Reforming the Feminine ContentGOODBYE, JACK
Many years ago, I began noticing the frequency by which I passed a little blue Maverick tooling around Shoreline. Always around the Aurora - Fred Meyer area. Behind the wheel was an aging little man, looking somewhat determined as he drove. Despite what could easily be tagged a scowl, it never quite registered that way. I liked him.
My children turn into teens and go to Shorewood High. Understanding my intrigue for this little man, they report a steady stream of siting him.
“I saw your friend at Fred Meyer today, mom.”
“Hey! Guess who I passed today! That dude in the junky car you like so much.”
“Everyone says he lives in his car. We pass him at lunch every day in the parking lot across from Fred Meyer.”
They know this news brings me happiness. I purposefully drive by his “home”, (the Shucks Parking lot) on every trip out of Shoreline. He is either in his car, bumbling over towards Fred Meyer, or under his hood. He’s interesting. Unconventional. Out of the box. Intriguing. For a quirky writer who shuns the party line that all-too-few recognize in anything from Christianity to secular society, I am drawn to him. I start to pray for my mysterious ghost-friend every time I pass him.
My son gets a job at Jack-In-The-Box. Comes home with wide eyes and a huge revelation.
“Mom! Know your friend, the homeless guy in the Maverick? I met him today! He comes into Jack-in-the-Box all the time, buys coffee, and sits in the corner. You won’t believe it - His name is Jack.”
Jack. One of my favorite names of all time. So much so, that I have christened my last son Jack Cash Ryley, after Johnny Cash’s brother that I admire so much. Another minor fringe character in life with humongous influence. Of course, mainstream society will always idolize Johnny, and in many ways, so do I. But the minor character in Johnny’s life was his biggest influence; a fact party liners miss completely. A fact that Johnny, Jesus, and Jours-Truly, completely get.
Armed with the manufactured confidence his brilliant name brings me, I am determined to approach him on my next trip out of town.
I pull over next to him. He’s in his car. Napping. I tap on the window. His eyes pop open, and he immediately cranks down the window. Manually, of course. Not sure what to expect, I’m half expecting him to smell or ‘feel’ like the homeless people I have chatted with on 3rd Street downtown. He’s none of that. Sure, he’s a little grisly. And there is a slight waft of alcohol. But he’s groomed with no odors. A little shakey, but oh! So kind! Immediately I think of one of my favorite movies. John Merrick and The Elephant Man.
We exchange a greeting and he is pleased with my gift. Home made cookies. Thus begins my relationship with Jack, and the following dance repeated over several years:
Light knock knocks on the drivers window.
“Coupons, Jack? For Jack-in-the-Box?”
“I thought of you when I brought coffee today. Here.”
Jack is gracious. Jack is kind. Jack is sweet and mysterious, and every visit inspires another.
Snow arrives. I’m concerned.
“Hi, Jack! Chrismas cookies? Pretzels? I bought you this down blanket. It’s cold.”
Jack is always delighted with goodies, but steadily refuses blankets or other comforts. He’s always “fine” and “has plenty of those”. Looking into his little car-apartment, I’m skeptical, but would never push my sweet friend.
Jack never says much through the years. There is something wonderful and divine about this soul created in God’s image that I grow to love. You come to understand he is uncomfortable with too much prying or conversation, so despite your hearts longing, you respect that, and are forced to relate on Jack’s terms. Nevertheless, you dream about building a rapport wherein he would trust you to come home for Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. Help him find a real home. Bring him to the doctor. You know, properly loving him, real good.
Years roll on. Hundreds of trips and prayers past Jack’s Maverick. There is something very comforting about seeing Jack and the blue Maverick. He is part and parcel of our life now.
Help me, Jesus…and Good Bye, Jack.
Shelley…I have seen this man around Shoreline for so long and saw him a couple of weeks ago in Jack in the Box. I saw his car this week covered in flowers and I was really sad that I won’t see him anymore.
[...] Personal | Tags: Christian, Influence, Jack, Maverick, Seattle | I came across this blog entry yesterday and was sucked into reading the whole thing. It’s about a homeless man that lived [...]
Thanks for this post, Shelly. Life is so precious and fragile. I take so many people for granted and forget that they even are human beings in the rush of getting to… what?
I’m sorry for your loss. Thankful for your time with Jack.
We live across the street from a municipal parking lot, and often see cars parked for a day or two with someone living in it. Last summer there was one guy, probably in his thirties, who was there for several weeks. We nodded at each other as I loaded the kids into my car, and he always cleaned up his cigarette butts. Just as I was working up the nerve to approach (it’s a little different when the guy knows where you live, and your husband travels for work), he disappeared and I haven’t seen him since. I’m hoping he got a job or an apartment or something, and that he didn’t just move on to a different parking lot.
I am glad that someone cared so much for Jack Bradley. I have worked, part-time, at the Schuck’s facility where he parked his car at night, and came in for parts, as he needed them, for his 1970 Ford Maverick.
I never got to know the man, in the year-and-a-half I worked, where he parked what was, essentially, his home. In fact, no one at Schuck’s ever told me his name; only after he passed away, did I learn it, as well as the real story behind him. There had been all manner of stories - which proved false - told to me. The main one that circulated was that his family - a wife and little girl - had died in a house fire, and that he had turned to living in his car, as a victim of trauma, as much as economic circumstance.
This week - it is early on March 27 at this writing - all the flowers and most of the notes on his blue Maverick are gone. All that is left is a sign on the rear deck, with his name and dates of birth and death. I wonder if the car is going away, and if so, who might be the new owner. I hope they don’t just crush it, or disassemble it. Somehow, it seems as if the car should be perserved as a symbol of one man’s determination to survive - that of the many people whose lives he touched.
Clarification: the last sentence of my post should have read, thus, “Somehow, it seems as if the car should be preserved as a symbol of one man’s determination to survive - well, that and of the many people whose lives he touched.”