"Kat," I said. "Good to meet you." I met her outstretched hand with mine.
We were two of the four women in line, waiting to enter Mitch's Place. With us in line were about 20 men. I imagined that there was a large men's dorm and a small women's dorm. I was pretty sure that I wouldn't displace anyone who really needed a bed, since there were so few women waiting. At 5pm the door opened and the line started moving, as one person at a time was admitted. After a dozen or so people had entered, it was my turn.
Gary opened the door for me, and extended a latex-gloved hand. "Hi, what's your name?", he asked.
"Kat," I replied. I didn't bother to hide my authentic nervousness in this unfamiliar experience. This was the first time I'd stayed in a homeless shelter.
"Do you have a reservation?", Gary inquired.
"No."
"It's just like Motel 6. I need to let the other people in first." I stepped to the side.
"You'll need to go to the end of the line. Sorry. It's just protocol."
I walked back outside, past another 10 people still waiting in line, soon to be joined by a man who also didn't have a reservation.
"Don't worry, Kat. It's just protocol," comforted Sue.
My mind harkened back to worship at common cathedral earlier in the day, when Fr. Brian led Liturgy of the Word for the first time. He went off script and called John forward to read the Gospel too early. John grumbled, "Don't we have any protocol here? What about the Serenity Prayer and the 23rd Psalm?"
A man & woman strolled up together, but quickly kissed goodbye. The man knocked on the door, and the woman kept walking. Before she'd gone far, she turned with a jerk and, digging in her backpack she yelled, "Oh! I have to give my boyfriend the charger for his ankle bracelet!" Good catch!
A handful of other regulars arrived to claim their beds, but eventually I was again summoned inside. A pregnant woman wanted to see my ID, while Gary searched my bag.
"Do you have anything to declare?"
"Like what?"
"Knives, guns, needles, drugs, alcohol?"
"No." I had hidden my pocket knife in the bottom of my bag.
"Prescription drugs?"
"Yes."
"But they're in their original bottles, right?"
"No. They're in a plastic baggie."
As he opened my backpack, there on top was another baggie full of... baby carrots. I knew that my bag might be searched, so along with the pocket knife, I had also hidden my clergy collar and keys, so as not to blow my cover. Homeless people don't generally have keys, and certainly not in the quantity that I do. But I hadn't thought about food.
"We don't allow food or drinks in here."
"Can I just leave them in my bag?" I wondered why he wasn't concerned with my water bottle, to at least smell the contents. I know many people who drink vodka from all kinds of bottles.
"Just so you know, I'm going to let it go, but another night they may not let you in here with these, or the medicine. Keep your bag with you, grab a tray of dinner, then Janelle will do an intake interview with you. Now stand on this line here." I spread my arms wide in front of everyone in the room as they dined, while Gary waved the metal-detecting wand over me. Then he informed me,
"We have a rule about wearing hats inside." I removed my Australian trekking hat, and stuffed it under my arm.
As I approached a table with my tray, Rashid "Rocky" jumped up to allow me to sit.
"Gracias", I said.
"De nada. Hey, you speak Spanish?"
"Un poco," I replied, smiling. My brain must have thought I was in an albergue on El Camino in Spain.
After dinner, Rashid taught me a new card game; a variation of Solitaire that he invented. He was impressed that I learned so quickly. He was a good teacher.
Now it was time for me to sit in the office while Janelle asked me 10 pages of questions. The office was like a glass fishbowl overlooking the large co-ed dorm. Only a locked half-door separated it from the hallway. During my interview, a man started yelling,
"Someone f...ing stole something out of my bag!" He slammed something loudly in the dining area.
Janelle strolled over to the half door and asked him,
"What happened?"
"Someone f...ing stole something out of my bag!", he yelled again in her direction.
With that, Janelle yelled to Gary,
"You better call the police because he just yelled in my face. He's out of here!"
The police responded quickly to Gary's call and took the man away. Not long afterward, while I was still being interviewed, another man complained, not quite so loudly,
"Someone stole my f...ing wallet!" No one seemed to pay much attention to him, but the staff muttered to each other that no one was even in the dorm at the time.
I tried to be truthful with my answers, except for my level of education, and the fact that I am currently employed...as an Episcopal Priest, directing a homeless ministry in Boston. I said that I had waitressed, worked at a gas station and fast food joints. I left out Elementary School Teacher and Non-profit Administrator.
"No, no retail."
Once I told her that I would only be there one night on my way north (out of state), I think she breathed a sigh of relief, as she was already wracking her brain to figure out how to plug me into their social services. After that, the interview went much more quickly. I must now be entered in the Massachusetts homeless database. I should have just said I didn't have an ID and made stuff up. After having my picture taken (like a booking photo, I think), I was handed a wrinkled pillow case containing a wrinkled set of sheets, and directed to bunk number 8, on the top. I was also given my choice of a long blanket that's warm, but scratchy, or a softer one that's not very long. Wow, finally a choice, but not a very pleasing one. I made my bunk and checked that my few valuables were in my pockets. Before heading off to brush my teeth, I asked the woman in a neighboring bunk if she would mind my plugging my phone in above her head. She told me that charging phones is against the rules. Sometimes people do it secretly, but she didn't want me to get written up on my first night. I thanked her for the tip, and quickly texted Ellen so she'd know where I was, since I was sure my phone would be dead soon.
In the dining hall, two guys were playing Cribbage, and a few others were watching a movie that wouldn't have much dialogue if it were edited for a family audience. I played some Solitaire, perused the bookshelf, read an old People magazine, then headed for bed. It was not quite 8pm. Throughout the evening, I was aware of chatter, and it must have been past lights out at 9pm, because then I'd hear Janelle's voice over the others, "Go to sleep!," as if she was talking to children at a sleepover. Later, however, when all had been quiet for a while, I awoke to a loud male voice, then noticed the flashing red lights outside. Someone had fallen out of bed, but had not been awakened by the impact.
"Thanks for waking me up," he said to the EMTs, "but I don't want to go to the hospital."
Time for earplugs. This is going to take a while.
In the bathroom the next morning, Ariel tried to be helpful as I headed for the small stall with my backpack on: "Use the big one... it's bigger."
"Thanks," I said.
Remembering the consideration of pilgrims on the Camino, I hadn't arranged my gear in the dorm, but simply grabbed it and exited as quietly as possible. I entered the dark dining hall, and sat down on a bench to put my shoes on. Janelle had said there would be bagels available in the morning, and I saw them sitting there ready to go. Before I could finish the first shoe, a man was standing in the doorway saying,
"It's closed. That's why the lights are out." He could have just as easily added, "...Stupid." It would have fit his tone.
"Can I finish putting on my shoes?"
"OK", he sighed.
At that point, I didn't want their bagels anyway. I exited through a different door than I had entered - the one the police used the night before - as I figured that was the protocol.
The golden arches were like a beacon in the dark morning sky, as a bank sign declared that it was 5:57am and 48 degrees. I was happy to be received at McDonald's in a friendly manner, to purchase breakfast and get a free cup of coffee, as well as to charge my phone. If one has just a few dollars, anyone can receive friendly hospitality.
This is the week of my father's birthday. He would be 76 on Thursday, had he not died 7 years ago. The McAdams family immigrated from Londonderry, Ireland in the early 18th century, and settled in southern NH. Perhaps they had something to do with naming the towns. Anyway, it seemed like a good time and place for me to take a few days retreat in the form of pilgrimage. On this date a year ago, Uncle Wendell and I were nearly finished with our walk across Spain, all 437 miles of it. When I set out for my first of three 12-mile days on this trip, I would remember that, while I had maintained overall fitness with cycling, I hadn't walked even half that far since the Camino. Fortunately, thanks to my Spanish shoes, my feet held up very well.
I wished there might have been monasteries or retreat centers to stay in, but I was willing to make due with what I could find. The first night in Haverhill MA, that was Mitch's Place. The next might, in Windham NH, it was the Manor Motel & Mini-storage. This was where I got a close-up glimpse of family homelessness, as I witnessed school buses dropping off many children in the driveway. There was an assortment of bikes and toys parked outside each unit. It was clear that I was one of the few guests paying by the night.
Before retiring, I got a text from Uncle Wendell that he and Eva were safely back in the states from their jaunt to Ireland. I responded by telling him about my pilgrimage, and asking if he remembered where the Samuel McAdams house was in Windham. He said he didn't, but in the morning, he'd look at an aerial view of the town, and see if he could figure it out.
I woke up in the middle of the night, aware that I had become a meal for some sort of insect. Exhausted, I got up and sprayed myself with insect repellant, but it was too late. My chin, neck, ear, hand, arm, and hip were all swollen with bites. I had managed to avoid bed bugs on the entire Camino (while some weren't so lucky) and in the homeless shelter the night before, but not at the Manor Motel. Perhaps I should have stayed in a storage locker instead of a room. The owner gave me Benadryl, but she didn't offer to refund my money.
I tried to put the bites out of my mind, and was off to discover my heritage. I decided to start at the library, since if they couldn't help me, I was sure they'd direct me to a historical society or museum of some sort. I entered the library and asked the lady at the desk if she knew how I could find a house that was built in 1741.
She asked, "Is it the McAdams house?"
"Wow," I thought, "These librarians are really hot shots. She's up on her history!"
"We just had a call about that from someone in Austin, Texas. As a matter of fact, I think she's talking to him right now," she said, pointing in the direction of another woman at another desk across the room.
I walked over and said to her, "I think you're talking to my Uncle Wendell." Great minds think alike!
She had a book of historic homes open to the correct page, and was trying to locate it on a tax map on her computer. Great detective work! She just happened to know where it was in town and even who the current owners are: two women, one of whom just won the primary to become a state representative. Soon I was off on my quest, with an address for my destination: 19 Cobbett's Pond Road.
On the way to the house, I passed a cemetery, and perused the rows for relatives. No McAdams there, though the stones may have long ago become broken and subsumed by the earth, as I saw was in the process of happening to others.
+19+Cobbett%27s+Pond+Rd,+Windham,+NH.jpg) |
| Samuel McAdams house (1741) |
Not much farther, and I was there, standing in front of the house that my ancestor had built 8 generations prior. It was in fantastic shape! And there was a car in the driveway. I thought, "WWDD?" Well, Derel would knock on the door, of course. So I did, and rang the bell, too, but there was no answer. I left my card and asked them to call, but it's now Wednesday, and I haven't heard from them, so maybe I never will.
Having accomplished the one concrete task that I had hoped to on my pilgrimage, besides reaching the bus depot to get home, I was left feeling a bit empty. So I just kept strolling through the countryside, hoping to soak up some vibes from my forefathers, and some sense of what their lives were like. The whole area has become very modernized and suburbified, so that was a little difficult, especially since I was walking mostly on busy roads and had to keep my head in the game.
I reached the Robert Frost Motor Inn in the late afternoon, but no one was in the office. I called the number on the door, and the man said that he had to go check on a job for his landscaping business and would return in an hour. I told him I didn't have any other options (there was no way I was going back to the Manor Motel, and the Sleep Inn was another 6 miles up the road), so I would just wait for him. It was two hours before he arrived. It was good to have some downtime; that's what retreat is about - emptiness and silence and openness to whatever might come - but I would have preferred a shower first.
While I was waiting, I got a call from Paul. He told me that all the Manna pilgrims had reached Emery House, and were now in the care of the SSJE brothers. I was so pleased that he thought to call me, and thrilled that the brothers were taking good care of them...and a little jealous. I would continue waiting for my room. I made my plans for the next day: a stroll around Londonderry, then up to exit 5 to catch the bus to Boston.
I never realized before that Robert Frost and I diverged from the same yellow wood. Perhaps that's why I often take the road less traveled by. It does make all the difference! After a restful night, I went a few steps out of my way to see his house. I was glad it was not on a snowy evening, when I stopped by. And now I must not tarry here, as I've got promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.
But seriously, the librarian here in Londonderry is not as kind and helpful as the one in Windham. She wants me off the computer, even though there's no one waiting, and there are lots of open stations. I'm sure she's just following protocol.
