“Much Ado about Nothing… Shakespeare and Truckstop Tim”
During that first trip to Harrisonburg Virginia in 2015, I seemed to be “assigned” to many people like “Stabbed up Gary”, and one, I’ll call Hillary, whose powerful story, I’ll be sharing in a later chapter. All of them were forgotten castoffs; weary, lost, sad, and at times, angry. Most were homeless and many were invisibly disabled, or debilitated by life and the weight of the stone. During this time, I met another man.
I went to the usual place to get a cheap lunch, the truck-stop on route 11, down the road from the “New Community Project” (NCP). As I pulled my car in, I noticed a man standing out front with several pieces of tattered luggage, and a guitar case. He looked extremely angry, and was actually shouting F-bombs at a couple of passersby as I approached the store. Our eyes met momentarily, and as I stepped up from the parking lot, I heard him grumbling to himself that, he was “just trying to get a ride down the road, and go home”. I also noticed a cardboard “hitchhiking” sign that had the word “Staunton” written on it.
His actions made others, and me, fearful, but as I paid for my slice of deli pizza, I considered approaching the man, to see if he was hungry or needed something. As I wrestled internally between trepidation, and what seemed like obligation, I could not resist, and something inside told me, I would be fine. The clerk at the counter talked about the man’s behavior out front, and I said, “maybe he just needs someone to listen to him… I think it might be me”. She immediately said, “You be careful”.
Earlier that day the folks at NCP and “Our Community Place”, invited me to accompany them to a play that evening. They were also bringing some of the homeless patrons of OCP, as they often did. The play was at the historic “Blackfriars Playhouse” Shakespearean theater. It was a replica of one of Shakespeare’s roundhouse theaters from back in his time. Truckloads of timber were hauled into build it, and entering, is like stepping back in time. At the beginning of each new production, the troop would do a “pay what you will” night, allowing them to practice, and allowing for a first-class theater experience, for anyone with five bucks.
After I got my pizza at the truck-stop, I slowly shouldered up to the man leaning on a garbage can out front. I asked him about his guitar to break the ice, then, asked if he was hungry, offering to buy him something. He he told me he was “all good”, saying that he had $13. I said $13 doesn’t go a long way, and I’d be happy to grab you something if you like. He said that he hadn’t had a Dr Pepper in a long time, “if you’d be okay with buying me one”.
I came back with his Dr Pepper, and decided to ask what had upset him earlier. He apologized for swearing, and being “angry before”, saying that people were “being nasty” to him. “All I’m trying to do…”, he said, “is get a ride to Staunton to catch a train”, Staunton, Virginia, was about a 30 minute drive down Route 81. Telling me his name was Tim, he said he was from Kentucky, and had lived homeless for several years, but was finally going “home”. His friend in Kentucky had bought him a train ticket, and Tim only had to get to Staunton, and he’d be on his way.
He never directly asked me to take him, almost as if he’d given up on the idea of anyone helping him get home. Inside of me, I already knew I’d be taking him, but I still debated with myself, about my safety. Suddenly, a feeling of comfort washed over me about it. I was taking him, and I didn’t care what was down the road. I actually thought to myself, if it’s my time to get knifed for my car on Interstate 81, so be it. At least I won’t be sleeping in it at truck stops anymore. Somehow, I knew I would be entirely safe.
Tim continued to tell me details of his life, as I finally tipped my internal scale of decision. “Is this all your stuff here?”, I asked him. He nodded, and I pointed at my car, saying “throw it in the backseat, let’s get you home”. The red-faced, F-bomb dropping dirty man, that everyone was so afraid of, lit up like a child and started to cry, saying “you’re gonna take me!?”. I responded, “Unless you’d rather wait around for one of these other asshole’s to change their tune”.
As we headed down the interstate, the reasons Tim was placed in my path, became apparent. He had suffered multiple head injuries as a result of abuse when he was young. The graphic details he recalled about his experience, tore my heart out. No wonder he was angry, and probably just needed someone to care. I think I’ve said that before in these stories. He talked fondly of his friend that had bought the ticket, and the closer we got, the more excited he became, knowing he would soon have a home.
By this point in the journey, I was even more peaceful, and happy I helped him. I knew what it was like to live in my car, but Tim didn’t have one to live in, and it looked like his struggle with homelessness, was coming to an end. The closer we got to Staunton, the darker the sky became. Suddenly as we were a few miles away, the sky sounded the first thunderous shot, as the heavens erupted into a brilliant lightning storm. It was almost as if darkness was angry that Tim would be going home. It was extremely eerie as I continued to try to see the road through the torrential rains hitting the windshield.
As we took the exit for downtown Staunton, and negotiated the winding cobblestone streets of colonial times, the rain gradually let up, and a bolt of sunshine broke through the clouds, just as we found the train station. I stayed a while with Tim, helping him with his mental checklist… Ticket, $13 cash, etc., then watched him go on his way. I’ll never forget the huge smile etched on his face, as he disappeared from my site. At that precise moment, I remembered being invited to the play.
The Blackfriars Playhouse for the world-class American Shakespeare Company, is in Staunton Virginia, and I was already there with time to spare. I found my way through the streets to a downtown parking garage. Not having a lot of money, I asked the attendant how much it would be to park for several hours. She was very friendly, and told me that she closes in 15 mins. and they don’t charge after they do, continuing, “how does $1 until tomorrow morning at 6am sound?”. I couldn’t believe how everything was working out. I parked my car, but I would soon find out, I had more to do.
As I headed for the ramp to exit the parking garage, a very disheveled, obviously homeless man, was timidly standing on the ramp. If I was a casting agent for a biblical movie, I’d choose this man to play the role of Paul after he was knocked from his horse. That was my first impression. He softly and politely said “Excuse me, I don’t mean any harm”. I said in a very friendly tone, “No worries brother, what’s up?”. He told me about how he tried to get a Bible from a church, and they turned him away and told him never come back. He told me a couple of other stories like that about being turned away for food, but ultimately what he wanted was a quarter… $0.25!
I asked what his name was, and could not believe when he told me, it was Paul. I asked Paul if he was hungry and he was. We walked through the garage, up onto the street, where I asked about a sidewalk café where they served healthy, organic food. He said he loved that place, but was afraid to sit at the tables on the sidewalk, because he had sent away by the owners before. I told Paul to have a seat and enjoy himself, he was a paying customer, and I wouldn’t let anyone treat them that way.
Paul and I sat at the table on the sidewalk, eating and talking, as he told me stories of his life on the streets of Staunton. We finished eating, and Paul said he had to make his way to where he would be sleeping for the night. I offered him a ride, but he declined. He thanked me for the food, and for spending time with him, “people just don’t do that”, he said. I shook his hand and wished him well, and he was gone as suddenly as he appeared. The opportunities to help others on this day alone, were everywhere. Now it seems, I get to enjoy the reward of something I love, a Shakespearean play performed by a professional troop.
I walked back through the parking garage to the other side, where I’d originally met Paul, and came out on the street, right next door to the theater. Suddenly, the doors were opened, and I was allowed to go in and marvel at the craftsmanship of this replica theater, before the rest of the spectators arrived. There was even a small rolling bar on the stage, with drinks served by the actors. A few moments later, back in the lobby, all the people from NCP and OCP in Harrisonburg, suddenly came through the front door. Everything seemed to work out just perfectly.
I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the day and night, or a more fitting finish. I was mesmerized by the skill of the players, especially with a mix of modern music like “play that funky music white boy” in the midst Shakespearean tragedy. Considering how the trip to Staunton started, the name of the play that was performed, was quite ironic. The hesitation about giving an angry man at a truck-stop a ride, seem to be “Much Ado about Nothing”. He was harmless, and I’m glad I didn’t ignore the call to help him get home.
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