Mitt

  As I have said many times, I am a political junkie.  I just like politics.  It was instilled in me at an early age by my Mother, ever since she almost fainted meeting Barry Goldwater outside an elevator in the U. S. Capitol.  So, there was an opportunity to see Mitt Romney in 2012 as he visited Columbia.  

 He was running for President, and as most of you know that I have seen every President in my lifetime, except for Kennedy, so I like to hedge my bets just in case a candidate might win.  Governor Nikki Haley was hosting an event for Romney, and I signed up to go.  She was endorsing him for President.  The event place was pretty small.  There was enough room for the media's TV cameras and around 100 people jammed together.  As a side note, I saw Peter Alexander of NBC News there.  He was following the Romney campaign.  Little did any of us know that he would go on to bigger things at NBC.  

 A guy next to me in the crowd asked me what I did for a living.  I told him that I sold some stuff on the internet, but that was all.  His face brightened up.  He told me he was from Sumter and had a bunch of old TV tubes in their original boxes, and they were in the trunk of his car.  He wanted to sell them to me.  I wasn't interested.  For one thing, very few televisions still had tubes.  I also had no idea what they would be worth.  I suggested he take them to a local TV repair shop.  They would probably love to get them.  He was disappointed.

 Another side note about Nikki Haley:  I first met her in 2009, when she was running for Governor.  No one took her seriously.  She ended up winning the race.  I had done a lot of opposition research on her.  She was not one of my favorite people.  I made a lot of comments on social media attacking her.  Many people loved her (and still do).  From what I learned about her, it was easy to not like her.  I can't write here about her, but if she runs for President in 2024, some of that stuff might come out.  No threats.  When she endorsed Mitt Romney, it was obvious that she didn't really like some of his positions.  She was just ambitious for better things than Governor.  That would show up four years later.  On a funny note, I was walking to church early one morning and ran into her husband jogging down Sumter Street.  I greeted him warmly and asked him if his wife had let him out of the Governor's Mansion to jog.  He laughed and said yes.  I like Michael. 

 So, back to the Mitt Romney event.  I was standing between the stage and the TV cameras, smackdab center, about 10 feet from the stage.  Nikki was all smiles.  The crowd cheered, when Mitt took the stage.  Nikki's eyes scanned the crowd, and then her eyes locked.  Her smile went to a frown in a heartbeat.  She just stared at me.  I smiled at her.  And, then she looked away from me and smiled again.  We had a moment.  Mitt went on to lose the election to Obama.  I saw the President a few years later, but that's another story for another time.  I admire Mitt Romney.  I wish more in the Republican party would do so, too.  He is a good man.  He is a principled man.  I think he would have made a good President, if the party would have let him be himself.  

Options

  My brother invited me to go to lunch with him in February, 2012.  After eating, he said that he wanted to introduce me to a woman who knew a lot about finances and budgeting.  Since I was only getting $90/month from my Belk pension, things were very tight.  He took me to her office on Rosewood.  It was in a building called MIRCI, which stood for Mental Illness Recovery Center Inc.  We walked in, and I spoke to her about my situation.  She suggested I speak to someone else, as I was dealing with trying to find another place to live.  This person was the housing coordinator.  She explained that the majority of people in the program had some form of mental illness.  She suggested that I talk with the doctor on duty.

 I told the doctor about my severe depression and anxiety.  About the last time I tried to kill myself in 2009.  About the worry of losing my apartment.  He listened to me, and then asked me to wait outside of his office.  The housing coordinator talked with the doctor, and they felt that I was a candidate for MIRCI and housing.  This was definitely an answer to prayer.  She told me that there was an opening at one of their properties called Dena Bank off Broad River Road.  When I got back home, I got a call from the Columbia Housing Authority saying that there was an opening for an apartment at Carriage House off of Broad River Road.  I felt that I needed to check out these places before making a decision.

 I took the bus out to the nearest stop.  It was four blocks down a hill to Dena Bank.  As luck would have it, Carriage House was right across the street.  I walked into the Dena Bank parking lot and saw the apartment that they were offering me.  The blinds were open, so I looked in to see an empty apartment.  It looked nice.  A man walked up to me and asked if he could help me.  He introduced himself as Greg.  I told him that I was thinking about moving in, but I needed to get some details about the place.  We sat and talked for about 20 minutes.  Greg had been a semi-professional baseball player who suffered with seizures.  He told me that the apartments were nice, and most of the people were easy to get along with.  There were 16 one-bedroom apartments in the complex.  It was owned by MIRCI and subsidized by HUD.  I told him that I had been offered a place at Carriage House, too.  He told me not to take it, because there was a lot of crime over there.  Our place was safer.  It was also in a good location being near drug stores and a grocery store.  An antique mall was up the street.  And, a library was nearby.  Greg convinced me that Dena Bank was the best spot for me.

 I went back to USC Supportive Housing and told them of my decision about going with MIRCI.  It would take until May 1st before everything was done for me to move into my new apartment.  Columbia Housing moved my stuff from Fairfield Road over to my new digs.  I left a couple of things there, including a large round table and chairs.  During the move across town, they broke a lamp.  Oh well.  Everything else got there in one piece.  I was in a van driven by the Housing Authority head.  When we got to Dena Bank, there were two sheriff's deputies talking in their cars at the entrance to the parking lot.  The Housing lady asked me if I was sure I wanted to move here, and I said yes.  And, one thing that the MIRCI housing coordinator told me was that I could live here the rest of my life, if I wanted to.  Finally, I had a safe place that was mine.  No more worrying about being homeless again.  No more worrying about living in a storage unit.  At last...

Grant

  I was called into the office of the USC Supportive Housing in January 2012 and got some distressing news.  The grant that was paying for my housing at Villa Hermosa was expiring in April.  What did that mean?  I would be losing my apartment and would have to move out.  They assured me that I would not be going back out on the street.  They told me that they would find another place for me to stay through the Columbia Housing Authority.  It seemed the grant was for only two years.  That was strange, because I knew people in the program who had lived in their place longer than two years.  

 Being on the street gave me trust issues.  I couldn't trust many people.  After all, I trusted a guy that told me I could move into a house behind Whaley Street.  That offer fell through.  I trusted the hospital to provide a warm place for me.  They kicked me out.  And now, I had trusted that I had a place of my own, and it was going away.  I kept my post office box just in case I had nowhere to go.  Good call, Walter.

 I put in my application at the Columbia Housing Authority.  There was a long waiting list, although I was told that I would be put near the top of the list, since I was in a housing program.  That was some consolation.  I just couldn't tell anybody.  No sense for more jealousy like I got getting off of the street.  This was an emergency.  And, the "little white boy" wouldn't be around anymore.  I was told of some properties that were about to be open.  I did crime report checks and then would turn down the offers.  My neighborhood was no bed of roses, but the places offered were worse.  I seriously didn't want to live in a place where the police didn't like to visit.  I did start to box up my belongings, because I might get a safe place, or I would have to get another storage locker and move all my stuff back in there.  I had a homeless friend who lived in his storage locker.  I could see me doing that too.  

Mail

  When I moved into my apartment in 2010, our mail boxes were located inside the building's front door. Each apartment had their own box.  Each apartment had their own key.  My box's lock was broken.  I had asked the apartment manager to fix the lock, but they weren't good about doing it.  After all, the manager's office was across town on Fort Jackson Blvd., and they never came out to our place.  We had to mail our rent checks to that office.  Stuff just never got fixed.  That also explained the science experiment that they were growing in the swimming pool.  

 So, back to the mail box.  The carrier would put my mail in my box and shut the door, even though the lock was broken.  He understood that our management was slack.  One day, we got a new mail carrier.  He wouldn't put my mail in my box, because the lock was broken.  If I was there, I could catch him and get my mail.  However, if I wasn't there when the mail came, I wouldn't get any mail, because he refused to put it in the box.  My apartment was about 50 feet from the box.  He could have easily knocked on my door, but he didn't care.  One time when I was there, he gave me a tub of mail that he had in the back of his truck that had gathered over a week.  What about bills?  What about important correspondence?  He didn't care.  I asked him why he put mail in boxes that houses had on the street with no locks, and he told me that was different.  Fighting the post office was very stressful.  Not getting mail was very stressful.  Trying to be logical with them was even worse.  

 Our post office was a mile away, if one walked through neighborhoods.  After pulling out my hair over this situation, I decided to get a post office box at the branch rather than dealing with the bureaucracy.  I walked to the post office three times a week to get my mail.  It was good exercise, but it was also very frustrating.  Eventually, the apartment manager "got around" to fixing the lock on my box, and I could give up the post office box.  This ordeal lasted nine months.  Having to do two change of address forms during that time was even worse.  They say you can't fight city hall.  The post office is worse.  

Close

  My church has special events from time to time.  First Baptist Columbia is known for that.  There was one special event I couldn't miss.  It was a Sunday evening with Cliff Barrows and George Beverly Shea.  They were great friends of Billy Graham and was with him on his crusades around the world.  Cliff would direct the choirs, and Bev would do the solos.

 This evening, they were guests of our Minister of Music Steve Phillips.  They sat on the rostrum and told stories of their experiences with Dr. Graham and the crusades.  During the hour, they also sang hymns of faith.  It was the closest thing to Heaven that I had ever encountered.  I just sat in awe of the two of these humble men who had gotten so much fame over the years, but it didn't go to their heads.  They were of a generation, much like my father, who did God's work for Him, not for them.  Ego is a terrible thing in the ministry.  These men did not have that problem.  

 There is a difference between preachers and pastors.  Preachers are up there to preach, and that's all.  Pastors care about their flocks, also known as their church members.  There are some great preachers out there.  I have known many.  But, I have also known many who get self-absorbed by their adoring members who worship the preacher and not God.  These preachers forget why God called them into the ministry in the first place.  Pastors are generally humble people.  They don't care about the fame.  They have been called to do God's work, and they do it with caring and love for others.  When I met Billy Graham back in 1964, and you can search for that story in my blog, I thought of him as great.  I also saw he could laugh with my father about the incident the year before.  He was just an ordinary man and doing extraordinary things for God.  Cliff and Bev also fit into that category.  That night with the two of them was one of the highlights of my life.

 After it was over, I had to walk home.  I couldn't afford a taxi, and the buses weren't running.  I was hoping that I wouldn't run into anyone along the way home in the dark.  I got up to Earlewood Park, and a man asked me for a cigarette.  I just said no and kept walking.  That neighborhood at night can be dangerous, but I made it home without incident.  What a night!