You wouldn’t want to have known Jim. At least not the adult Jim. Jim was big and Jim was scary. He was also a very dirty person. For a time Jim lived in the small section of woods at the intersection of Randolph Road and Rockville Pike. Hard to believe that someone would actually make that small plot of land in the middle of a major shopping corridor his home but he did. It reckon it made panhandling easier. The cops new where Jim lived, of course they didn’t refer to him as Jim, they knew him as Sasquatch or Big Foot.
This isn’t the way that I first met Jim.
Back in the 60′s my Mom found out that she had a second cousin (I think) who lived in Rockville. They got together, hit it off and the rest was as they say history. Our family made a bi-annual pilgrimage (can you refer to a 5 mile drive as a pilgrimage?) to the their small duplex house. I remember as a kid always thinking that the idea of a duplex was a bit odd but neat at the same time. So every summer on July 4, we’d drive over to their home, where Jim’s folks would throw a huge all day party. There was lots of food being grilled, plenty of cold beers for the adults. Now Jim was the oldest of the kids. He had to be a good 8 years older than me. In thinking back I can recall thinking how neat it was if Jim would actually sit down and talk to me for all of 5 minutes. Jim was a big kid, a teenager, and I knew from the friends that he’d have over that he was seen as a cool guy by his peers. That he would include me for even a minute was a very big deal. As the sun set we would walk the 3 blocks over to Richard Montgomery High School to ooh and aah over the fireworks. The other time that we traditionally went over was for Christmas. Jim’s Dad was a self taught pianist who loved playing ragtime and did a passable job playing the traditional Christmas tunes. We’d all be down in their tiny basement, standing around the old upright that was missing the ivory off half of the keys, belting out Jingle Bells. Looking back certainly brings fond memories of what seem like simpler more idealistic times.
I’m sure based on my opening paragraph you’re wondering what Jim was like. I just eluded to the fact that I always saw Jim as a ‘cool’ teenager. I always remember him as being very clean cut, and he seemingly had his life pretty much together, so how did he wind up on the street. There were a number of circumstances that lead to Jim’s situation. After high school he worked in construction. I recall my Mom saying that he took a bad fall and wound up hurting his back. This apparently lead to the use of pain killers. The next thing I remember hearing was that Jim decided to hitch hike around the US. This was the late 60′s and ‘finding’ one’s self was in full vogue. Jim was never quite the same after he came back from that cross country jaunt. Maybe it was too much drugs, but I think more so it was that he hit an age when his brain decided to short circuit. I’m not 100% sure what all of Jim’s problems were. What I do know is that Jim wasn’t the nice young guy he was when he had left home. He was violent to the point that the courts had to bar him from coming near his parents home. I know that he was on medication for his behavioral issues and that when he took them he could be quite normal. Sometimes he’d even be able to settle into a half way house type of living arrangement. His Mom would meet him at a local diner and make sure that he had his prescriptions filled and that he got his welfare check, but just as often he’d stop taking his medicine and go back to living on the streets. I know that everyone was devastated to hear about Jim. But none more so than his mother. For the next 30 years of his life she was the one constant that he could count on, even after he tried to kill her.
I vividly recall the last time I saw Jim. It was almost 13 years ago. I was driving home from work one evening and saw him standing on the median strip of Rockville Pike. For some reason I felt driven to approach him. I have to admit, from all the stories that I had heard about him, I was more than a little scared. But I was curious if he would be able to remember me from those years gone by. Sad to say, he really couldn’t. He recalled my Mom and had a vague recollection of the summers from so long ago, but what he really wanted was the fancy pen in my shirt pocket. I gave him the pen, along with the last five dollars in my wallet, and then I drove home to my warm room, hot dinner and color TV.
So why do I bring Jim up? Maybe it’s just my maudlin remembrances of a ruined life. Maybe because I can remember how close I came to edge of my own sanity. How, once in a fit of depression, I not only stared over the edge of sanity, but recognized the divide as a mentally physical wall that could be crossed. I recall it beckoning with its siren song, offering up to me loving arms and a warm embrace. But there was a sickening sweetness about it and like death, I knew that once across that edge there would be no return. I guess it’s with that in mind that I remember Jim and know how close I was to experiencing his life as my own. I know in my heart that even back then God was already calling me to Himself, long before I recognized him as my Sovereign King.
Sorry to be a ‘downer’ with this post. It wasn’t my actual intent, though it surely went down that path. I guess I could have taken this story any number of directions. I’m sure that in some way we all know someone like Jim. Maybe it’s just someone who stands outside of societies excepted norm. I could have entreated you to reach out in Christian kindness and mercy to these lost souls. Or, I could have come at this from another direction and in remembering Jim’s mother, asked you to consider parents who are in similar situations and who could really use our support. I could have taken an easy shot and pointed out that tomorrow is Thanksgiving and how RIGHT it would be to assist in a local soup-kitchen.
Instead I’m simply being selfish and in remembering Jim I’m thanking God for his countless mercies on me, a most unworthy sinner.
May you know the peace and mercy that comes from my Master and may you give Him all the thanks, not just tomorrow but for all eternity.
Rong
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