Faith - Chapter One - Tennessee Steve

I am clear that the common thread of my entire adventure in Pearlington was Faith. Faith that I was drawn to the right place at the right time. Faith that all would be provided as needed and faith that, someday, many in Pearlington would come to recognize that Katrina made their lives better, not worse. Sometimes, it took a lot of faith to hold onto, and to encourage others to hold onto, the belief that resource would meet need in due course. Sometimes, it took a week. Sometimes they walked unknowingly through my door at the same time and I merely had to introduce them.

This is the story of Tennessee Steve. I think he arrived in Pearlington around the same time I did. Apparently he had come down to volunteer and had tripped on something his first day and had sprained his wrist. He was concerned he could do nothing to help us. It became clear, though, there was more to the story.

Steve did what he could, cleaning the walk in front of the Pearl*Mart each morning, emptying garbage, doing small errands and insisting on calling me “Boss Man.” He was always close at hand and willing to do whatever he could. As his arm strengthened, he sprayed the walls in the parts of the school we were recovering and worked for hours pressure washing the filthy walls. I realized that Steve was, in fact, somewhat destitute. Over the weeks the story unfolded. He had left Tennessee when his job as a tree cutter ended when the company went bankrupt. Now he couldn’t hoist a chain saw and would be unable to find work. He was alone, his children grown, with no real future back at home. All he wanted was a job and a fresh start.

But, we were in a place filled with volunteers and I spoke with him about faith. There were no jobs here, except those in his heart to do. The weather had turned very cold at night, so I fixed him up in a real tent, with electricity from a generator and a small heater. I gave him blankets and a sleeping bag, a cot and a flashlight and that seemed to make him very happy. He worked all day and asked for very little in return. Each morning, I would give him a package of cigarettes so he wouldn’t have to beg for them. He was fed and safe and seemed to relax.

He could feel, as we all could, that things were changing. Soon, he would have to move on, but where? Where would he live, if not with us? What could he do? As November wore on, he just stayed focussed on his work and letting his wrist get stronger. “Okay, Boss Man, I can do that,” he would say and move off to help Frank, or Rusty, Matt or whoever do what had to be done. I knew how scared he was. One morning, he read in the paper that anyone living in Hancock County for a month could apply for a FEMA trailer. I took him over to the Disaster Recovery Center and got him signed up. One of the locals for whom he had worked hard offered to let him place the trailer on his land - at least for now. Steve was elated. The local man reneged two days later. There was nowhere for Steve to put a trailer and he would have to withdraw his name.

Faith. We spoke of it some more, about focussing on the task, taking one day at a time and believing in miracles. He was not whiney, just disappointed and scared. I called in a favour with the FEMA guys and hooked him up with Blaine. Blaine had lost everything in the storm and also needed a place to be. I knew that they were placing trailers in parks, for those who had been in apartments and didn’t own property. The last park was filling up fast and Blaine himself was trying to get in. I called in another favour. On the day I left Pearlington, Steve came to me to say that he had been given a FEMA trailer in the last spot in the park - right beside Blaine’s. Blaine was more than willing to drive him back and forth to Waveland to look for work, of which there was an abundance in the rebuilding of the coast. Especially for a good man with a chainsaw.

Happily, I lent Rusty my car to drive Steve to his new digs. I equipped him with sheets and pillows, towels and dishes and everything else I had. Including a brand-new Husqvarna chainsaw and a set of tools. Just as I was leaving Pearlington, he made it back to say goodbye. He could barely speak. He just hugged me and mumbled and asked what he could do for me. “Thrive,” I said. “Just do well and pay it forward.” He cried then and shook his head, wondering how God had done all this for one such as him, in a single day. I reached into my pocket and gave him $50. “A man who works as hard as you shouldn’t leave the job site empty handed,” I said.

As I drove out of the compound, he came to my car window. “I’ll never forget you, brother. I’ll never forget all you did for me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Through our tears I shook his hand.

“There are trees to cut and lives to rebuild. You better get busy,” I told him.

“Okay, Boss Man, I can do that,” he replied.

In the end, I didn’t give Tennessee Steve anything more than I gave the other residents of Pearlington. He gave me a lot more. He gave me the chance to treat a man, down on his luck, with dignity and respect. He reminded me that we all get a second chance, or a third, and that I had mine and people were there for me. He gave me friendship and a memory I will hold close to me for as long as I live.

As I drove away, I looked in the mirror to see Steve waving at me and holding his hurt hand over his healing heart.