Ever since Brantley Hargrove penned the wildly inaccurate, lie-filled smear on Tent City The Scene ran last year, my respect for this particular media outlet has been in the toilet.
They've exonerated themselves somewhat by allowing Lyda's very nice piece to memorialize the folks who've died on the street in 2009, although I'm disappointed that they were unable to find a birth date on Elringo De'Angelino; the info was easy to find.
I knew several of the people on this list, and of those I knew, several more I knew well enough to consider them as friends. William "Ox" Drescher's death was particularly hard to cope with, as was Elringo's, Gary Boleyjack, and Fred Marques.
A note about the poem: Michelle called me the evening of the funeral and was apologetic about not being able to attend the event. I mean, she was very disappointed and saddened that she wasn't there and I could tell she felt terrible about missing Velvet's funeral.
A couple of days later my friend and colleague Denis Huey showed up in my office with a picture of Velvet on the face of a folded hunk of copy paper. "From Michelle," he said as he tossed it onto my desk.
I didn't read it right away; frankly I wasn't even aware there was something else inside the paper until I picked it up some time later to pin it to my wall.
When I read the poem, it left me stunned and so far beyond impressed I can't find the words to provide it a fitting description. I had no idea Michelle could write such beautiful prose so that was a shocker, since she's such an analytical numbers/data guru who taught me all I needed to know about HMIS and then some. While I knew missing the funeral had bothered her, when I read this I knew right away why she was engaged in the kind of work she was currently doing.
The poem is absolutely heart-wrenching and hangs on the wall of my office.
Homeless Deaths
Lyda Phillips
On Dec. 12, with the temperature hovering around freezing, about 75 people gathered at Riverfront Park for a memorial service sponsored by the Homeless Power Project. Its purpose was to remember the more than two dozen homeless men and women who had died so far in 2009. Almost three weeks of the year's coldest weather still lay ahead.
Homeless and not-homeless were bundled in heavy parkas, clutching coffee and discussing the list.
What comments there were ranged from "I didn't know he died, man" to "It's freezing out here!" and "Wipe your nose, dog."
"We are here to honor those who were never honored in their lives," Charles Strobel, founding director of The Room in the Inn, said standing on the icy concrete in the shadows of the city's higher priorities, the new Pinnacle skyscraper and the Titans' LP Stadium across the river.
As each name was read, a flower and black armband were passed out to mourners—some homeless, some not—who marched down the steps to the icy Cumberland. As "Amazing Grace" was sung, each one tossed the flower into the swift brown water, which swirled it away.
Gary Boleyjack, late 40s, and Roderick Hyde were friends who had gone through school together at Bailey Elementary, Meigs Middle School and East High. Boleyjack died of pneumonia. "Wonderful man, really low-key, who endured his homelessness in stoic silence and late in his life had begun to make some progress in extricating himself from his situation," said Steve Samra of Operation Stand Down.
Gwen Bedford died Oct. 11 while sleeping outside under a railroad trestle on Eighth Avenue on an unusually cold night. "Everyone who knew her loved her," Strobel wrote in the Room in the Inn Fall 2009 newsletter.
William Brooks Drescher, about 40, known as Ox for his great size and low, melodious voice, died in his sleep of a heart attack shortly after moving into permanent subsidized housing and beginning to reintegrate with his family.
Edward Matthews, 46, was fatally shot in the head Nov. 3 in the park at Fifth and Church across from the main library. No one has been arrested, although police have tentatively linked it to a similar attack on another homeless man earlier in the year.
Kevin Goins, 44, wrapped in his blankets near Tent City, rolled into his fire Dec. 9. He died of smoke inhalation and severe burns.
Marion Hollingshed, 47, originally from Memphis, was found dead Dec. 13 inside an abandoned and previously burned house at 87 Donelson St. in Hermitage. He had a head wound but police have not determined whether that was the cause of death.
Linda Harris, known as Strawberry, died when she stepped in front of a car and was struck and killed.
Stephen Keith Sterna, 43, was found dead Jan. 20 on Eighth Avenue under I-40.
William Hill, 50, was struck and killed by a car April 27 on West End Avenue. Ronald Hall was also injured but survived. Hill is remembered as "quiet and private," by the staff at the Room in the Inn.
Thomas Watkins had a heart attack while at Room in the Inn and died. Paramedics were called but could not save him.
Doug Goodman, who died in his 70s, was an "elder statesman" at Room in The Inn.
Donny Smith was found dead in Riverside Park in November.
Dan McDermott died of cancer.
Others who died on Nashville's streets in 2009, as remembered by the staff of Room in the Inn:
Eugene Johnson "had a great sense of humor."
Walker Roach had a "sly sense of humor."
Fred Marques was "a very, very friendly soul."
Farris Vaughn "wouldn't seek you out, out of his respect, never wanting to trouble you."
Ronald Hendrick is remembered as "childlike with a ready smile."
Lester Yates was often a Room in the Inn participant and frequently used the Campus day services.
About others on the Homeless Power Project list, almost nothing is known:
Kevin Dowin
Viola
Unidentified Victims
Sources: Homeless Housing Project, Staff of A Room in the Inn, Walter Kelley (homeless), Will Connolly from The Key Alliance, The Nashville City Paper, Metropolitan Nashville Police Department, Steve Samra of Operation Stand Down.
Elringo "Velvet Thunder" De'Angelino
Birthdate unknownFamed Second Avenue street performer, homeless Nashvillian
by Michelle Taylor Wilson
(Note: The following poem, titled "I Never Saw Him," was read at a memorial service commemorating the many homeless people who died over the past year in Nashville, whether from hard living, exposure to the elements, or murder. It was written to honor the renowned street musician known as Velvet Thunder, age estimated in his 70s, who had become an emblem of the city's tourist district. The author works as system administrator for the Metropolitan Nashville Homelessness Commission.)
I never saw him, a man dispossessed.
I let pass his melodious genius as eccentricity.
I never saw him, revealing his heart's passion
yet exposed to contempt and ridicule.
Others, like me, never saw him.
Disrespecting, neglecting, ignorant of God's blessing,
I never saw him.
Now he is gone, a worthy reflection of absolute love.
The blindness of my heart redeemed, I see him now.
His perfect aspiration achieved, engendering my deep regret and sorrow.
I see him now, a paradigm of all those dispossessed.
Their common humanity willing to impart, I see them now.
The messenger of Second Avenue eternally absent,
his chosen stage stands empty.
A lonely silence moves along the path,
the setting of his many chance encounters.
Velvet memories of a smooth, soft, aural sensation
evoking a quiet sadness that thunders in friends' hearts, I see Him now.
I see Him now, finding myself anew in Testament,
emulating the Son of Man in the fullness of Love.
I see Him now and in my soul discover,
"For where your treasure is, there also will be your heart."
