Friends in White Plains remember homeless man
In 1963 the great Bob Dylan wrote a song about a man found dead, lying in a doorway.
"Only a hobo, but one more is gone,
leaving' nobody to sing his sad song.
leaving' nobody to carry him home,
Only a hobo, but one more is gone," the chorus went.
They were still a romanticized piece of Americana back then, those "Kings of the Road'' who rode the rails and roamed from town to town, carrying their belongings in a kerchief tied to a stick.
Nowadays, they're called non-conforming homeless people. Their ranks are filled with alcoholics, drug addicts and the mentally ill who wander city streets or hang out in libraries, mall food courts and parks.
Most of them can't or won't participate in social service programs that could provide them with shelter, substance abuse treatment, job counseling and a chance at a better life.
For the most part, they're reviled or ignored, rather than romanticized. Nobody's writing any songs about them.
And one more is gone.
To the authorities, he is "incident number 1722-08." He was found dead in a blue sleeping bag on June 3 in a wooded area near the Bronx River Parkway in White Plains, just south of the Main Street bridge. He was lying on a foam rubber mat, his few clothes stuffed into a green plastic bag. Another bag, containing a toothbrush, toothpaste and packets of salt, pepper and ketchup, was tied to a nearby tree branch.
Although they're still waiting for the results of toxicology tests, the preliminary finding of the Westchester Medical Examiner's Office is that James A. Labarr died of natural causes. At age 47. In a sleeping bag in the woods. His death was not reported in the newspaper or on the radio or on television. There was no obituary.
But Labarr, a mentally ill alcoholic who was raised by foster families somewhere upstate, did leave a few people to sing his sad song and carry him home.
They gathered last week at a memorial service at Lee's Funeral Home to say good-bye to a quiet, "gentle giant'' who ignored his own demons while going out of his way to help his friends confront theirs.
"We wanted to send him off in a dignified way, because James deserved that,'' said Kevin Harrison, head case manager at Project Trust, a county program run by Grace Church Community Center that provides daytime services for street people. "He was a man who, despite his failings, touched other people's lives. He encouraged, even pushed, his friends to get help, but couldn't get help himself. We have three people in programs right now, who are all doing well, because Jim brought them to us."
Virtually all of the people at the memorial work for the Grace Church's Open Arms shelter or Project Trust, where Labarr would come to take a shower, get a bite to eat, or just talk.
In between prayers and songs, they remembered Labarr as a respectful, polite gentleman who wouldn't talk about his problems but took responsibility for them. They talked about his being a country boy and outdoorsman who was more comfortable sleeping in the woods than he was in the drop-in shelter he stayed at only when the weather was extreme.
They talked about how he loved rock 'n' roll music, and how he entertained himself by pounding out the beat in his head on the wall outside of Open Arms. Mostly, they talked about what a good person he was.
"He was always willing to help,'' said Mickey Stagg, of Open Arms. "He wasn't angry at the world and he didn't blame anyone else for his problems. He had so many traits that we admire in people, but he also had that disease of alcoholism. I used to sneak up behind him and say 'Jim, we're going to get you into a treatment program,' but it didn't happen. It shows how powerless we are. But Jim left us a legacy of good works and good will. Sometimes we forget that the good things are the important things."
"He was sweet,'' said another Project Trust counselor, Lucille Newsome, who sang a powerful, passionate "Jesus Loves Me'' at the memorial "because he always liked me to sing that to him. James refused to go into the system, but he blamed nobody but himself for his mistakes in life. He would stand by his friends - he was their protector. He would tell them to get help, but he couldn't help himself. That's the tragedy.''
"He was a friend,'' Harrison said after the service. "He was a good man who had his problems like all of us do. But Jim meant no harm to anyone. He had a kind spirit. He made a difference. And that's why we're here today. Because Jim deserved to go to God with dignity. Because we wanted him to know that he won't be forgotten.''
James Labarr wasn't police incident number 1722-08. He wasn't a nonconforming homeless man. He wasn't a hobo. His friends proved that last week, by remembering who he was.
They Don't Eulogize Bums, Do They?
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Accountable
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They Don't Eulogize Bums, Do They?
Accountable;909213 wrote: Friends in White Plains remember homeless man
In 1963 the great Bob Dylan wrote a song about a man found dead, lying in a doorway.
"Only a hobo, but one more is gone,
leaving' nobody to sing his sad song.
leaving' nobody to carry him home,
Only a hobo, but one more is gone," the chorus went.
They were still a romanticized piece of Americana back then, those "Kings of the Road'' who rode the rails and roamed from town to town, carrying their belongings in a kerchief tied to a stick.
Nowadays, they're called non-conforming homeless people. Their ranks are filled with alcoholics, drug addicts and the mentally ill who wander city streets or hang out in libraries, mall food courts and parks.
Most of them can't or won't participate in social service programs that could provide them with shelter, substance abuse treatment, job counseling and a chance at a better life.
For the most part, they're reviled or ignored, rather than romanticized. Nobody's writing any songs about them.
And one more is gone.
To the authorities, he is "incident number 1722-08." He was found dead in a blue sleeping bag on June 3 in a wooded area near the Bronx River Parkway in White Plains, just south of the Main Street bridge. He was lying on a foam rubber mat, his few clothes stuffed into a green plastic bag. Another bag, containing a toothbrush, toothpaste and packets of salt, pepper and ketchup, was tied to a nearby tree branch.
Although they're still waiting for the results of toxicology tests, the preliminary finding of the Westchester Medical Examiner's Office is that James A. Labarr died of natural causes. At age 47. In a sleeping bag in the woods. His death was not reported in the newspaper or on the radio or on television. There was no obituary.
But Labarr, a mentally ill alcoholic who was raised by foster families somewhere upstate, did leave a few people to sing his sad song and carry him home.
They gathered last week at a memorial service at Lee's Funeral Home to say good-bye to a quiet, "gentle giant'' who ignored his own demons while going out of his way to help his friends confront theirs.
"We wanted to send him off in a dignified way, because James deserved that,'' said Kevin Harrison, head case manager at Project Trust, a county program run by Grace Church Community Center that provides daytime services for street people. "He was a man who, despite his failings, touched other people's lives. He encouraged, even pushed, his friends to get help, but couldn't get help himself. We have three people in programs right now, who are all doing well, because Jim brought them to us."
Virtually all of the people at the memorial work for the Grace Church's Open Arms shelter or Project Trust, where Labarr would come to take a shower, get a bite to eat, or just talk.
In between prayers and songs, they remembered Labarr as a respectful, polite gentleman who wouldn't talk about his problems but took responsibility for them. They talked about his being a country boy and outdoorsman who was more comfortable sleeping in the woods than he was in the drop-in shelter he stayed at only when the weather was extreme.
They talked about how he loved rock 'n' roll music, and how he entertained himself by pounding out the beat in his head on the wall outside of Open Arms. Mostly, they talked about what a good person he was.
"He was always willing to help,'' said Mickey Stagg, of Open Arms. "He wasn't angry at the world and he didn't blame anyone else for his problems. He had so many traits that we admire in people, but he also had that disease of alcoholism. I used to sneak up behind him and say 'Jim, we're going to get you into a treatment program,' but it didn't happen. It shows how powerless we are. But Jim left us a legacy of good works and good will. Sometimes we forget that the good things are the important things."
"He was sweet,'' said another Project Trust counselor, Lucille Newsome, who sang a powerful, passionate "Jesus Loves Me'' at the memorial "because he always liked me to sing that to him. James refused to go into the system, but he blamed nobody but himself for his mistakes in life. He would stand by his friends - he was their protector. He would tell them to get help, but he couldn't help himself. That's the tragedy.''
"He was a friend,'' Harrison said after the service. "He was a good man who had his problems like all of us do. But Jim meant no harm to anyone. He had a kind spirit. He made a difference. And that's why we're here today. Because Jim deserved to go to God with dignity. Because we wanted him to know that he won't be forgotten.''
James Labarr wasn't police incident number 1722-08. He wasn't a nonconforming homeless man. He wasn't a hobo. His friends proved that last week, by remembering who he was.
There is something very moving and truly humbling about this, Acc....
and almost, shall I say, Divine?
In 1963 the great Bob Dylan wrote a song about a man found dead, lying in a doorway.
"Only a hobo, but one more is gone,
leaving' nobody to sing his sad song.
leaving' nobody to carry him home,
Only a hobo, but one more is gone," the chorus went.
They were still a romanticized piece of Americana back then, those "Kings of the Road'' who rode the rails and roamed from town to town, carrying their belongings in a kerchief tied to a stick.
Nowadays, they're called non-conforming homeless people. Their ranks are filled with alcoholics, drug addicts and the mentally ill who wander city streets or hang out in libraries, mall food courts and parks.
Most of them can't or won't participate in social service programs that could provide them with shelter, substance abuse treatment, job counseling and a chance at a better life.
For the most part, they're reviled or ignored, rather than romanticized. Nobody's writing any songs about them.
And one more is gone.
To the authorities, he is "incident number 1722-08." He was found dead in a blue sleeping bag on June 3 in a wooded area near the Bronx River Parkway in White Plains, just south of the Main Street bridge. He was lying on a foam rubber mat, his few clothes stuffed into a green plastic bag. Another bag, containing a toothbrush, toothpaste and packets of salt, pepper and ketchup, was tied to a nearby tree branch.
Although they're still waiting for the results of toxicology tests, the preliminary finding of the Westchester Medical Examiner's Office is that James A. Labarr died of natural causes. At age 47. In a sleeping bag in the woods. His death was not reported in the newspaper or on the radio or on television. There was no obituary.
But Labarr, a mentally ill alcoholic who was raised by foster families somewhere upstate, did leave a few people to sing his sad song and carry him home.
They gathered last week at a memorial service at Lee's Funeral Home to say good-bye to a quiet, "gentle giant'' who ignored his own demons while going out of his way to help his friends confront theirs.
"We wanted to send him off in a dignified way, because James deserved that,'' said Kevin Harrison, head case manager at Project Trust, a county program run by Grace Church Community Center that provides daytime services for street people. "He was a man who, despite his failings, touched other people's lives. He encouraged, even pushed, his friends to get help, but couldn't get help himself. We have three people in programs right now, who are all doing well, because Jim brought them to us."
Virtually all of the people at the memorial work for the Grace Church's Open Arms shelter or Project Trust, where Labarr would come to take a shower, get a bite to eat, or just talk.
In between prayers and songs, they remembered Labarr as a respectful, polite gentleman who wouldn't talk about his problems but took responsibility for them. They talked about his being a country boy and outdoorsman who was more comfortable sleeping in the woods than he was in the drop-in shelter he stayed at only when the weather was extreme.
They talked about how he loved rock 'n' roll music, and how he entertained himself by pounding out the beat in his head on the wall outside of Open Arms. Mostly, they talked about what a good person he was.
"He was always willing to help,'' said Mickey Stagg, of Open Arms. "He wasn't angry at the world and he didn't blame anyone else for his problems. He had so many traits that we admire in people, but he also had that disease of alcoholism. I used to sneak up behind him and say 'Jim, we're going to get you into a treatment program,' but it didn't happen. It shows how powerless we are. But Jim left us a legacy of good works and good will. Sometimes we forget that the good things are the important things."
"He was sweet,'' said another Project Trust counselor, Lucille Newsome, who sang a powerful, passionate "Jesus Loves Me'' at the memorial "because he always liked me to sing that to him. James refused to go into the system, but he blamed nobody but himself for his mistakes in life. He would stand by his friends - he was their protector. He would tell them to get help, but he couldn't help himself. That's the tragedy.''
"He was a friend,'' Harrison said after the service. "He was a good man who had his problems like all of us do. But Jim meant no harm to anyone. He had a kind spirit. He made a difference. And that's why we're here today. Because Jim deserved to go to God with dignity. Because we wanted him to know that he won't be forgotten.''
James Labarr wasn't police incident number 1722-08. He wasn't a nonconforming homeless man. He wasn't a hobo. His friends proved that last week, by remembering who he was.
There is something very moving and truly humbling about this, Acc....
and almost, shall I say, Divine?
Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answers...Rainer Maria Rilke
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Accountable
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They Don't Eulogize Bums, Do They?
theia;909237 wrote: There is something very moving and truly humbling about this, Acc....
and almost, shall I say, Divine?
I'm not even sure why I thought about it, but I wondered if I could find an obituary for a homeless person. Pure curiosity.
I'm glad I did. :-6
and almost, shall I say, Divine?
I'm not even sure why I thought about it, but I wondered if I could find an obituary for a homeless person. Pure curiosity.
I'm glad I did. :-6
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Accountable
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They Don't Eulogize Bums, Do They?
Nomad;910254 wrote: Someone cared.
Yeh.
Stories like that inspire others to do stuff ... simple stuff, like asking "are you okay?"
Yeh.
Stories like that inspire others to do stuff ... simple stuff, like asking "are you okay?"
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RedGlitter
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- Joined: Thu Dec 22, 2005 3:51 am
They Don't Eulogize Bums, Do They?
Nomad;910254 wrote: Someone cared.
Yes.
And this person was someone's child too.
Thanks Acc, for poking my conscience a little bit. :-6
Yes.
And this person was someone's child too.
Thanks Acc, for poking my conscience a little bit. :-6
They Don't Eulogize Bums, Do They?
Suddenly I remember the cleaning lady in our office.... have not seen her for a while... I hope she is ok.
Single, Powerful and Loving It!