His Name was Carl

 

HIS NAME WAS CARL

 

“Although Adam was a friend of mine

I did not know him well.

He was far into his distance.

He was deep into his well.”

”A Song for Adam”

Jackson Browne

 

His name was Carl, and he froze to death last Wednesday night on the streets of Alexandria.

 

I didn’t even know Carl’s last name.

 

He was simply CarI. I met him when he started sitting on the sidewalk at the corner of DeSoto and 4th.

 

“So, your name is Carl?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Carl? I promise I won’t forget your name.”

 

I joked with him about how often I’ve been called “Carl” throughout my life.

 

He smiled.

 

In spite of his dire situation, he had a nice and easy smile.

 

 I also noticed his deep, dark eyes.

 

I wondered what he was thinking.

 

What he’d seen.

 

“It’s nice meeting you, Carl.”

 

I once read how “the sound of your own name is the sweetest sound in the world.”  I wondered how many people even knew Carl’s name. 

 

How few times he’d heard his name spoken aloud over his decades on the streets?

I’d never seen Carl at Church on the Levee.

 

Several months ago, Carl spent several weeks sitting on the sidewalk at the corner of 4th and DeSoto Street.

 

On my way to my writing office, I’d greet him, “Good morning, Carl. How was your night?”

 

“It was good.”

 

We both knew he was lying.

 

I had some food items in my truck, and he gladly took a bag. He thanked me profusely as he hungrily dug into the food.

 

Most mornings, I’d buy him a cup of coffee.

 

“A cup of dark roast, black. Please.”

 

A hot cup of black coffee for a black man.

 

Another human just as valuable in God’s eyes as anyone walking this planet.

During the weeks he spent at the corner of DeSoto and 4th, he never asked for money.

He usually refused my invitation to come inside the shop.

 

Occasionally, I coaxed him into the coffee shop. The few times he sat at a table, he nervously glanced around the room, clearly uncomfortable.

 

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take my coffee with me.”

 

I nodded. As he disappeared, I thought,

 

 There goes a man of the streets.

 

There is one enduring memory I’ll have of Carl.

 

One day, as I handed him a cup, I reached out with my right hand.

 

He had a strong handshake. It was what we call ‘A Man-Shake.”

 

Before walking away, I asked, “Carl, when’s the last time another human touched you?”

 

He sat silently. Tears welled up in his eyes.

 

“Weeks. Maybe months.”

 

It broke my heart. I promised to give him a good Pineywoods handshake anytime when we met. 

 

Once more, I was reminded there’s magic, power, and healing in the human touch.

 

Soon after that, Carl disappeared from his sidewalk perch. I never saw him again, which is common with the transient homeless. 

 

I surmised he’d found a better place somewhere.

 

I certainly hoped so. 

 

Carl faded from my mind.

 

Until I picked up my copy of The Town Talk. The bold headline read,

 

“Alexandria unhoused man dies on the streets.”

 

Unhoused.

 

I’ve never been comfortable with that term, unhoused.

 

It seems a sanitized way to say a person is homeless and living on the streets.

 

Carl was the man who froze to death on this dangerous, cold night.

 

 For some reason, I wasn’t surprised it was Carl.

 

He was a man of the streets.

 

Much speculation has swirled about if there was a place where Carl could’ve been warm.

 

I’ll keep it simple: Carl could’ve found places to stay warm, but he chose not to.

 

He was a man of the streets.

 

And that’s how he died. 

 

A man of the streets.

 

Due to Carl’s death, our community has rallied to ensure warm places and food for everyone during this weekend’s coming Arctic front.

 

Maybe that will be Carl’s legacy. He caught the attention of a city to care for its overlooked  “least of these.”

 

Carl.

 

He was a man of the streets.

 

I’ve written extensively on the homeless situation. You can read more at our Creekbank blog.

  

 

I could write an entire book about the plight of the homeless. Who knows, I may write one day.

 

I’ll finish with a few comments.

 

 I simply know God has called me to be among the homeless. I sure didn’t volunteer for it, but God put these words, “Unto the least of these …” into my heart.

 

Let me sum it up: working with the Alexandria downtown* homeless is the most complicated, confusing, rewarding, humbling, frustrating, rewarding ministry I’ve been involved in.

 

My Dry Creek friends skeptically ask about my involvement with the homeless. Most ask the question, “Why are they homeless?”   

 

The list is endless: drug addiction, mental illness, loss of job, family estrangement.  Amazingly, a few admit to their preference to live on the street. One told me, “No bills. No responsibilities. No job.”

 

Go figure.

 

Come see for yourself in downtown Alexandria. Each Tuesday at 5, we have a small homeless Bible study on the sidewalk in front of Tamp and Grind Coffee.

 

Church of the Levee meets each Sunday at about 1 p.m. After the worship service, a hot meal is served. Often, nearly one hundred attend (with at least six dogs in tow).

 

*Don’t confuse the truly homeless with the sorry scam artists who often beg at busy street corners.  These grifters prey on the heartstrings of passersby.

 

I use the Eye Test on those corner charlatans. If they don’t have a large backpack or duffel nearby, they’re not really homeless. A truly homeless person never lets his pack out of sight.

 

Secondly, I eye how they’re dressed. If they are not wearing layers of old sweatshirts and faded jeans, they’re probably not homeless and making a decent living at their street corner office.

 

Working with the homeless may not be your cup of tea, but if we slow down and look, the least of these are everywhere.

 

Jesus said, “Go after them.”

 

Get going!