We (a group of friends) first met Homeless George (his preference, not ours; we just called him George) about eight years ago. He lived on the streets in downtown Omaha, mostly finding shelter from the extreme elements in his Cadillac that barely ran.
On Monday of this week, George passed into eternity, just shy of his 83rd birthday. He was nearly blind and partially deaf. But he was still sharp right up until the end. He could still tell you everything you wanted to know about Milwaukee (where he grew up and became a plumber and spent some time as an apartment manager) and a few things you didn’t want to know. He firmly believed you couldn’t find a burger or slice of pizza that measured up to the ones in Milwaukee.
He referred to me as Breakfast at Tiffany’s guy after he learned that I write love stories and watch the Hallmark Channel. He always had ideas he wanted me to develop in my own writing – usually stories about the mafia.
I would tell him that Breakfast at Tiffany’s guy doesn’t write true crime, plus, I didn’t want to end up sleeping with the fishes. That brought a chuckle out of a couple of the nursing home residents who overheard us. But my refusal didn’t stop George. The last time I saw him in his nursing home, he was still funneling me book ideas (Jimmy Hoffa comes to mind) and he seemed incredulous when I wouldn’t take the bait.
He could talk to you all day about current events, expressing strong opinions about politics, the economy and more. Apparently, he kept up with the world through his broken-down Cadillac’s radio. He was also extremely well-read.
Tom tells me that George was more well-read than George’s circle of friends back in the day. In fact, Tom once heard George pronounce the last syllable of the word “petite” as “tight” because he’d never actually heard anybody use the word. He’d only read it in books.
He used to tell Tom, who is also well-read, that he enjoyed talking to him because Tom could understand the words he used. Tom took that as quite the compliment.
I don’t really know how George ended up on the streets, but I do know how he went from the streets to an apartment, then eventually to a nursing home. My buddy Tom was responsible for all that.
He’s the one who first met George and tried to show him the love of Jesus by bringing him food, coffee and clothing. George especially had an affinity for wool suit jackets from Goodwill, so periodically, Tom would take him on shopping excursions to find hidden gems on the thrift store’s racks.
Tom once brought him some nice clothes while George was still on the streets (I think it was a suit he planned to wear to church with Tom one Sunday) and George scolded Tom for handing the clothes to him out in the open, fearing other homeless people would see his new treasure and steal them from him.
After George’s Cadillac stopped running, he began pushing it around the streets of Omaha to find shade during the scorching summer months. He didn’t show any real interest in living in an apartment. In fact, he seemed to take pride in sticking it to the man by not paying the man rent. So Tom bought him a car battery, hoping that was the issue. I don’t think it was, but it probably gave George more juice for his radio.
A couple of years ago, a group of nine of us celebrated his 81st birthday at a restaurant. Then for his 82nd birthday, the party grew to 20-25 people who celebrated with him at a Runza restaurant, complete with a homemade cake baked by the wife of one of the guys in our group. George said it was the only birthday cake he’d ever received. He held court in the corner of the restaurant as people gathered around him and loved on him.
Eventually, George gave up his fight against “the man” and allowed Tom to help him find an apartment. But George’s health soon worsened, and Tom ended up picking him up off the floor numerous times when he stopped by to visit.
When the time came for a nursing home, Tom found one for him about an hour and a half away. And Tom was faithful to visit him every week, bringing him treats or anything he needed.
Over the years, George didn’t express a lot of interest in spiritual matters, even when we shared the gospel with him. Although, as the end grew closer, he surprised us sometimes.
He once asked for a printed copy of a sermon from a pastor who visited the nursing home on Sundays, so the man must have said something that piqued his interest and George wanted to examine it further for himself. I’d like to think the apostle Paul might smile approvingly because we all need to be Bereans. George wasn’t the most trusting person you’ll ever meet, but who could blame him after living on the streets?
We aren’t sure if George had any living relatives. He seemed to believe that all his brothers and sisters had passed away. He may have a living daughter, but our attempts to find her have been unsuccessful. We’re still trying though. No matter whether we find any surviving relatives or not, we will honor him in the coming days because his life mattered, and he was loved.
