I was told a story by one of the men I talked to in a previous post,
"I know someone that would have an amazing story for your blog. He was my brothers university professor , after his wife passed away he started living on the streets, left his job, sold his house and his belongings and became homeless. I see him several times a week wandering around KW, if you ever see him around you should talk to him and figure out why he did all that. He had an amazing life and incredible talent. I guess it goes to show what love can do to you and how powerful it is. Without her he didn't want to live and nothing mattered anymore, something inside him snapped and the man he used to be was gone... It is really sad when you think about it." I hope someday I do encounter him, I presume his story is very gripping and hopefully he will be willing to let me share it with all of you.

Walter

I saw Walter at the bus station in downtown Kitchener, he carried with him many bags and a grocery cart covered in card board. The card board had writing all over it, talking about murder cases and drugs. I only saw Walter from a distance, so I couldn't completely read what all of the signs said. He'd sing a lot of songs, like Benny and the Jets and some opera songs I didn't recognize. He'd plug his ears with his two pointer fingers and it almost seemed as if he was trying to listen to somebody, then he'd speak. He'd give an answer to something random, sometimes it was a little creepy.
"He smothered her with a pillow so she couldn't breath and then he cut her---" He wondered off.
Occasionally he'd look over at me and see that I was paying attention to him.
"God gave you eyelids so you don't gotta look at me but he didn't give you earplugs so you have to listen to me speak." He said, and then he continued on with his stories.
Though what he talked about would give you the assumption that he was mad and mean he seemed sweet, people would go up and down the elevator and say hello to him as they passed, he was well known, and I assumed he was there often. He minded his own business and though I didn't converse with him I came to know a lot about him and his interests (and certainly what he didn't stand for). He left before I did, and since I didn't get approval I didn't get a picture of his face for this blog post, sorry everyone!

Falling from Grace

My mother knew Anatole before he became homeless, he was the cousin of a good friend of hers in her tree planting group. She first met him in Vancouver at his condo when her, her friend and a few others needed a place to stay. Anatole was a professor at the university of British Columbia.

"All of us girls had a secret crush on him, he was really good looking and quite a gentleman." She said.

"But at the time he had a girlfriend, she was beautiful and very kind." 

She'd visit him a lot and eventually become good friends with him. Soon they didn't see each other for a long time, a little over ten years, then one day she was walking uptown and saw him on the street corner. When she approached him, he didn't know who she was, she told him about herself and gave him some cash. She started seeing him nearly everyday uptown, he'd always wear an aqua colored tuxedo and carted around a shopping cart. My mother told her friend Kathy that she had seen Anatole again and asked why he couldn't remember her. It turned out Anatole suffered from schizophrenia and was diagnosed with it a few years after they met. It was more noticeable now that he had always been very eccentric and different. 

"He was always very intelligent. I'd see him in the parking lot of my work reading Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, two phenomenal writers." she said.

"Would he spend the money you gave him  on alcohol and drugs?" I asked.

"He did, but I've learned to reserve my judgment on the matter because I have no clue how difficult it is living on the streets, if the drinking helped I believed it was okay that he did it." 

"Where is Anatole now? I never see him around the uptown area anymore." I asked her.

"He moved to toronto and no one has seen him since, I don't know where he is or how he is but I hope he is well, he deserves better then what he ended up with. He was a really great man."

Traveling Star

I saw Scott playing his guitar in an alley way next to the LCBO in uptown Waterloo. He played with his heart and soul in the music and showed so much emotion.
"When did you learn to play?" I asked him.
"When I was sixteen. I never had one lesson but I'd listen to my favourite musicians play and once I earned enough money to buy myself a guitar, I taught myself. I'd search the chords and lyrics on the Internet and eventually got to playing in front of a live audience." 
"Where have you played?" 
"Lots of places. I love to travel and learn different styles and cultures of music, I was recently in Montreal playing in a music festival and last month I played at a frosh week festival at the university of Guelph." 
He strummed a couple of chords then added, "Do you play?"
"I wish!" 
"It's easy, do what I did and maybe you'll get somewhere, you're never too old to learn how to play."
He talked about life on the move, never having a permanent home and struggling as a young musician. He'd sleep on the floors of his friends apartments most nights and casually play to earn some cash to get around. He inspired me to keep writing and do what I love. Though it may seem like  Scott didn't have much going for him, I found him to be the most intelligent person I've ever met, he showed such passion in what he did, and the music was absolutely outstanding. :) 

Martin Dobrovsky

Andy Fischer (left) & Robin Shepard (right) Speaking of old friend at 50th dinner party

 Family friends Robin and Andy were over for dinner the other night and told a story about a man they went to high school with named Marty who recently passed away after living on the streets for over twenty-five years. Andy (on the left) went to KCI with him all throughout high school. 

"Marty was one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. His parents were so sweet. Living on the streets wasn't something Marty was forced into,  it was more of a life choice he made for himself." 

He was a normal kid who hung around with people just like Andy. When he was in his mid-twenties he developed schizophrenia. His relatives tried very hard to get him to move back into the house at this point; he refused. Up until a year ago, whenever Robin (on the right) would see Marty, he'd take him out for lunch and afterward give him a twenty dollar bill. 

"How did you know he wasn't just going to spend the money on booze?" I asked him.

"Oh, I'd see him walk straight into the LCBO immediately after I gave him the money, I knew he was spending it on booze, but I figured when you're living on the streets, you might need a drink."

"How did he die?" 

"He died of some disease he caught living on the streets, he got very sick and didn't seek help, I assume the death was preventable by medication but Marty never wanted help." Said Andy.

           I, myself remember seeing Marty around downtown Kitchener years ago. He had a long dark beard and his skin was always black with dirt. Despite his appearance and the choices he made, Marty was a great man, and from what everyone had told me about him, he had a huge heart and was greatly loved by all. 

Let's hope he's in a better place now.