A Small Price To Pay

"Where will we go? My kids are sick already," said a young mother clutching her baby in one arm and holding the hand of her other child.

"I can't spend another cold night on the street. I'll die," coughed another.

"They don't care where we go, so long as we go," said Simon, a construction foreman who was laid off two years ago.

He fell off the wagon when, in these tough economic times, he was unable to find another job in construction and faced the ultimate horror of losing his wife and kids in a bitter divorce and the home he had waited and saved up for so long to buy. It was all gone now, his wife, his kids, and his home, even his beloved truck, a Chevy Suburban was repossessed. Now, without transportation, it was even harder to find a job, when all the construction jobs were out of the city and off the bus lines. All he had to look forward to was his ability to panhandle enough money to buy a bottle and get drunk.

The older he got the more difficult it was to find work. He was nearing 60-years-old and in construction, unless you are management or the architect or the engineer of the project, construction outfits weren't hiring senior citizens. They wanted the young bulls who could work all day in the hot sun, pouring rain, and frigid cold.

"What are we to do?"

"Where will we go?"

"How can we apply for work without having an address," said someone in the back of the crowd? "How can employers contact us without us having a telephone number to give them to call?"

"How will I feed my kids," said a young mother holding her baby?

"Where will I go to get cleaned up," said an old man in front? "Restaurants won't hire me to wash their dishes if I look dirtier than their dishes."

"This isn't fair. This isn't right," said a homeless man who had been a regular for the past few months.

They were all talking now. They were all anxious and angry that, yet, the last option open to them would close soon. The only certainty they clung to was that nothing was fair in this world.

"Now, hold on, everyone, calm down. Let me think on it a minute." Sally surveyed the crowd of familiar faces that swelled with new faces every day. "I own two acres behind my house, outside of town. So long as I don't build a nuclear power plant, there are no zoning laws that says what I can do or can't do with my land. I suppose, if I could find someone to donate a tent big enough, I have enough tables and chairs that I could set up something temporary. I could still serve some hot meals and you could park yourselves beneath the tent to stay out of the rain. At the very least, that would beat living out in the street and you all could use the toilet facilities in the house. I have two bathrooms and have room to put a third one in the basement. That way, you can still get cleaned up, have your mail forwarded there, and make your phone calls."

It all seemed hopeless for those who knew their days of receiving hot meals and a bed to sleep were numbered. At least much of the bad weather was over and by the time they all had vacated the premises, spring would be here. Spring was a good season for the homeless. With the sun shining and the birds singing, people passing by them were generally in a good mood and more willing to part with their spare pocket change.

Even though Roger and Simon were regulars at the shelter for the past several months, they had never had a conversation. Both knew of the other, but they kept to themselves, as most of the homeless do. Today was different, though. Roger sought Simon out and they sat in the far corner of the room talking while eating their hot meal of hot dogs, baked beans, and bread.

"You were in construction, weren't you?"

"Yeah," said Simon. "I've been working construction all my life. There's nothing I don't know or can't build. I worked as a project manager and helped build many of these new buildings in town, back in the 80's, when the economy was booming." He shook his head, "I wish I knew then what I know now. I would have saved more money for a rainy day," he said while stuffing a big chunk of bread in his mouth.

"Yeah, me too," said Roger picking at the beans with his fork. "I was making six figures and between new cars, luxury furnishings, drugs, and women, I spent it faster than I could make it."

"Yeah, well, no one ever thinks about being homeless until it happens to them."

"Listen, Sally mentioned that she has that parcel or land in behind her house."

"Yeah, so? A tent isn't going to solve our problems. Whether you're in a tent or a shelter, you're still homeless."

"Yeah, but," said Roger, "what if we build something better than a tent? What if we moved her entire operation there?" Encouraged by Simon's attentiveness, Roger continued. "Only, what if we made it better and bigger?"

Gloria stepped up to their table.

"What are you two whispering about?"

Both men knew Gloria; she was friendly and was still easy on the eyes, even though she has seen the bottom of the barrel from smoking too much crack cocaine. She still turned some tricks to get cash when she desperately needed a drink or food to eat or someplace to crash. If it wasn't for her missing front tooth that her pimp knocked out when she was too wasted to earn money, she'd be even better looking.

"We're just wondering how we can turn closing this shelter from a negative to a positive," said Roger.

"Ha! You'd have to be a friggin' magician to do that," said Gloria. "There ain't nothin' good about removin' the last bit of hope from people who have nothin' and who have been kicked when they are down. If I feel bad for anyone, I feel bad for Sally. She devoted her life to helpin' losers like us." Gloria turned in her seat to look over at Sally. "I've never seen her so upset. She's always so strong and composed."

"Roger has a great idea," said Simon with a smug look. "He thinks we can somehow build a better shelter." Simon gave Roger a heavy look before finishing his thought. "Only, unless we have the money of Donald Trump, what do we do for material, tools, and labor?"

"Labor we have," said Roger with enthusiasm while immediately defending his idea. "There are plenty of able bodied men who would love to have the opportunity to feel useful by helping themselves while giving something back to Sally, the one person who cared enough to help them when they were down. And as far as materials and tools, leave that to me. I still have my Blackberry and I still have my contacts on Wall Street."

"Blackberry? What's a Blackberry," asked Gloria?

Roger held up his pocket computer.

"This little device holds the names and phone numbers of some very rich and powerful people."

"If they are so rich and powerful, how come you don't have a job," chided Simon?

"Jobs are different, my friend. People are more inclined to write a check out of guilt than they are to want to see you on a daily basis working in their office. Besides, they like having the tax write-off while thinking that they are helping many instead of just one. They always want more bang for their buck, even when they are donating money and giving it away."

"Sally! Oh, my God! Sally! Oh, my God! Sally!"

Everyone was screaming and running around.

Gloria popped out of her chair and ran over to where a crowd gathered. Sally was stretched out on the floor.

"What happened?"

"She fell," said a homeless man, "and hit her head. She's out cold."

"Look at her leg," said Gloria. "It looks broken. Someone call an ambulance."

Always ready to help someone in need, Sally was one not to take care of herself and when the doctors got a hold of Sally in the hospital, they had a laundry list of things wrong with her, diabetes, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol. Because she had health insurance, they kept her in the hospital for more than two weeks running tests and making her healthy.

During that time, Roger went through Sally's old rolodex and called every name listed. Sally was a packrat when it came to names, addresses, telephone numbers, and e-mail addresses. She treated her homeless men and women as part of her extended family and every day she'd receive letters and cards updating her on how her down and out friends were doing now. Roger couldn't believe the wealth of information he had at his disposal and he enlisted help from his army of volunteers to call and write to everyone who had ever been a guest at the shelter and who had received a handout from Sally.

While Sally was in the hospital going through a battery of tests and healing her leg, Roger called his contacts in New York. That following Monday was like D-Day. There on the horizon was a convoy of trucks driving down Sally's narrow dirt road ready to deliver lumber, construction supplies, construction vehicles, and tools. And there waiting for the trucks were an army of volunteers. There must have been four thousand men, women, and children wanting to help give a woman back something that not one of them could possibly repay alone. Their time and their effort was a small price to pay someone who has helped so many.

Before the day was over, the foundation was dugout and the concrete was poured. Tomorrow, they'd put up the frame and begin constructing the extension to Sally's house. It was a massive project of love and commitment. Only, they didn't stop there. Their plan was to level her shack of a house and include her living quarters as a separate part of the new shelter.

Someone called the local radio station and the DJ's, one of them who had been a homeless man addicted to drugs and had been the recipient of Sally's kind heart and generosity, got behind the effort of the project by giving a shout out to all their listeners. Then, the national press, Fox, CNN, CBS, NBC, and ABC picked up the story and the news was splashed all over the television and the newspapers for the next few days. That was when the donations started pouring in to Sally's mailbox and checks as small as $5.00, received from an elderly woman in Iowa and a homeless man in Maine, and as much as $10,000, received from a celebrity in Beverly Hills, and a businessman in Miami. The donations helped to grow Earth Help Program, a foundation fund that sustains itself by receiving donations and giving grants, and with the help of Roger's financial experience and investment expertise would never run dry.

By the beginning of the month, the dedicated group of homeless were ready to celebrate the opening of their new shelter, one that slept 100 people and that could feed up to 1,000. Sally was picked up from the hospital in a limousine and, as soon as the driver turned down her road, she was greeted by a throng of people. Everyone now wanted to be a part of this success from the governor, the mayor, and the wealthy and powerfully influential citizens who had their guilt ridden hand in closing her shelter and who wanted all the homeless gone. Only, Sally knew all those who were responsible for fulfilling her dream by allowing her to continue her good work.

The shelter, the Pine Street Inn, really exists in Boston. Once nearly closed for good, it is world famous now.

Happy Earth Day

THE END