I Can't Just Leave Him
I Can't Just Leave Him
Singing the Same Hymns
I stand across from where Mike is already seated and announce “Ta da! I’m back.” It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve gone to St. Ben’s, and I’ve been spending the evening catching up with the guys I know. Mike laughs, is glad to see me. I plop down across from him and ask, “What have you been up to lately? Seen any good music?”
“Well, that’s quite a story, let me tell you.” Mike’s eyes are perpetually lit up, and he’s always about to let you in on a little tip. If ever you see him backlit, his long hair glows like it’s on fire. He frequently strokes a bushy gray beard that falls to his chest.
Mike is really good at finding resources and taking advantage of them. In the past, he used this skill to survive as a homeless person on the street. Ever since he got into an apartment at St. Anthony’s, he’s been enjoying the free entertainment downtown, and taking the bus to the venues further out. During the playoffs, he watched the Bucks battle it out on the big screen outside Fiserv Forum. With beer. Wednesdays, he takes the bus to State Fair Park. And drinks beer. Thursdays, it’s Jazz in the Park at Cathedral Square, where there’s beer. “But Summerfest!” he says. “You’ll never believe this. I got in nine times – for free!”
“Mike, Summerfest only runs, what –ten days?”
“Exactly.” Eyes glittering, sage expression. This man knows how to get a deal.
Mike informs me, “This year general admission was $23. That’s a lot of money. You have to watch for the free deals. That’s how I do it. You know, you bring three cans of food, or you shop at Goodwill and get a coupon. There’s a senior day. Plus there were a few days where you just got in free for showing up early. And I got three free tickets by going to other events around the city. You have to get there by noon, or one, but who cares? What else have I got to do?”
“That makes for a long day,” I interject, knowing you have to wait until evening for the well-known bands. “Food is expensive.”
Mike nods. “It is, but I save up.” He smiles. “I figure if you’re saving $28, you can put that toward food – and beer!” He peers at me. “Don’t you go to Summerfest?”
I shake my head. “It’s too crowded for me. Too much noise. Plus, I don’t know any of the bands anymore.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter! Here’s what I do. I talk to the young people. They all know me down there. They say, ‘go see this band- you’ll like them,’ or ‘that band is good,’ and I check it out. They know what I like.”
We laugh. I’m sure the time passes quickly for him. Mike loves the people. Plus, he has no car, so he doesn’t have to pay $40 to park nearby. If he doesn't have bus fair, he walks from his apartment to the Summerfest grounds, about three and a half miles. With a sore leg and a cane.
Somehow he obtained a bleacher seat ticket for a show. I don't ask, but I know he sometimes "panhandles" for free tickets by standing outside a venue near the scalpers. And people give him tickets. This time, he got into a show called Outlaw Music. “You know, that’s Willy Nelson and Phil Lesh -the bassist from The Grateful Dead- and some other bands. That’s music from my time,” Mike says. He strokes his beard. Waits, eyes twinkling.
“Yes, from my time, too.”
“Well, let me tell you what happened. It was pouring rain that night, if you recall. Word got around that there was lightning, and that they were going to shut it all down. People started to leave in droves. I went over to a beer tent and huddled under there with a bunch of guys and guess what? Half price beer! How can you go wrong? We had a great time there, buying half priced beer and passing it around.”
I can just picture this. Mike is smart, witty and gregarious. He enjoys long conversations, and he likes his beer. I wonder what those guys kicking it with him would think if they knew his story, not that he hides it from anyone. He puts a face on the homeless community every chance he gets, speaking in public about his experiences, and about how wonderful life is for him now, thanks to Capuchin Community Services, who run both the St. Ben’s meal program and St. Anthony’s Apartments, where Mike lives.
“Well, after the rain let up, I headed back to the amphitheater.” Mike holds up his cane. “I can’t get up the stairs with this. They’ll give you a ride, but they can only go in so far on the carts. After that, there’s a long ramp up to the bleachers. I said to the guy, ‘I can’t get up to the bleachers’ and he told me, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s a free-for-all in there.’” Mike laughs. “Everyone was under the roof, way up in front, so I got myself into one of the $200 seats.”
“I’ve had some luck with that myself,” I remark. “Sometimes going places alone has its advantages. There’s always a single seat somewhere closer, and nobody minds if I snag it after intermission.”
He eyes me, strokes his beard. “So you’re one of those.”
“We all look for a deal.”
He resumes his story. “Now, I’m just gonna tell you this in a crude way. There were a lot of chicks there.” He pauses to take in my reaction. I don’t give him one. “I can’t tell if a chick is 18 or 35 if she keeps her figure, you know? On comes a band called the Avett Brothers. They seemed to be singing music similar to ‘Oh Brother, Where Art Thou.’ That’s real popular with the young people. The Avett Brothers. They started singing the same hymns we sang at the Rescue Mission.” He leans in. “Only we sang them better!”
I laugh.
He sings, “Just a closer walk with thee. You know that one?” After I nod he sings “Will the circle be unbroken by and by Lord, by and by. How about that one?”
“Yes, I know that one, too.”
“Willy Nelson sang the same hymns we sang at the Mission, too. You know this one? I’ll fly away, oh Glory, I’ll fly away. We always sounded pretty good on that one.”
“That’s my favorite.” I sing a few lines with Mike. Then I slap the table. “You should get together a group from the Rescue Mission and book a stage at Summerfest. If anyone could do it, it would be you, Mike.”
He studies me like he’s seriously considering this. The PR wheels in his head might be churning up a new idea. You never know.
He shakes his head. “The Avett Brothers. Their harmonies were off, and their delivery – it just wasn’t right. But there were the chicks, shaking their booties like it was the greatest. Hundreds of girls dancing to hymns.” He lets out his booming laugh.
“Maybe they didn’t understand the lyrics,” I say. “You set a hymn to a lively country or bluegrass tune, and you can dance to it,”
He sings again, “Jesus keep me from all wrong. Really? Dancing with Jesus in there?”
I want to say that Jesus probably would enjoy dancing at Summerfest if he came back today, but before I can get the words out, Mike roars with laughter. “Now there’s a story for you, Jonnie. Write about that! Write about all the women shaking their booties to hymns.”
“Well, that’s quite a story, let me tell you.” Mike’s eyes are perpetually lit up, and he’s always about to let you in on a little tip. If ever you see him backlit, his long hair glows like it’s on fire. He frequently strokes a bushy gray beard that falls to his chest.
Mike is really good at finding resources and taking advantage of them. In the past, he used this skill to survive as a homeless person on the street. Ever since he got into an apartment at St. Anthony’s, he’s been enjoying the free entertainment downtown, and taking the bus to the venues further out. During the playoffs, he watched the Bucks battle it out on the big screen outside Fiserv Forum. With beer. Wednesdays, he takes the bus to State Fair Park. And drinks beer. Thursdays, it’s Jazz in the Park at Cathedral Square, where there’s beer. “But Summerfest!” he says. “You’ll never believe this. I got in nine times – for free!”
“Mike, Summerfest only runs, what –ten days?”
“Exactly.” Eyes glittering, sage expression. This man knows how to get a deal.
Mike informs me, “This year general admission was $23. That’s a lot of money. You have to watch for the free deals. That’s how I do it. You know, you bring three cans of food, or you shop at Goodwill and get a coupon. There’s a senior day. Plus there were a few days where you just got in free for showing up early. And I got three free tickets by going to other events around the city. You have to get there by noon, or one, but who cares? What else have I got to do?”
“That makes for a long day,” I interject, knowing you have to wait until evening for the well-known bands. “Food is expensive.”
Mike nods. “It is, but I save up.” He smiles. “I figure if you’re saving $28, you can put that toward food – and beer!” He peers at me. “Don’t you go to Summerfest?”
I shake my head. “It’s too crowded for me. Too much noise. Plus, I don’t know any of the bands anymore.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter! Here’s what I do. I talk to the young people. They all know me down there. They say, ‘go see this band- you’ll like them,’ or ‘that band is good,’ and I check it out. They know what I like.”
We laugh. I’m sure the time passes quickly for him. Mike loves the people. Plus, he has no car, so he doesn’t have to pay $40 to park nearby. If he doesn't have bus fair, he walks from his apartment to the Summerfest grounds, about three and a half miles. With a sore leg and a cane.
Somehow he obtained a bleacher seat ticket for a show. I don't ask, but I know he sometimes "panhandles" for free tickets by standing outside a venue near the scalpers. And people give him tickets. This time, he got into a show called Outlaw Music. “You know, that’s Willy Nelson and Phil Lesh -the bassist from The Grateful Dead- and some other bands. That’s music from my time,” Mike says. He strokes his beard. Waits, eyes twinkling.
“Yes, from my time, too.”
“Well, let me tell you what happened. It was pouring rain that night, if you recall. Word got around that there was lightning, and that they were going to shut it all down. People started to leave in droves. I went over to a beer tent and huddled under there with a bunch of guys and guess what? Half price beer! How can you go wrong? We had a great time there, buying half priced beer and passing it around.”
I can just picture this. Mike is smart, witty and gregarious. He enjoys long conversations, and he likes his beer. I wonder what those guys kicking it with him would think if they knew his story, not that he hides it from anyone. He puts a face on the homeless community every chance he gets, speaking in public about his experiences, and about how wonderful life is for him now, thanks to Capuchin Community Services, who run both the St. Ben’s meal program and St. Anthony’s Apartments, where Mike lives.
“Well, after the rain let up, I headed back to the amphitheater.” Mike holds up his cane. “I can’t get up the stairs with this. They’ll give you a ride, but they can only go in so far on the carts. After that, there’s a long ramp up to the bleachers. I said to the guy, ‘I can’t get up to the bleachers’ and he told me, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s a free-for-all in there.’” Mike laughs. “Everyone was under the roof, way up in front, so I got myself into one of the $200 seats.”
“I’ve had some luck with that myself,” I remark. “Sometimes going places alone has its advantages. There’s always a single seat somewhere closer, and nobody minds if I snag it after intermission.”
He eyes me, strokes his beard. “So you’re one of those.”
“We all look for a deal.”
He resumes his story. “Now, I’m just gonna tell you this in a crude way. There were a lot of chicks there.” He pauses to take in my reaction. I don’t give him one. “I can’t tell if a chick is 18 or 35 if she keeps her figure, you know? On comes a band called the Avett Brothers. They seemed to be singing music similar to ‘Oh Brother, Where Art Thou.’ That’s real popular with the young people. The Avett Brothers. They started singing the same hymns we sang at the Rescue Mission.” He leans in. “Only we sang them better!”
I laugh.
He sings, “Just a closer walk with thee. You know that one?” After I nod he sings “Will the circle be unbroken by and by Lord, by and by. How about that one?”
“Yes, I know that one, too.”
“Willy Nelson sang the same hymns we sang at the Mission, too. You know this one? I’ll fly away, oh Glory, I’ll fly away. We always sounded pretty good on that one.”
“That’s my favorite.” I sing a few lines with Mike. Then I slap the table. “You should get together a group from the Rescue Mission and book a stage at Summerfest. If anyone could do it, it would be you, Mike.”
He studies me like he’s seriously considering this. The PR wheels in his head might be churning up a new idea. You never know.
He shakes his head. “The Avett Brothers. Their harmonies were off, and their delivery – it just wasn’t right. But there were the chicks, shaking their booties like it was the greatest. Hundreds of girls dancing to hymns.” He lets out his booming laugh.
“Maybe they didn’t understand the lyrics,” I say. “You set a hymn to a lively country or bluegrass tune, and you can dance to it,”
He sings again, “Jesus keep me from all wrong. Really? Dancing with Jesus in there?”
I want to say that Jesus probably would enjoy dancing at Summerfest if he came back today, but before I can get the words out, Mike roars with laughter. “Now there’s a story for you, Jonnie. Write about that! Write about all the women shaking their booties to hymns.”
