We May Never Pass This Way Again

I can see 31st Street in my mind's eye. From 71 Highway westward, long neglected buildings that introduce streets where neglected houses nestle, small warehouses--some seemingly empty, broken windows, cars and little car lots carved out of little patches of ground between ugly buildings wrapped in wire fences, dirty faced buildings--used tire shops with dirty clothed men sitting in front waiting for the customer. Oh, there are the barber shops, and M&M bakery. It doesn't look so great from the outside but the sandwiches and pastries are fabulous on the inside. I always say white folks will go anywhere if the product is good. There's Grady's Cleaners and another I haven't tried and across the Paseo, a shell of a building, the broken shell that was once Walt Disney's studio, where he most likely created Mickey Mouse. There is Father David's Egyptian Orthodox church and the neat Catholic Church and school where kids in neat brown paid uniforms recess on the fenced playground. Holy Family House is a few streets farther. Men and women, some with undiscovered reason and purpose idle away the hours on its porch, sleeping bags of the "guest" lay and sometimes the guest themselves lay over night. There is Kitty's Cafe--best hamburgers and True Light Family Resource Center and Church and Emancipation Station and of course people and buses coming and going.

Ann and Beverly were amongst those coming and going. One summer morning the doorbell rang at the small store front church called True Light. I hate to say store front but is was created out of a warehouse. My friend Linda Hollies said,"If its a store front make it grand." We tried. Anyway, two women stood and one said, "We heard we could come here and get something to eat. I nodded in consent as they stepped in. Beverly spotted the shower and asked if they could take a shower and then for clean clothes. They were excited! Once cleaned up they came into the "living room" and began to tell their story. They were staying in an abandoned building, huddled together at night for safety. There were others there--smoking crack and doing other things. That night they were awaken by a flashlight shinning in their faces--a big white man they thought might be a cop. They were scarred and decided they wanted to "come in".

We rustled up food and then began to talk about life. Beverly had been clean 6 or 7 years. She said one day she just got a "wild hair" and said "f... it." Ann was the more retiring, listening, always listening. She would sit at my feet and listen to scripture before going to Veronica's Voice--a ministry for prostitutes--that's how Ann and Beverly supported their addiction--no pimps, strong black women.

Ann and Beverly came to church from the shelter. Then Ann disappeared. On Sunday, she came back and showed me her breast area. She had been out there and a man grabbed her between buildings and started to cut her. " I was screaming and screaming and I was cutting him and he was screaming too." He let her go. I dropped her at the City Mission that late afternoon. She had a court appearance on Monday. She would come by the church after court.

Time passed, no Ann. Then, one Thursday she walked in during nutrition class, hungry and tired. Ann lie on the floor in a side room and slept until the late afternoon. I had to leave. There were no more Ann sightings until one mid August evening the news channel flashed a picture of a women whose body had been found at 35th and Prospect. I said, "I hope that's nobody I know." This woman was young and fresh and pretty. The next day, Beverly called to ask if I had seen the story--it was Ann.

Yesterday, Terry Blair, the serial killer was sentenced to life without parole. "The paper said, "Blair said his victims were "scum" and 'a disgrace' because they were prostitutes." Five women, maybe seven, some of whom passed my way.

"Speak up for the people who have no voice, for the rights of all the down-and outers. Speak out for justice! Stand up for the poor and destitute!" Proverbs 1 The Message Eugene H.Peterson