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We made our way down the muddy path through some bushes and trees to the river bank. Chuck's [the deceased] dog, Lucy, cowered near his tent, which was still set up. Less than four feet high in the center, it was open and showed old newspapers as insulation against the ground and looked to have sleeping space for two or maybe three. Some homeless workers were present, along with a few friends of the deceased. There were twelve in all.

I remember Sandy, in her late forties or early fifties, the worn looking woman who took Chuck into her home for his last few weeks; her obviously bereaved son; another woman in a green jacket about Sandy's age; and the fourth, a long-time friend of Chuck's, who was holding a fishing pole, a cap, and a half-gallon Vodka bottle filled with Chuck's ashes.

Father Ron was introduced as a "friend of the homeless, who works hard to help people living in poverty."

Father Ron began the service:

"It is my privilege to be here, today. Last year we buried Virgil, who froze to death. And it seems like every year something happens to some of our homeless friends. And we dare not forget. We have two things in this life, essentially memory and hope. You have to have both of them, and to keep them intact, so that you can make it day by day."

Before he went on, he invited the small group of congregants to speak, noting that all were present for different reasons and different motivations.

"Chuck was my friend. I'd known him for about two years," began Ed, who drove the Homeless Outreach van. "I enjoyed his honesty with life. He was doing what he wanted to do, and I'm sure he's doing what he wants to do, now." He recounted some memories of Chuck and Mike Leavitt, Utah's Governor, teaching the governor how to fish. "He wasn't aware that it was the governor," quipped Ed, to the audience's laughter.

"Chuck was stubborn as all get out, at times," resumed Ed, reflecting on his unwillingness to come in for shelter or for medical aid. "But he'd always want to tell you a story, always had a smile and a handshake for you. I know that Chuck has found a fishing hole someplace."

The woman in the green jacket, showing appreciation for Ed's remarks added: "That sums it up. Yep, Chuck liked to fish. He was a fishing fool. He was out here for months straight on the peak of the river. Did nothing but fish." Then, her tone softened. "He was very loved," she said. "I'll miss him."

"Well, hopefully, in heaven," commented Jeff St. Romain, the local head of Volunteers for America. "They don't give tickets out for fishing with two fishing poles." The crowd laughed at this inside joke about Chuck's problems with the law. "Three allowed!" Jeff continued. "He had a great sense of humor."

"I've known Chuck for about four and a half years, now," said Pamela, the organizer of this event. "He and Lucy. He reminded me that they came as a package. What I loved most about Chuck was his openness and frankness. What you saw you got. He didn't play games, and he didn't mince words. You knew exactly where you stood with him, what he needed, and what he thought about things. I loved the twinkle in his eye. I loved his sense of humor. Even when he was in the hospital and very sick, he still kept his sense of humor."


The keeper of the ashes spoke through tears: "In the ten years since I've known Chuck, he's been my friend, my brother, sometimes my father and even my grandfather. He loved the outdoors: fishin', children and vodka, not necessarily in that order." This delighted the audience. "He didn't get a chance to do all he wanted," he concluded. "But there's nothin' he wouldn't do for a friend."

"Chuck was my friend, too," said Sandy's son. "Mostly just a fishin' partner, but he turned out to be a lot more. And I love that man, is all I can say." He broke down at the end of his remarks.

He was followed by his mother's comments: "I loved Chuck. Chuck was my friend for four years, and my son's friend--dear friend to him. I'm going to miss him. He did say he'd be waitin' in heaven, though."

At the end of the service, we all went over to the riverbank, and Chuck's friend scattered his ashes from the Vodka bottle into the river, threw in a baseball cap on which was written, "Help, I've fallen and can't get up," followed by his fishing pole.

Excerpted from Street People, Case Histories of the Homeless
www.gratitudepress.com

About the Author
Leslie Reynolds-Benns, PhD, author of Street People and more recently of Confession is Good for More than the Soul. Speaker, trainer, workshop leader, community activist and wedding officiant. Sign up for a FREE 4-part mini e-course - CREATING YOUR OWN REALITY

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<b>Friends Grieve the Passing of a Homeless Man</b><br> by Leslie Reynolds Benns<br> <br> We made our way down the muddy path through some bushes and trees to the river bank. Chuck's [the deceased] dog, Lucy, cowered near his tent, which was still set up. Less than four feet high in the center, it was open and showed old newspapers as insulation against the ground and looked to have sleeping space for two or maybe three. Some homeless workers were present, along with a few friends of the deceased. There were twelve in all.<br> <br> I remember Sandy, in her late forties or early fifties, the worn looking woman who took Chuck into her home for his last few weeks; her obviously bereaved son; another woman in a green jacket about Sandy's age; and the fourth, a long-time friend of Chuck's, who was holding a fishing pole, a cap, and a half-gallon Vodka bottle filled with Chuck's ashes. <br> <br> Father Ron was introduced as a "friend of the homeless, who works hard to help people living in poverty." <br> <br> Father Ron began the service:<br> <br> "It is my privilege to be here, today. Last year we buried Virgil, who froze to death. And it seems like every year something happens to some of our homeless friends. And we dare not forget. We have two things in this life, essentially memory and hope. You have to have both of them, and to keep them intact, so that you can make it day by day." <br> <br> Before he went on, he invited the small group of congregants to speak, noting that all were present for different reasons and different motivations. <br> <br> "Chuck was my friend. I'd known him for about two years," began Ed, who drove the Homeless Outreach van. "I enjoyed his honesty with life. He was doing what he wanted to do, and I'm sure he's doing what he wants to do, now." He recounted some memories of Chuck and Mike Leavitt, Utah's Governor, teaching the governor how to fish. "He wasn't aware that it was the governor," quipped Ed, to the audience's laughter. <br> <br> "Chuck was stubborn as all get out, at times," resumed Ed, reflecting on his unwillingness to come in for shelter or for medical aid. "But he'd always want to tell you a story, always had a smile and a handshake for you. I know that Chuck has found a fishing hole someplace." <br> <br> The woman in the green jacket, showing appreciation for Ed's remarks added: "That sums it up. Yep, Chuck liked to fish. He was a fishing fool. He was out here for months straight on the peak of the river. Did nothing but fish." Then, her tone softened. "He was very loved," she said. "I'll miss him."<br> <br> "Well, hopefully, in heaven," commented Jeff St. Romain, the local head of Volunteers for America. "They don't give tickets out for fishing with two fishing poles." The crowd laughed at this inside joke about Chuck's problems with the law. "Three allowed!" Jeff continued. "He had a great sense of humor."<br> <br> "I've known Chuck for about four and a half years, now," said Pamela, the organizer of this event. "He and Lucy. He reminded me that they came as a package. What I loved most about Chuck was his openness and frankness. What you saw you got. He didn't play games, and he didn't mince words. You knew exactly where you stood with him, what he needed, and what he thought about things. I loved the twinkle in his eye. I loved his sense of humor. Even when he was in the hospital and very sick, he still kept his sense of humor." <br> <br> <br> The keeper of the ashes spoke through tears: "In the ten years since I've known Chuck, he's been my friend, my brother, sometimes my father and even my grandfather. He loved the outdoors: fishin', children and vodka, not necessarily in that order." This delighted the audience. "He didn't get a chance to do all he wanted," he concluded. "But there's nothin' he wouldn't do for a friend."<br> <br> "Chuck was my friend, too," said Sandy's son. "Mostly just a fishin' partner, but he turned out to be a lot more. And I love that man, is all I can say." He broke down at the end of his remarks.<br> <br> He was followed by his mother's comments: "I loved Chuck. Chuck was my friend for four years, and my son's friend--dear friend to him. I'm going to miss him. He did say he'd be waitin' in heaven, though."<br> <br> At the end of the service, we all went over to the riverbank, and Chuck's friend scattered his ashes from the Vodka bottle into the river, threw in a baseball cap on which was written, "Help, I've fallen and can't get up," followed by his fishing pole. <br> <br> Excerpted from <i>Street People, Case Histories of the Homeless</i><br> <a href="http://www.gratitudepress.com/">www.gratitudepress.com</a><br> <br> <b>About the Author</b><br> Leslie Reynolds-Benns, PhD, author of <i>Street People</i> and more recently of <i>Confession is Good for More than the Soul.</i> Speaker, trainer, workshop leader, community activist and wedding officiant. Sign up for a FREE 4-part mini e-course - CREATING YOUR OWN REALITY<br><br><font size="1" face="arial">Get <A HREF="http://www.freearticlehq.com/">Free Articles</a> for your web site, newsletter, or ezine at the <A HREF="http://www.freearticlehq.com/">Free Article Headquarters</A></font>.