Small Wonder

So, I had been thinking of what to write now for about a month. I really did not know what to say, at all. Plus, I'm not the best writer, so all of that added up to no post.

Finally, this Tuesday, I had a breakthrough during one of my OCD cubicle/office/section-cleanliness-moments:

The orange I brought for lunch was missing.

This could only end up in chaos (in my mind anyway...) as the orange would end up molding and stinking up some drawer in my cube where I inadvertently put it, leading to a potential Superfund clean-up (or a full Lysol bottle to the drawer). Drawer after drawer, I searched with no luck, until finally, I found it in my bag.

I put it on the metallic black Sterling Engine Ryan bought me for my graduation and tried spinning the wheel. (To digress, I really enjoy putting an Iced Coffee on it, just slightly pushing the top and watching it turn, for hours, by itself.) It was as I looked at the orange on top of the turning engine that I knew what I would write about. The orange reminded me of every morning's sunrise on the golf course!

I generally have a hard time sleeping, many times only sleeping for 3 hours or less. It's gotten better since college, but is still pretty bad. So, every morning, while in Pascagoula, MS, I would get up at around 5:30a, shower, put on a coat and hit the links. This, for me, meant getting a smoke and thinking about life, or maybe just not thinking at all.

The feeling was incredible: feeling like a rebel, albeit only symbolically, on a golf course where I did not belong, smoking like some punk. Indeed, a punk I probably am not, and my smoking is only "Whoopi Goldberg" sympathy smoking...as a rule... (You know, when you smoke with a friend out in the rain or the snow, because they have to and, at some level, you feel bad about it...? Well, I do anyway...). Then again, maybe I just hope that's what it is...

Still, at some level, by biggest breakthroughs thus far in life happened right there on those links. I was able to think through more in my life there than anywhere else in a very long time, possibly ever. It seemed, too, that as the Sun came up, whatever problem I thought I had, did not seem quite as big. Indeed, it was quite a therapeutic experience for me, something you couldn't replicate ever, on any scale, at any time.

While I was there with some of my best friends in the world, a bunch of new ones and would never wish to take a moment back, there was something to be said for those links, something to be shared in that moment that only I could share and only here. I would probably never have said it anywhere else.

While probably one of the most small and seemingly insignificant things to have happened on the trip, it brought some of the biggest changes in my life. For sure, it was definitely a Small Wonder.

Is it too late to back out?

I'm sitting in the kitchen of the Demato household with two guys I've never met before. It's been an hour, check that an hour and a half. Where is he? Goddamit. Demato. Dammit. I've never been much of a small talker, I just don't like to do it. It's not that I can't talk about my job and the weather, I just don't like to do it. Thankfully, after an hour has passed, we sit down to watch a college football game with the dad. At least no more conversation needs to be pressed.
Apparently, Home Depot can't do anything right, which will become one of the themes of our trip. After loading the truck we are on our way, only three hours behind schedule. As we cruise onto I-55, I turn towards the one person that I know on our journey, and say, "um, don't we want I-57?". Turns out we've just added an extra couple of hourse onto our journey. Ah, crap. Oh well, get so sleep.
After a night of partying in Norleans, and waiting for the lost Louis and Demato for five hours, we are on our way to Mississippi, our destination. I might purport to be a blue collar type of guy, but I'm not. My workbelt is borrowed, I don't know how to drywall, I don't know how to roof, I don't know much of anything to be honest. The next seven days we worked harder then I'd ever worked. Every day we were drywalling, roofing, and busting our ass. Everyone looked out for each other, which I really liked. There was this guy Mike, who basically taught me everything I now know about drywall, and Louis and Chris walked me through roofing. I thought I would die the entire time I was on that roof by the way, it was crazy.
I'm going to keep this relatively short, I will just say that my life was truly altered for the better. I've always known that there were people out there like these guys, but never been around them. Hard working, fun, kind, giving, self sacrificing. If I could do it all again, I wish I'd kept a diary, because the memories in my brain are like brief flitting moments, temporary. I'll always take with me the smile on Mary Ellen's face though, as she hugged me goodby. - DAN MOSES

The Gathering

So the situation is looking par for the course. Of course I've planned everything within my power, including cost estimate analysis for materials based on assessments made by locals in Mississippi. I've done this 4 times with Louis. Spreadsheets emailed, reviewed, emailed again. Louis calling the local MS carpenters for accuracy. In fact, by this time I've lost track of who exactly he talks to. I go back and forth with Home Depot, hotels in New Orleans, numerous car and truck rental offices. Stocked up on high energy dried foods at Costco. Everything should be just perfect. Because I'm anal retentive when it comes to planning. This doesn't mean I enjoy planning. I'm more of a live in the moment person. But I realize the inherent value in a plan for events such as this, and like Louis I'm fairly good at organizing and planning. So we do what we have to do.

There is the little matter of a few thousand in cash to be tended to. Louis gave me a budgeted amount to plan with, and I complied. I adjusted when the amount available changed from time to time. Up. Down. Whichever. I want no part in the actual communication with the Foundation, because Alex is Louis' contact, not mine. He'll do better with her. And he is the king of people skills (I am not). He really has a bright future in the non-profit industry leadership ranks if he were ever to pursue it. He's a natural. However, my Patton-esque side is about to rear its ugly head because I trusted that the money assured would be there, but its not. One day before we leave. Nonetheless, I know to trust Louis because when he says he'll do something, he does. Period. No questions asked. Still, I'm wondering how he's gonna pull this one off. I start calling him, trying not to sound frustrated, nervous, or concerned. Of course he knows me better.

I remember the Muddy Buddy in 2002 (I think). The 6 mile leapfrog run/bike partner race out on some farmland that Louis and I do every year. Typically, we had been out late the night before, part of our elite pre-race preparation. This is the strategy of a collegiate Division 1 pole vaulter and a Tae Kwon Do national champion. Typically, I ceased indulging hours before everyone else. Not because I'm concerned about race performance, but because I made a promise to Louis' wife Kat long ago that no matter what, I will get him home to her and the kids safely. I think when I made that promise he only had 2 kids. Then more came. Before I know it, I'm at the hospital in Evanston for Faith's birth.

I never make promises, because I never, ever break them. I hate that kind of commitment. So when I make them come hell or high water I keep them. So as the designated driver, I get Louis' half-conscious self home to North Rogers Park by 3 am. I go home to the other side of the city, by Midway airport, nap for an hour, dress in my race gear and load my bike on the car and then head back 28 miles north to get Louis. He is an absolute wreck. I have water ready for him. As we drive to the race, he drinks water, and then pukes it all over the inside of the car. My nice, new convertible sports car. He apologizes, then pukes some more. Then he kinda passes out.

And I love him for it. Because a lesser man would have said "I can't make it to the race", or "I can't do this". But Louis does it. Who cares if he pukes in the car, and intermittently throughout the race? We may be idiots for being out the night before. But MOST idiots would never make the race, let alone finish in the top 20 of our age group. When Louis says he'll do it, he does.

So the point is, when Louis said he'd make the money appear, I knew he would, and that my concern was unnecessary.

Sure enough, a little phone tag between Louis, Alex and myself, and suddenly Mystery Pastor comes out of nowhere with a check to cover "whatever the difference you need amounts to."

I was raised in a very typical Southside Chicago Roman Catholic household. Church every weekend. Catholic elementary school, high school, college, grad school. Yet, I went through the motions not really believing any of it. A parish of regulars that had "their" special seats in church, that you'd better respect. Proud to recite the Nicene Creed from memory, but clueless as to what it means. Sounded like a damn Koresh chant the way they mumbled it. I had seen how the Catholic church treated my great aunts "the penguins" - nuns who worked to the grave while my parish "pastor" retired and took up golf at 62. The rich kids in my very religious high school shit on me for 4 years because I wasn't like them, until senior year Kairos retreat - all of a sudden it became "cool" to like the underdog. My reaction to their late insight was less than receptive. Yes, they were very good Catholics. I'm a history teacher, very familiar with the Crusades and the parallels of religion used as a reason to kill ("convert"), wage war, seize lands in medieval Europe and in the current fundamentalist Muslim mentality. To say that I've lost a little faith is an understatement. I think I may believe in something. But I wouldn't label it or associate it with any particular group.

Moments like this though, maybe that's what faith is. Louis, Alex, and this Pastor. Maybe the fact that he's a man of the cloth has nothing to do with it. Maybe it happened because it was just and right.

And that's what makes me do the things I do. Just when I'm about to throw in the towel, a moment like this happens. So much in this world is not just and right. Criminals, rapists, child molesters, thieves, abusers - they walk the streets unpunished. I teach the kids that grow up to be the prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers, gang bangers, scumbags of the city, in the worst ghetto of Chicago. I do this to try to stop the snowball that started rolling and building when their soon to be convict fathers impregnated their teenage mothers when they were their age, and then left. I seem to not be able to stop this. I see very little hope in a system that is broke from the top down. And it's no better in the lily white "nice" neighborhoods. Just a different kind of filth. Here, I see the privileged who forget about the rest. A populace more concerned with who will be the next American Idol rather than whether a kid 7 miles away "across the viaducts" where you "don't go", will eat. Concerned with what Angelina Jolie's Oscar dress will look like - not about the family freezing in an apartment with no heat. This is the future of America. I know there are good people here and there, and plenty of people who "don't hurt anyone". That's the biggest, most often used cop-out. They don't hurt anyone, but they don't help either. Because they're only concerned with their reality. Until it changes. This is the overwhelming majority. I am a sick, cynical, bitter, but very keenly aware individual.

I mean I have just about no faith. I've been privy to some horrendous events and seen humanity at its lowest and most desperate. But this Alex I've never met, Louis, this Mystery Pastor, and 7 other people who don't even know each other and yet have agreed to go on this trip - they're the difference between a little faith and none. They go on my and Louis word that we'll take care of everything. They have faith, and they give me faith. And I can go to work tomorrow, as long as I have a little.

So off we go.

Update / Intermission

Okay, “A Chicago woman” is suing James Frey for falsifying his memoirs, (Chicago Trib 1-17-06) and I for one agree with her. If I could talk to Mr. Frey right now I would tell him this: “ I put my trust in you junkie, and you let me down. How could you do that junkie? I used to have faith in junkies, but now… (sniff) I don’t know if that’s possible anymore- (Sobs, runs away.)

In the interest of not getting sued, here is my true account of the trip: (Posting 1-31-06)

A Million Little Goldfish Crackers (my fake druggie memoir)

DT Alvarez

We were on the road for less than 3 hours and I was already out of Dilaudid. My Percodan stash was in the overnight bag which was in the back of the truck Chris was driving, or should I say swerving ahead of us. My constipation was not getting any better by sitting in a smelly rental van with only 2 inches of clearance to move around and fidget from the shakes.

Ahh, the shakes. I almost forgot what it felt like. It would be 2 more hours before we would reach a quality dealer in East St. Louis & I certainly didn’t think I could last that long before the vomiting started. I should have listened to Crystal Beth, my dealer in Uptown, when she offered me a discount if I unloaded some Special K with some frats just outside of Memphis. I told her I didn’t deal with Redneck Hippie junkies, Hippie Redneck junkies, or Junkie Hippie rednecks. She laughed & got a real kick out of that.

She’s probably laughing right now.

Chicago to New Orleans

Dec. 30, 2005 - "A day that will live in infamy." Ok, so that's a little overboard. But "boldly going where no one has gone before" is cliche too, although it's cool that Shatner killed his wife and is still chillin'. He and Juice both.

The jist is: on that day, 7 almost-total strangers met at Mark DeMato's house on the Southside of Chicago, where our cars could be safely parked for 9 days, and began a journey as unique as each of those men.

Louis and Chris were the "ringleaders" of this band of misfits, if you will. That is, we had already been to Mississippi in October and surveyed "what we'd do different next time," and each had the good fortune of friends they could count on to make the journey. Louis secured a very generous sponsor, the Foundation For Community Betterment, who financed the cost of our transportation, purchased building materials, and made our contacts with the Jackson County Baptists, who generously provided living quarters and 3 meals a day for us. With the rebuild survey, Chris was able to price and order the necessary materials, vehicles, and a brief "survey" (i.e. party) & lodging in New Orleans for New Year's Eve "on the way". (Everything is "on the way" when DeMato plans things). And so these 7 men gathered, the Southland awaiting.

Of course there HAD to be a wrench in the works early, and this included Home Depot in Evanston screwing up the materials request order previously faxed to them. We were told that the materials would be pulled and stacked ready to be pallet-loaded onto the big rig, but upon arrival in Evanston Louis, Chris, Daniel, and Mike learned that this was not so. Because it was not "paid in full" when faxed (we were awaiting a tax-exempt letter from the Foundation, and Home Depot swore that they would pull the materials anyway and that we could present the letter and pay while the goods were being loaded - LIARS), when we arrived NOTHING was pulled. This meant we had to call Alexandra at the Foundation, ask her to fax her OWN personal credit card info, and forward the order to Home Depot in Biloxi, Louisiana. We would drive overnight while they pulled the order. You have to understand that this was not pulling a few nails and boards off the shelf; we maxed the 13 ton weight limit of our truck with over $6,000 of materials, bought by the Foundation via the donations of our friends and family who replied to our earlier email petition. (You know who you are, and thank you!). 80 sheets of dry-wall, 40 rolls of insulation, 80 2 x 4's, 2 x 6's, plywood, roof felt, buckets of joint compound - the list goes on and on.

Several hours and several Home Depot beef sandwiches later, Louis' patience and DeMato's stubbornness paid off, and Mike Cain, Daniel Alvarez, DeMato, and Louis finally arrived at Mark DeMato's house to meet the remainder of our crew. Fortunately Mark had done what any guy does when you have a bunch of men in the house and nothing to do - he fed them. And there were subs left for us too.

You have to imagine the meeting of this group:
Dan Moses - teacher at Clemente H.S. in the wonderfully defunct system known as Chicago Public Schools, knew no one but Chris DeMato. That's gutsy, to take Chris' word that everyone else on the trip was "good people".
Mike Cain - lives in the same building as Louis, jack of all trades contractor by profession.
Daniel Alvarez - Louis and Chris met Daniel on the first trip with the Loyola co-eds, which was very cute but not quite as productive as we workaholics prefer. Daniel has mad photography skills and works in Loyola's Law School.
Louis Linsmeyer - met Chris at the Loyola School of Business in 2000, and the world hasn't been the same since. Martial artist, father of 4, community activist, and a myriad assortment of titles still don't sum him up.
Bradley Grams - EPA chemist, U of C grad, if Brad doesn't know how to do something, he researches how. And likely saves us time and money by doing so. Or fines us. Brad was Chris' "intern" at Hyde Park Academy years ago.
Ryan Gutz - met Brad volunteering at Gilda's Club, and thus met Chris through Brad. Computer guru, pilot, motorcyclist; (Chris gets all his friends on 2 wheels eventually - Louis and Ryan got their bikes and licenses last summer) Ryan does a little of everything. As does everyone with a "general studies" degree from Iowa.
Chris DeMato - high school teacher, and god only knows what else.
and last AND least, Michael Roberts, who flew in for about 2 days of work, mainly because his girlfriend wanted him to embarass himself in her presence on New Year's Eve and he needed to be at work on Friday, January 6th. We're including him in the Eclectic 8 because he's a good guy (and because Eclectic 7 doesn't sound right).

By 10 pm the 7 of us (not Michael, remember) had all our tools and bags loaded between the truck and van, our symbolic beads were donned, and we were off to Stage 1 of the operation: New Year's Eve in New Orleans. We were already behind schedule. (Approx.4 hrs)

The drive down was uneventful. Except for Chris veering off in St. Louis and insisting that we stop at the riverboat Casino to have a "date with the dice", which no one would agree to. So he settled for some pictures with the Arch. 1/2 the crew slept right through that little side-track.


Upon arrival at Home Depot in Biloxi, we again found that GUESS WHAT? Nothing was pulled! Some materials were slightly different than what we stock in the Midwest (shingle color, for example) and prices varied as well. Adjustments had to be determined as to what exchanges would be made. Also, with this large payload our truck could not take all 5 pallets of supplies without breaking an axle, so 2 would have to be picked up later. It was another Home Depot fiasco as Louis now negotiated exchanges, returns, and new purchases - this time with Mike and Alex's credit cards.

In all, our New Years Eve looked like this:


Fortunately, Mike found some golden arches nearby and despite missing breakfast by 15 minutes, wisely substituted cinnamon rolls and coffee/juice. (Mike has a slight addiction to coffee.) Realizing there was no need for everyone to sit and watch, Louis and Chris stayed behind and the others drove ahead to secure our rooms and relax for a bit in New Orleans.