Dick tells about helping the homeless and coming down with Lou Gehrig's disease.

Conversations with Dick
Each time I sit with Dick and listen to his story I get a little chill. I have never heard such words before. They reach deep within me. He is like a teacher and I listen.
Dick and his wife, Marian, live in our mobile home park. Ray and I often find ourselves sitting by them at our park functions, listening to his story. He opens up new worlds to me.
Dick, 73, is an advocate for the homeless. When he saw a group gathered behind the local day labor center, he stopped to see what was going on. Earlier someone had planted an idea of the worker’s needs. He wanted to see for himself. A local church was feeding an evening meal to the workers. They asked Dick if he would like to help.
A retired fellow, with great energy, finds a new place to use it. Soon Dick becomes a caretaker of the homeless. He and a helper purchase a shed and place it in our park. It is filled with necessities his “guys and gals” might need such as toiletries, towels, blankets, clothes, and food. His church helps keep it supplied. He also keeps items in his truck, in case he meets some one in need. Dick doesn’t hesitate to stop and speak with anyone he feels needs help.
“Whoever needs food, I give to them. If I have anything they need, I give it to them. I don’t care who they are.”
Dick collects leftovers from restaurants to feed them one night of the week and helps others serve two other nights. He collects and repairs bicycles for them. A realist, he knows if he gets a good bike, he must spray paint it because they are most likely to trade a good bike for drugs.
“After two-and-half years of working with them, I find that the majority of the homeless are mentally and physically unable to hold down a job. Just recently one guy got a full time job. Lasted a week. Wrecked his car. Now he is gone.”
I admire that Dick can give so much unconditionally. To me it is the ultimate of giving. Besides the physical and mental problems, most have other common behaviors. They have lost their driver’s license. They spend much of their daily earned wage on alcohol and drugs. Most are running away from something. Often they will work a day or two at the daily work center then slack back until they need money. Sadly, many are Vietnam vets.
Most of Dick’s homeless live in the woods not far from the work center. He has a small kit he gives to new arrivals. He has made a small grill to put a can on and gives some Sterno for heat. He gives tarps for shelter, a 5 gallon bucket with a lid they can use for storage, and types of food that they can heat up in a can or eat cold. He has a kit of toiletries. He knows their needs; he takes care of them.
I must ask, “Don’t you get discouraged?”
Dick speaks frankly, “Well, you know we get a few good ones, we know we are helping. And we get some bad ones. I know that they curse and I know that they are drunks, but they are here. If we saw a stray dog out there, we would feed it. Right? So what are we going to do? These people are out there and they are not going away, so somebody has got to feed them. So we find ways to feed them.”
There is more to Dick. His days with helping the homeless are numbered. He knows how to die. He has Lou Gehrig’s disease, a progressive degenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. “My helper and I decided we would buy a shed, about a year and half ago, to keep our supplies for the homeless in, the one in our park. After it was set up, I wanted shelves in it. I realized I couldn’t hit the nail. Didn’t have any strength when I hit it. I was shaky. I said that something is getting wrong with me.”
Three times he has taken the long and painful nerve tests needed for diagnosis. “They jab a needle in this far. (two inches) It doesn’t hurt going in, but then they wiggle it around…boy. They did that to every muscle in your body, even under my tongue. They give you those little electric shocks too; they sure make your feet would fly up. Those aren’t too bad. ”
Dick’s first doctor cried when she told him of her diagnosis. He says his nurses often cry. His present doctor reacts in a cold manner. “Doc said, when I am unable to breath, they will put in an airway hole. When I can’t swallow I will have to have a feeding tube. Someday a wink of an eye or movement of a finger may be all I can manage.”
So you see, as I talk with Dick, I get a picture of how it is to live each day preparing for death. Not an ordinary death, but one that could be long and drawn out and very painful. A disease that, just the mention of, makes one think about their own mortality.
“I said to Doc, I don’t have a problem with that, I have lived a good life. If I got it, I got it. I got to go home, back to New York state in February. I am going to need help. See my arms, I got nothing left. I am still walking, but my legs give me lot of problems. They hurt so much. I get so tired. I don’t know what’s coming. I’ll just have to face it.”
I have learned so much from Dick.

Doris Butt 902 Hatten Lane, Inverness, Florida. 34450
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