One of my public accountant friends asked me to describe a "day in the life." Since no two days are the same I decided to take today as an example.

In short, imagine the pace of a professional (public accountant, lawyer, doctor, etc) minus the hours, combined with the emotional attachment of raising children and the multitasking of an executive assistant.

So, today it is then.

I woke up to two voicemails on my cellphone. I arrived about 9:30am after boxing up a cache of cookware from our house for a client who just recently found himself an apartment. You see, my community is moving its residence (this is relevant again later) and purging itself of "gently used" items. I glanced at my email--12 new--and noticed the phone was beckoning with its red message light. No time to get through them, however, because somebody needed a bus ticket to get to work. I obliged after sifting through paperwork to find the bus ticket sign-out sheet.

Next, I find out my roommate's colleague sent a client to our center for a coat. Because our Helpdesk Coordinator was busy with opening the center I rummaged through the pile of coats in the storage area--over 1,060 of them available via the One Warm Coat program--for an XL. I found a nice one, threw in a vest to boot and brought the goods back to a smiling client. I remembered what the Dining Room manager told me: "it's fun isn't it? You get to help people all day long."

I walked back behind the desk and decided after Harry, our new Workforce Manager, requested it and since I had been literally tripping over them for two days, to finally file away the two boxes of office supplies taking up valuable floor space (see the final portions of the "zones" blog.) I glanced again at the emails, was reminded that I had to submit the Winter Shelter Bed List before noon, but put the rest of them off because two clients were waiting for me to talk about the Homeless Court program. One I had seen before and he was just dropping off requeseted paperwork. I sat down, opened his file, copied the documents he brought me and realized, since the submission date was next Monday, that I needed to verify his continuing progress at a local Christian-based drug and alcohol recovery program. I phoned the manager, verified the client's progress, asked her about her own progress on finding funding for her drug counselor education credits, and suggested we set up a recurring Homeless Court workshop since this was the second client I fielded from her organization. She thought it a great idea and I promised to email her the information which I did a few hours later. I received the second client, introduced him the program, handed him the necessary paperwork and returned to the business of the winter shelter.

No changes were necessary since everybody showed up last night, I returned the census and put up a new standby list. In case other agencies fail to fill their alloted bed space I have the chance to send "stand-bys." Every day this list turns over. They sign their name, they return at 3:00pm and in the meantime I beg the shelter manager for extra space. This day, just like the last, held no extra bed space for the two who signed up.

I fielded a call from another local agency inquiring about the Homeless Court. I suggested to this agency, that we likewise set up a time to do a workshop. I find out that, hey, this afternoon at 4:00pm would be a great time. I agreed and suggested we set up monthly meetings. To make sure I could fit this in I reworked the schedule for fifteen minutes in my handy Outlook calendar--eliminated recurring services that have ceased and adding this one to the current ones. In the middle of this I fielded another call (the phone rings off the hook) from another local agency reminding me that the Healthcare Van will be at our doorstep tomorrow. I quickly put together the sign-up sheet, made an annoucement to the facility, placed the sign-up at the front desk, and reminded the Coordinator to put cones out to clear the parking spaces early tomorrow morning.

During this conversation I brought up the Winter Shelter--this particular agency gave up bedspace to me. I knew the system was screwing the agency so I recognized that and gave her an update on the administrator's meeting about which she was uniformed. I promised to type up some "unofficial" minutes from that meeting so she could find out what went on--that's next on the list following this blog but will not get done today.

Somewhere between all that I sat down with a new client, listened to his 15 minute story about getting released from a recovery center, and put together all our housing referrals for him. At about 11:30am I made some time to read through emails relating to a special need for a Homeless Court client. I set up a meeting for him for Friday.

I ate a 20 minute lunch.

I sorted through the remainder of the emails and jotted down the encumbant tasks: complete a write-up for One Warm Coat and send a Mid-year evaluation to JVC. I got to the cellphone messages and scheduled two coat pickups for the 19th. I got to the office phone messages and returned phone calls as necessary.

I created the write-up and sent off the evaluation.

I received a donation and helped input the day's statistics. I fielded a call from a student interested in interviewing the Seldom Seen Acting Company and invited her down to witness a rehearsal.

I had a meeting.

At about 3:30 I began preparing for the presentation I scheduled earlier in the day: copied all the necessary forms, grabbed a handful of business cards, roped in one of volunteers and walked to the agency just a few blocks away. For an hour I explained the program, handed out initial paperwork, answered questions, and provided referrals for people unqualified for the program, including one paranoid schizphrenic.

I returned to the center, dropped off the paperwork, and began writing this blog. I had to leave it unfinished, however, because it was time to walk home: it was my turn to clean the bathroom.

I arrived home about 6:00pm, ate a snack (it was my roommate's turn for dinner), cleaned the bathroom, ate dinner, had a 45 minute community meeting, and at about 9:00pm we commenced spirituality night--the first time the entire day I sat still, in silence.

What do you think Hitan?

Behind the Seldom Scene

So I was reading Audition last night by Michael Shurtleff--a fascinating "how to audition" guide for aspiring actors. What makes it special is the very fact of its fascination for me: I have zero plans for pursuing an acting career but nonetheless found it interesting for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is a consistent and consistently appealing recounting of real life stories that hang together to make a series of coherent points or "guideposts," as he calls them. It's interesting, informative, and argumentative. I was dumbfounded by his comments on love. Love, he said, is not this sort of stale, admirable, romantic idealism that we all imagine: the knight in shining armor, the perfect Gentleman Caller, and all that. Romance, real romance, is full of intrigue, let-downs, climactic passions, and emotional tightropes.

Allow me to make my own JVC Guidepost for the last four and a half months. Simply this: LOVE IS MESSY. I will use a real life story full of intrigue, let-downs, climactic passions, and emotional tightropes about the day of the Seldom Seen Acting Company's performance of Sleeping, It's a Wakeup Call. I will make the case that love, the same love Jesus spoke about 2000 years ago, that JVC purports to exist when it claims "you don't have to like our roommates, you just have to love them," that we all go through when seeking mates, and that Mr. Shurtleff would be sure to support, is very messy indeed.

December 10, 2005 was the performance date set in stone nearly six weeks earlier. What Shurtleff encouraged his actors to approximate we lived and breathed: the day was so powerful precisely because it contained opposite emotional reactions from the same individuals. This date was the whip under which acting company horse progressed. The date inspired excitement, nervous anticipation, and greatest of all, fear. Rehearsals, the roots of which go all the way back to July, had doubled in pace starting in November from once to twice a week. Like any deadline December 10 motivated us and we hated it.

Some context is necessary to fully understand the relationships which bubbled over in both rage and tenderness that day. The acting company was composed of eleven men, six of which were “on the street homeless,” one that lived with his ailing mother, one who teetered in and out of his girlfriend’s residence, two who were in semi-permanent housing situations thanks to the work of the Champion Guidance Center, and me. “On the street homeless” means, except for occasional rotations at the homeless shelters, these men literally live on the street. Of the six, one made camp in an old car, two near the lake, one downtown, one in an unknown spot, and one behind the Convention Center and next door to our performance site, the Oakland Museum.

These were the men who survived homeless life’s extenuating circumstances for four and a half months, participated significantly in rehearsals over that time, and showed up on performance night. Imagine yourself completely broke financially and emotionally: no job, no money, no house, few enough possessions to fit in a garbage bag, a beat up car with no registration if you’re lucky, no family, no children, and no friends. Now throw on top of that no healthcare, a constant fear of the police, and an incessant depression. Next imagine yourself committing to twice a week rehearsals and a performance which promises nothing less than to bare your problems to the world. The greatest fear of a homeless person—it’s so logical if you just stop and think about it—is to be known as homeless. Why? Because homeless men and women are the modern-day untouchables. But that’s the point of another blog.

Some were present from the beginning, while others were newcomers. The Company itself was descriptive of the “fluidity” inherent in our facility: men come, men go, some recover, some relapse, some dip in for short periods of time, while others become permanent parts of the fabric. About three men were “founding members,” rehearsing since July. Is there any other acting company in the world that would tolerate 70% turnover?!

Out of this backdrop imagine the star performer. His monologue was 100% his own, his voice carried to the wall, he had the looks, he had the charm, and most of all, as the Helpdesk Coordinator, he had power and influence over the rest of the Company—if not explicitly during rehearsals than implicitly as a result of his ability to influence their lives every other day of the week. Now, in a “normal” company you may have heard about the personality antics unabashedly shown by the star and unabashedly catered to by his/her entourage of support staff. So imagine the “pre-madonna” capabilities available to a formerly incarcerated, formerly homeless, recovering drug addict and dealer who suddenly found himself the central figure in a play about homelessness. He was our star and he was fully prepared to prove it by breaking the boundaries of appropriateness, knowing we were powerless, or at least powerlessly unwilling, to stop him.

He was supported by a staff hell-bent on success. We had a respectable venue in the museum, a concert pianist, a symphonic oboist, catering, an event coordinator, and four professionally decorated Christmas trees which we raffled off. We even had professional carolers set to welcome guests as they approached the museum for Christ’s sake! We made a slide-show presentation to music and we had two dozen men and women hand sign 270 Christmas cards reading “Peace be With You” with a collage of digital reprints of our men making signs of peace. We made laminated, colored flyers, we printed up custom-designed theatre tickets, we got a write-up in the East Bay Express and the Catholic Voice, we contacted two televisions stations, the newspaper, and Jerry Brown himself who politely but in writing declined our invitation.

Those were just the external pressures.

We had been rehearsing for months, the dress rehearsal was over, tech week was done, we had undergone more than a dozen script rewrites, we had a volunteer director who contributed more than 200 hours, and a “black sheep” reputation within our own organization to boot.

So…nestled alongside the dramatics of working with and for homeless men and the pressures of professional life surrounding a significant public event, we have a single star and his half-brother, reunited after a decade, who surfaced deep psychological pains and channeled them, as timing would have it, at me.

The day was December 10, 2005, a Saturday, which is also a day the Champion Guidance Center is open for services. Remember the actors in the Company are also the staff that helps run the center and the center’s daily operations, mind you, are seldom stress-free—there are complaints to head off and tempers to assuage constantly. After any “typical” day the staff is understandably worn out. Compound the daily stressors with the impending performance and “tense” is an understatement of the center’s atmosphere.

Despite this the normal activities were coming to a close without major incident. As the center was closing we assigned our star the task of clipping dollar bills to thank-you cards we planned on handing out to the audience after the performance. The message was simple: “take this dollar bill, a gift from Steve, and use it to manifest prosperity in the lives of the men at the Champion Guidance Center…an example would be taking one of the men out for coffee.” Ever optimistic we had $217 in singles ready to hand out in case of a sell-out crowd. Needless to say, in a homeless drop-in center, the fewer people that know about the presence of $217 the better. So, the star was holed up in the storage area—the same place where we were storing coats which we just happened to be distributing the very same day. During a break in the pinning process, I entered the storage area to get more coats which I was distributing outside. I came back into the center amidst intense yelling. Apparently, the star’s brother found out about the dollar bills and made a joke: “yeah, that’s why you’re slipping those bills into you’re pocket.” Steve stepped out and, cutting off the commotion, boomed “STOP! Just stop! You guys are needed today!” The star’s justification elicited the following from Steve: “well how did anybody find out about the dollar bills anyway?”

I had left the door unlocked.

After I immediately took responsibility, the two brothers separated and I responded, “this is a small thing.”

The star then exploded into a supernova. He was only inches away from my face and I saw every vein pumping, not just the two major ones extending down his neck, but facial veins I didn’t even know existed: ones down his cheeks and around his eyes. He had become rage. My eardrums were exploding, my heart was in my throat, and I could feel the saliva on my face. He informed me that accusations of theft are anything but small.

After the two brothers separated I retreated to the Dining Room. As I previewed the slide show with the Company’s director—pictures of homeless men reaching out—I wept. Put to inspirational music, the slideshow was a symbol that we actually do Care and Help Assist Men Prosper In Our Neighborhood (CHAMPION). The emotions pulsating through me, however, were evidence to the contrary. I rested my head on Steve’s shoulder sobbing, “do they ever get out?” Briefly, I had become hopelessness.

I returned to the center and decided to speak with the star. I thought we couldn’t get through the performance unless the two brothers got back on speaking terms. I told him we needed to find some way to communicate again, for the good of the show, the good of the center, and the good of all the guys who put in months of effort. He was having none of it: “I don’t got shit to say to that motherfucker and I’m tired of your fairy tale bullshit.” These sentiments were succinctly expressed non-verbally when he kicked a ladder over.

We commenced the scheduled pre-performance pizza dinner. The brother returned. Time marched on slowly, painfully, tensely. As final preparations for our exit were made, however, the Company was in for one last pre-performance performance, starring none other than the star himself. A third actor, the most quiet and reserved of the crew, asked for a few cards to hand out to his friends. These cards, which had no dollar bills in them, were in a box on top of the money cards. The star jumped to conclusions, “I thought you was taking some of those dollars.”

“Well you thought wrong,” was the third actor’s response. Undeniably confident that he had a “behavioral blank slate,” the star physically charged the third actor. I was in between them with a panic-toned voice, “Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.” The star backed down and the third actor left the premises. Yet another actor chased him down, calmed him down and pleading, “Yes, you shouldn’t have to put up with that. But we need this. I need this. I’ve worked too damn long to let this go up in smoke.”

The third actor relented, walked through the center and by the star who hissed fighting words, “yeah, you better not look at me you piece of shit nigger bitch.”

Fortunately for all involved, the reserved one chose not to respond and we piled into the vans.

It wasn’t the first supernova or even the blow up on the innocent third actor. It was these fighting words which dug me deep. This was unadulterated malice; this was callous disregard for all involved; this was implosion. It would be hard for me to trust him again.

But the show, as they say, must go on.

And go on it did. Each monologue, you see, was a description of the actor’s real life story. These were homeless men facing their biggest fear: being labeled as homeless. Some were explicit, others metaphorical.

My piece was entitled “Amends to the African Americans.” Inside I was wondering, who owes who an apology? But if you reflect deeper on the “why” of the star’s earlier reactions we come up with, not a justification, but perhaps an explanation. To be black is to be history’s unwanted race; to be homeless is to be the present-day unwanted race. To be black and homeless must give somebody a towering perspective on abuse.

So at 8:00pm I find myself apologizing, and shaking the hand of the same man who was in my face just four hours earlier. He accepted my apology saying “God bless you unto all generations; truly you have waited long; I bless your children.”

After the performance I saw the brothers embrace on stage. Few in the audience knew that embrace to be anything more than celebratory.

You should have heard the question and answer session following the performance. My roommate admitted to weeping. Each question was prefaced with an affirmation, “I am astounded by your courage.” It was as if the audience recognized, for those brief moments, the play was a bridge from homelessness to shelter, drug addiction to sobriety, incarceration to freedom, unemployment to a job, depression to joy, and fear to hope.

During one particular response the star began delving into our relationship. He began talking about how he told me his story, how pleased he was to find out that I refused to judge him, and how indebted he was to Steve. Both he and his brother stepped off the stage to embrace Steve who was in the audience. The audience and the actors gave Steve an ovation of his own.

It was beautiful, hugely successful. We received a standing ovation.

Love filled the air. But it was messy. Damn messy.