[I have changed the names of key people in this true story, except for Jerry, Mickey, and Uncle Fran.]
Every Thursday I work at the Karpos Meal for the Homeless and Hungry at St. Mary's Church in Painesville, Ohio. It's a couple hours out of my week, and I work with the most wonderful people preparing the food, serving, and cleaning up (Kathy P, Judy, Linda, Kathy F, Ken, Dan, Jim, Bernice, Pam, Ron, Wayne, Chuck, and others). About 100 people come to our meals (every Wednesday and Thursday evenings at St. Mary's, beginning about 5 pm and serving for about an hour). I have gotten to know many of the people who come. Some of them are indeed down-and-out homeless; others are living in shelters, in "Extended Housing," or living on very tight food budgets. There is no "means testing" for our meal--just show up if you want a good nutritious meal and good company. And help out if you can--setting up tables and chairs, cleaning up afterwards. A few even help in preparation and serving of the meal.
Yesterday one of the regulars asked me if people call me "professor" all the time. I found it a rather funny question, and reassured him that only my students call me that--never my friends, unless they are pulling my leg. Then he asked me what my last name was. When I told him, he was amazed. "You aren't related to Jerry, are you?"
Initially, I hesitated. Jerry has been in some trouble, had a tough life. "Yea, Jerry is my cousin."
"And Mickey?" he asked.
'Yea, Mickey's my cousin too, though I haven't seen him in about 40 years. Their family fell apart when their father, my Uncle Fran, died suddenly at age 46." I found out just recently that Uncle Fran's death might have been caused by liver failure from alcohol abuse.
Then, "Danny" (that's what I'll call this fellow) asked me, "You ain't related to Celia Cotter, are you? She used to hang out with her cousins Jerry and Mickey and I dated her for a couple years in the late '60s. Her dad told me to keep away from her." Celia's dad was my uncle.
Wow, I could hardly hold all this in my head. This homeless fellow, who I have served at the Karpos meal for over four years, was once friends with three of my cousins, and still sees one of them at AA meetings. And he dated one of my cousins for a couple years. What if he had married her? What would his and her fate have been like? One ended up homeless; the other with a good middle-class life and family.
It's clear that our lives are unsolvable mysteries. You or I could have ended up homeless. We are not all that different. "There but for fortune go you or go I, you or I"--that's how the Phil Ochs song goes. And that is the truth!
Here are the lyrics to "There But for Fortune . . ." by Phil Ochs
Show me the prison, show me the jail
Show me the prisoner whose face is growin' pale
And I'll show you a young man with so many reasons why
There but for fortune, go you or go I
You and I.
Show me the alley, show me the train
Show me the hobo who sleeps out in the rain
And I'll show you a young man with many reasons why
There but for fortune, go you or go I
You and I.
Show me the famine, show me the frail
Eyes with no future, that show how we fail
And I'll show you the children with so many reasons why
There but for fortune, go you or go I
You and I.
Show me the country where bombs had to fall
Show me the ruins of buildings once so tall
And I'll show you a young land with many reasons why
There but for fortune, go you or go I
You and I.
You and I.
There but for fortune, go you or go I
You and I.
Here is a YouTube video of Phil Ochs singing this song:
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