  One thing that I was told that I may feel like I want to live out of my bag, rather than putting my clothes away.  They were right.  I didn't have much trust about things after being on the street.  Once I realized that this was my place, I put my clothes away.  It took a couple of months.

 The apartment was near everything.  A bus stop was right in front of our door.  There was a Food Lion a block away.  The library was four blocks away.  CVS was three blocks away.  Columbia College was a couple of blocks away.  And, the post office was about a mile away.  Even though I wasn't a student, I had spent several years judging drama and speech tournaments there, so I was able to go to their library and read.  Until I got my own wi-fi, I was able to use theirs or the one at the public library.  

 One day, a friend came to visit.  He knocked on the locked outside door, and someone let him in.  He asked a woman if she knew which apartment was mine.  Her response was, "Oh, you mean the little white boy".  From then on, I was known around the complex as "the little white boy".  It was a term of endearment.

 

Grand

  There was a waiting period, while my new apartment was being readied.  A friend from church volunteered to pay for two weeks at the Grand Motel on Two Notch Road.  I actually went to school with the owner of the motel.  The Grand was not a four-star motel.  Maybe a two-star.  But, it had a bed, a bath, and a TV.  It also had wi-fi, so all was right with the world. 

 The trick to staying at the Grand was to keep to yourself and not talk to strangers.  There was stuff going on it the neighborhood that I had become used to living on the street like drug deals and prostitutes.  I could also eat in the room, so I would hike up the street to Food Lion to get groceries.  It was the same store where I shopped, when I was working before moving to Greenville, so I felt at home.

 There was a very questionable motel across the street from Food Lion.  One day, I saw an old man pull up to that motel, and a woman got in the car.  I watched as they drove off and parked around the corner.  A few minutes later, she got out of the car and he drove off.  That was the neighborhood.

 There was a McDonalds nearby and a KFC.  The bus stop was right outside the motel.  When I would take the bus to town, it went by another questionable motel.  The other guys on the bus pointed out a short girl with white hair walking on the sidewalk.  They told me her name was "Snowball".  She mostly worked nights at that other motel.  

 My new apartment was going to be near Columbia College.  I couldn't wait to move in.