Big James' Story

James was my Friend.

This story starts around 1977. I was in High School in Columbus, Ohio. There was this guy. I didn’t hang out with him really. I didn't know much about him at all, but we did occasionally end up in the same hang outs. His name was James.

Fast forward a few years to about 2006. The economy was just starting to slow down. I had extra time and wanted to do something worthwhile. Some friends of mine run the Bread of Life Christian Mission in Plant City, Florida, so I stopped by to see if I could volunteer some of my time. The Mission specializes in providing Ministry and Food services to homeless people and migrant workers. They also used to run a thrift store which allowed us to offer free clothing on Wednesdays when we would also hand out bags of groceries.

It was a little awkward at first. Not only did I not know what to expect at all, but I was just beginning to grow as a Christian myself and now, out of nowhere, here were people asking me to pray with them, to counsel them, and to hug them. It was exhilarating.

I quickly learned that it wasn’t about the food.

One day, among the crowd of homeless people impatiently lining up to come in to the church service that is always provided before the food is handed out, there was this guy. It was James.

The first time I saw him it was one of those passing “I think I know that guy” moments. I was busy running here and there as we always were during the Wednesday morning flurry, so I didn’t get to talk to him that day, and he rode off on his bicycle.

It stuck with me though, however, I wasn’t 100% sure. The next time I saw him, I was more sure, so I asked him his name and where he was from. I received the confirmation. We were in high school together! We were both kind of surprised at our new found awkward commonality, so we talked for a bit, and then he rode off on his bicycle.

I sat down and I cried.

I mean, the suburb I grew up in is not poor. There are no migrant workers, there are no farms. There are no food pantries. There aren’t even any homeless people. And here we are, 1020 miles from home, in a small town that no one in my home town has ever heard of, about 30 years later, and he’s homeless.

I don’t know if you feel the implications of what I’m saying but, some guy I went to school with is homeless! Besides that, it just tore my heart apart. Even more importantly, it tore my heart open.

That’s just the start of the story.

As time went on, James and I spent many times sitting together at the picnic tables at the Mission. I’d always try to save him the large cans of the good stuff like Beefaroni and Dinty Moore Beef Stew. James was not a small guy. James was actually 300 plus pounds of "not small" guy, he could eat some beef stew. James was a big-burly-manly-loveable-teddy-bear kind of guy, if that makes any sense. Everyone called him Big James.

We would sit and talk about all kinds of things. He didn’t mind answering questions. He taught me a lot about living on the streets, about how to deal with the dangers and stay alive, where to find food and shelter from the rain, how to avoid getting hassled by the police too much, what it’s like to go to wing night at a local restaurant (one of his favorite things) when you haven’t had a shower or clean clothes in days, how to get health care for free, and so much more.

We both got to know several other homeless people around town, befriended some, and learned much from their situations also. I even learned that homeless people sometimes have homes. Sometimes James would make enough money on a job to pay rent on a room for a month and he would take advantage of it.

James was no slouch; he was always working at one place or another. When I first re-met him, he was into recycling and had sources that paid good money for the precious metals from trashed computers etc. He also had regularly-occasional work at a local truck accessory shop near where his tent was, he would change tires and do general chores there when they had work. When not at the truck shop you might have found James at one of the local self service car washes offering his services drying cars for tips. James was industrious.

Not only that, but James had a big heart. He hated injustice and had a hard time understanding why people treated each other as we do. I think that due to his circumstances he had to keep his guard up, but I want the world to know, James had a big heart.

James was special to me; he became special to my family also. I introduced them a few years ago as we were out one day and saw him on his favorite bench in the park where he liked to read the paper and take a nap. We could often find him there and it’s the first place we would look at Christmas when we would bring him a new pair of shoes and assorted gifts. He would always ask about the kids, and how the family was doing. We would often see him at various places around town, and always stopped to talk.

James initially told me that he “lived on his own” as his choice. He had tried real jobs and living situations in the past, but they just weren’t for him. At first I kind of believed him, but there was a look in his eyes that had me thinking he wanted something more, maybe he just wasn’t ready….

Back when we first re-met, I had written my name and cell number on a little piece of paper for him. Being the independent guy that he was, he didn’t call me often. The first time, He needed a ride to the unemployment office to apply for some kind of assistance. I waited in the car, and when he came back he was a little frustrated, I don’t think it went his way that day. Another time we just chatted a bit, I don’t recall about what. That was about it, until that night.

Up north, where James and I met in high school, a couple of times a year there would be a really big storm and it would rain cats and dogs. In Florida, we get that too, except it's daily during the rainy season. The difference in Florida is that, a couple of times a year there is a really big storm and it rains buses and trucks, the rainfall has to be measured in feet per hour and the wind makes driving more like sailing. This was one of those nights.

My phone rang and it was James, “Hey Keith, I hate to bother you, but Man, I’m drenched and I need a couple of dollars to dry my clothes at the Laundromat”. “All right Brother, hang in there, I’ll be there as soon as I can” I think I said. I talked to my wife Cindy about it and asked her about bringing James home for the night if need be, she was fine with that and gathered some towels and blankets to bring to him. On my way, I stopped at McDonalds and grabbed another one of his favorites, two large quarter pounder meals, one with Coke, and the other with a large hot coffee. He was excited to see that and jumped on the coffee. This was one of those nights.

James regularly stayed at the Laundromat during rough weather; he had some kind of agreement worked out with police so they let him stay unless the owner complained, or something like that. He was comfortable in that environment and stayed there that night.

We spent quite some time talking there that night. He wasn’t feeling well. He had already seen a Doctor, and was going back the next day I think for another visit. He did tell me he thought he had pneumonia and that the Doctor said his heart was in bad shape. I asked him about medical expenses and he said it was covered by some kind of State program, and that he had it worked out already.

As he was having his dinner we were just talking about life and work and stuff, and he said, in a way that I’d never seen him talk before, that he was ready to turn his life around, that he was tired of the way things were. We talked about our faith and although the details are a little fuzzy in my memory as far as exactly what we said, I know we ended the night with some very powerful praying which left us both basically in tears of love for each other and for God.

That’s the last time I ever saw James.

About a week later, while taking a break at work, I saw a voice mail on my phone from a number I didn’t know. The message went something like this, “Hi Keith, we found your name and phone number on a little piece of paper that Big James had in his pocket, he died last night and I just wanted you to know".

I was devastated. James was my Friend.
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