Finally

My phone rang Friday afternoon. My caller ID told me that it was a local call. I answered. Charlie identified himself and said hello. I pretended to know who it was, when in actuality I had no clue. I had spoken with a Charlie earlier in the week, a man who works as a Personal Assistant to the St. Bernard Parish President, Junior Rodriguez. I thought it had to be him. But, as he went on about how he finally moved into his house, I was even more confused. “Who the heck is this?”, I kept asking myself while Charlie continued about how nice it is to finally be moved in. Then, it hit me. Oh, Charlie!

I smiled.

All of a sudden this phone call went from frustratingly confusing to captivating and enjoyable. "Charlie, you’re in your house? That’s awesome."

I met Charlie shortly after arriving here, while working with Project Hope. I spent an afternoon helping out at his then-gutted home (see pic above right, Charlie and I outside his house on March 1), watching a volunteer named Hopper jump around like a gymnast through the cross beams in the ceiling making sure they had enough support up there. The entire house was studs and old copper wire. Charile, meanwhile, was full of optimism that day. He told me about his life, his son, and his wife. She passed away last year after going into the hospital with appendicitis. I’m murky on the details, as Charlie doesn’t say much more than that she had complications after surgery and died. He told me, though, how he promised her while she was still alive and in the hospital that no matter what, he’d have their son in a house before too long. They had lived for years in trailers before Katrina. A tree sliced their trailer in half during the storm. They since lived with Charlie’s brother, sometimes with as many as 11 people in that house.

Finally, a house was on the way. Charlie bought it last year. Like a lot of other people here, he bought it for a cheap price, and now just has to fix it up. (“Just”, by the way, is a relative term. “Just” fixing up around here usually means exhausting whatever savings one has while waiting on money from the government that may or may not come). He was brimming with optimism and hope and excitement that day. That was in early March. I saw him a couple of times in the following week or two, as well, still full of excitement as his house progressed.

Then things just went dark. I hardly saw Charlie anymore. Volunteers would sometimes be working at his house, and I went by to see the sheetrock up, the walls forming. It was starting to look like a home. I really did look forward to seeing him and his 13 year old boy, CJ, get in there. But then I came to find out that Charlie came down with double pneumonia. He was in and out of the hospital twice, and on an unpaid leave of absence from work. I would hear, second-hand, how he was doing every few weeks or so, but that was it. Every time I drove by his house there was no one there, the front door shut, the driveway empty. Not even scraps or junk or garbage, all signs of a house actively under repair around here, in the front yard.

Finally, two weeks ago, I saw him. I went by his brother’s house to meet Hopper there, and Charlie was pulling out of the driveway, in his truck, CJ in the passenger seat. He looked worn out. Always so eager to chat my ear off, Charlie was short that day. He was sick again, and at the time it looked as if he might have to go back into the hospital. I wished him well, told him I’ll hope for the best, and that I’ll be here when he moves in. Then he drove away.

His brother told me later in that visit that he wasn’t doing well at all. It’s been a struggle. He has no income, things with his house are on hold, and he’s battling this pneumonia. Meanwhile, seven of them are still crammed into one home. I used to be so happy when I thought about Charlie. Now I felt terrible for him.

And then on Friday, about 4 p.m., my phone rang. I didn’t even know Charlie had my number – although I know and work with a lot of the people who help him out, so it’s not shocking he got it. I was just surprised. But when I had finally put two and two together, I was thrilled. “Scott, we’re finally in. It’s not done and really close to where I want it to be, but it’s livable,” he told me. I must have said “that’s awesome” at least five times. I asked him if he’d be around on Saturday, I wanted to come see it. He said sure and to stop by.

It’s amazing what serves as progress here, in this region that was torn to shreds by Mother Nature. I knocked on his door Saturday afternoon. Charlie opened it and welcomed me in, and as I made my way through the door all I could see in the living room was an air mattress, a pack of cigarettes, and a projector that plays DVDs. He was watching Castaway, with Tom Hanks. Charlie used to go on and on about how he was going to have a big screen projector for him and his son to watch movies on. Well, he has it. Unfortunately, he doesn't have much more.

An air conditioning unit was in one of the windows, blowing a healthy dose of cold air and cooling the entire front room. He had the windows covered, though, keeping out the extra heat. The floor is still concrete, no carpeting is down yet. The walls are painted, but there’s no molding or baseboard. His son came out from the back room. I had heard so much about him, but had never formally met him. CJ is a bit heavy like his dad, but extremely friendly. I looked around the house. Every room was the same as the others, no carpeting, and really no furniture. One of the bedrooms had a mattress on the floor, but Charlie told me they’re both sleeping on the one air mattress in the living room because it has AC. He didn’t care about the living conditions, he had just had enough sharing a small house and imposing on his brother. So long as there was electricity, running water and walls, he was moving in.

Charlie’s been through a lot. He lost his home, then his wife, and fought health issues of his own. Even CJ, all of 13 years old, just passed his second kidney stone (Charlie said he’s on his 12^th right now). He’s says he’s better now, and that he’s going back to work Monday. That’s great. With income he’ll be able to move a little faster in getting the house fixed up. CJ kept interjecting, with a smile, how he hopes it also means he can finally get a computer. Charlie would just look at him and say he will someday, but that for now it’s lower on the priority list.

Small steps, even if it means sharing an air mattress on a concrete floor, mean everything to the people down here. I told Charlie to call me again, that I’ll come back and see his next steps, no matter how big or small. And next time, I’m sure I’ll know who he is when he says it’s Charlie.