News-Sentinel.com

T-dorm days

Pounding the pavement, holding onto hope

By Dan Cortez of The News-Sentinel



News-Sentinel photo by Aaron Suozzi
Out of workJohn Gray, an electrician, was a resident at the Fort Wayne Rescue Mission and has been out of work since 2001. He has lost his house and all of his possessions, and he now spends his days walking around the city looking for work.

John Gray fought to avoid this. At least he can say that much. Really, who says they want to end up at the rescue mission? He's a former running back and linebacker from North Side High School in the late 1970s. A father and former homeowner.

But this is only temporary, he tells you. He doesn't need or want the restoration program on the other side of the building on West Superior Street. That's for guys who are drinking and drugging. Gray is here until he gets the job he spends every day looking for. A lot of his fellow residents are looking for jobs.

Gray is a journeyman industrial electrician. Well, he was, until he was laid off Oct. 3, 2001. He can tell you the date without being asked.

He fought to hang on for two years, looking for jobs in every field that might be related to his. Meanwhile, he lost his house of 20 years.

"It's just a material thing," he says with a shrug.

He stayed with friends and family. But finally, he was having trouble looking in the mirror.

"I was tired of putting the financial strain on everybody else," he says. "So I came down here."

Down to the rescue mission. Gray heard of this place through friends, but he didn't know much.

He strolled in on a Saturday and quickly learned the rules. After his first dinner, Gray, 43, had to pass a Breathalyzer and a drug test to stay the night. If alcohol was on his breath, he would have been removed. He passed.

If Gray asked, he would hear the stories of Tim Blair and Howard Adkins, recovering alcoholics who now work at the mission. Blair tells guests how he tried to drink himself to death after agreeing to quit drinking and come to the mission.

He drank so much that day that instead of being taken to the mission, he went to a hospital. His mother watched him almost die several times over the following days. That was several years ago. Now, Blair not only works at the mission, but has a full-time day job.

Adkins will chime in with his story. He was standing in his Bluffton home on Christmas Day 2000 when he realized he wasn't living a life. He was divorced and had no girlfriend. His two grown children were angry with him. He was all alone, and he was drunk.

"I didn't think I could sink any lower, and it sucked," Adkins says. "You're convinced there is no reason to live. But these people aren't low. They're human beings. There's no place better than here. I know. I've been to several of these places."

Blair and Adkins tell their stories to anyone who will listen. At least, they hope somebody listens.

House rules

Gray is told the house rules. He cannot hang around the mission during the day, not even on the east side of the building. After 7 a.m. breakfast, he has to be gone an hour later. Don't come back until lunch at noon. Then, stay away until dinner at 5 p.m. Lights out at 10 p.m., back on at 6:30 a.m. Any violence, he's gone, no questions asked.

Oh yeah, make your bed, too.

You can do this for two weeks. If you behave, you get two more. That's it, though.

"They've made me feel at ease. I thought they'd look down at you, but they don't," he says. "That's why I came here."

The dorms are narrow, with two bunk beds stacked next to another set of beds. The only thing that separates them is a piece of plywood. Several men take a shower at once after dinner, then get back into the same clothes.

When the lights go out, snores fill the air, along with the red glow of an exit sign. Some men sneak into the bathroom to smoke a cigarette in the middle of the night.

"Whoever's smoking in the bathroom, you're out of here if I found out who you are," a staff member says. Not another word is heard.

Hanging on

After four days of the routine, Gray holds forth on his small, less-than-twin-size bunk next to his locker in the T-Dorm. Optimism shows through in his inquisitive voice. Peculiar, hopeful facial expressions accompany any talk of jobs and the future.

He wasn't just looking for a bed and a chance to sit outside the mission, smoking cigarettes. He has been walking around Fort Wayne looking for places to put in applications.

"This kind of takes it out of you. Every day I'm out beating my feet, with resumes and everything," he says.

Today was a good day. He walked over to Ward Aluminum on Growth Avenue. They weren't taking applications, but the man was impressed with Gray's experience. He had him fill out one.

Not everybody in T-Dorm has Gray's zeal for employment. Many men are lined up outside the building an hour before meals are served, anxious to be indoors and out of sight. They complain about no jobs in one breath, then say there is no need to work anyway. They will walk around downtown most of the day, waiting for time to pass. They have a place to stay, and the food isn't too bad most days.

Many of the men get to know each other, bumming cigarettes off each other and swapping stories. Some stay as long as they are allowed at shelters before going on to other large cities in Indiana. Then they return when they can get back in. They have it all worked out.

On Gray's third night, he looks down at a tray with two hamburger patties, two pieces of bread, french fries, a small salad and a pear. There's water to drink.

Most mornings, Gray looks energetic. He speeds through a breakfast of plain french toast, two strips of bacon and water. Men talk about where they are going for the day and occasionally look for a strong man to fill out a crew for a roofing job or construction.

But when he walks through the dinner line, Gray is worn out. No jobs, but at least the guy at Ward took an application. That's reason for hope.

After six days, nothing has come through for Gray. The optimism has faded quickly. When he gets in line for dinner on Friday night, a staff member asks to speak to him. Gray runs to his locker, gets his things and leaves.

He's been drinking, a staff member says. That's not allowed.

So John Gray leaves T-Dorm without a job, but with his goals intact.

"I have two kids," he says. "Maybe one day they'll be proud of Dad."

If you need help

Homeless men who need shelter can call the Fort Wayne Rescue Mission at 426-7357. Homeless women should call the mission's Charis House program at 426-8123; women must be pre-screened by phone. Men also can go through walk-in registration beginning at 4 p.m. daily at the door under the green awning on the east side of the mission, 301 W. Superior St. Also, those in need can come to that door for a free hot meal at noon and 5 p.m. daily.

To help others

* To make monetary donations to the mission, call 426-7357, or write: Fort Wayne Rescue Mission, PO Box 11116, Fort Wayne, IN 46855-1116.

* To donate food or to volunteer time, contact Jeff Keplar at the phone number above or send to communityrelations@

fortwaynerescuemission.org by e-mail.

Items needed

* Alarm clocks

* Antiperspirant/deodorant

* Bedding

* Personal hygiene items

* Hypoallergenic soap

* New underwear

* Phone cards

* Washcloths, bath towels

* Baby care products

* Disposable diapers

(sizes 3-5 and Pull-ups)

* School supplies

* Sleeping bags

* Twin-size bedspreads