Lost in Minneapolis

My Memoir

My name’s Lawson Wallace. I live in South Carolina with my wife Olivia. My wife has been after me to write a book about when I was homeless and how we met. I decided to publish the book here on Illumination Book Chapters.

The story is true as best as I can remember it. Some things though were blocked out. I have included background from when I was younger for context.

It was a cold Halloween night. I had been awake for over twenty-four hours. I didn’t know where I was on 35W. When I ran out of gas, in the center lane of the Highway. I got out of the Ford F-150 to push it to the shoulder and almost got run over. “Fuck this,” I muttered as I got back in the truck and turned on my emergency flashers, and waited for the Highway patrolman.

The patrolman looked at me like I was nuts

“I’m so happy to see you,” I said, I rolled down the window. The cop looked at me like I was a Space Alien. “What are you doing stopped in the middle of the Highway?” He asked with just a touch of exacerbation in his voice.

I had a dollar in my pocket, that was it

“I ran out of gas, I tried to get out and push it to the shoulder and almost got ran over. I’m out of money, been awake over twenty-four hours and I’m done.” I answered. “Let’s get you out of the way.” The Cop said as I released the brake and put the truck in neutral. I guided the truck as he pushed me to the shoulder. The cop came back to my truck and asked for my Driver’s license, I waited in the truck while he did his thing.

The cop was very helpful

He came back to the side of the truck a few minutes later and gave me back my license. “What are we going to do about this?” he asked as I put the license back in my wallet. “I have no clue,” I answered with another shrug. “I just don’t know what to do.” The Cop thought for a minute then asked. “Where are you trying to get to?”

I was headed to a homeless shelter

“I’m trying to get to the Salvation Army,” I answered wearily. The cop thought for a minute before he responded. “Hang tight, I’m going to make some phone calls.” I nodded agreement and waited while he went to his patrol car. He came back five minutes later. “How much money do you have in your wallet?” He asked. I opened the wallet that was still in my hand.

He added his own money to get me gas

“One Dollar, that’s all I got.”

He held out his hand, I handed the buck to him. “I called in a few favors, a tow truck will be here shortly, just sit tight.” I thanked the officer and leaned my head back and closed my eyes. A few minutes later a tow truck pulled in behind me, the tow truck driver and the cop chatted as a few gallons were poured into my gas tank. After the tow truck driver finished pouring the gas, he replaced the gas cap and wished the cop a safe evening, and drove off.

The cop went above and beyond the call

The cop returned to his car and came back to the side of my truck a few minutes later. “Here’s a map to the Salvation Army, in the future, please don’t stop in the middle of the highway.” “Thank you so much, I appreciate your help.” I accepted the map and the cop and I fist-bumped then I was on my way.

It was Halloween

It was surreal driving through Downtown Minneapolis with the streets crowded with costumed adults hopping from Bar to Bar. I envied the happiness that I was witnessing, but it just made me sad. After running out of gas again and getting another couple of dollars of gas through the kindness of strangers, I finally found the Salvation Army at around one or two o’clock in the morning.

I hadn’t eaten or slept in over twenty-four hours

I parked my truck and walked to the front door and was buzzed in as I was approaching the desk a man with a backpack was walking out. I barely noticed as I walked up to the Security Guard at the desk. “May I help you? “The Guard asked quietly, He made me think of an ex-boxer, the impression shattered by his calm voice and mellow bearing.

I got the last bed

“I hope so,” I answered tiredly with my eyes focused on the uneaten pizza sitting on the desk. “I need a place to sleep, haven’t eaten or slept in over twenty-four hours.” My eyes hungrily drifted toward the box of cold pizza sitting on the desk. “Tonight’s your lucky night, the guy you passed on the way in freed up a bed just for you, have some pizza while I call and tell them you’re on the back there.” The guard said as he passed me the box of pizza.

It’s was the best pizza I ever ate

“Thank you so much,” I answered as I accepted the box of day-old cold pizza. I was just finishing the first piece when the guard hung up the phone. “Take the pizza with you and head through those doors, he pointed to some double doors to his left. “Somebody will hook you up. Good luck to you.” I thanked the man and headed through the double doors into another world.

My overnight bag was searched and I was frisked before I went back there

A cavernous room was full of men, some sleeping, some tossing and turning, most of the ones awake were talking to themselves. I walked to the two long tables at the side of the room. “I need a photo ID.” A young guy in his twenties with his bare arms covered in tattoos stuck out his hand while I got my license out of my wallet. He logged my name and gave the ID back. “Head to the end of the table.” I walked to the end of the table where another Security guy took my name and assigned me to a bunk.

I shared the cold pizza and made a friend

I hauled my tired body up on the top bunk and began to devour the cold pizza, before it was gone, a young black guy in his late teens or early twenties in the bunk next to mine asked if he could have some, I slid the box over and together we finished it off. I took the empty box to a trashcan and crawled back onto my bunk. Within minutes I was fast asleep.

It seemed like I was only asleep a few minutes when the lights came on. “Rise and shine, I need those blankets.” One of the security guys screamed. I wondered what blanket he was talking about as I grabbed the handle of my overnight bag and headed to the toilet area to shave and take a piss. After I got cleaned up, I headed to the lobby area, where I entered the building just a few hours earlier. There were coffee stations set up, so I grabbed a Styrofoam cup and filled it.

Oatmeal, grits, or cereal were the choices

I grabbed an empty spot against a wall and sipped my coffee. There were two volunteers at a table, one of them asked for silence as he said a prayer. When he finished the prayer, the volunteers started to serve breakfast. “Oatmeal or grits?” The volunteer asked. I didn’t think twice. I didn’t have anything against grits, I was born in Texas after all, but for some reason I chose oatmeal. I took my bowl and headed to the coffee pot, I was able to get a cup, not a sure thing, I found out later.

I learned to watch my back and to not bump into anyone

I found an empty spot against the wall, then I ate my breakfast and drank my coffee. While I ate, I watched the men around me. “What the fuck did I get into?” I wondered it wasn’t the first time I thought that, and it wasn’t the last. The noise in the lobby was reaching a crescendo, I was wondering what my next move was when the security guys answered for me. “Clear the lobby.” They screamed, “The lobby is closed, clear the lobby.”

I slept in my truck all-day

I followed the herd out the door into the cold, dark morning, it was a little after six A.M. I was still half asleep, so I did the only thing I could do, I went to my truck and climbed in, and locked the door. Before I went to sleep, I took out my iPhone and was surprised to see that I could get a complimentary WIFI signal from a nearby business. I logged on and checked my Facebook page. Olivia was waiting for me.

A woman in another State was my lifeline

“Are you okay?” She asked. I was too tired to be surprised, and I was too tired to wonder why a woman I had never met cared about me. “I’m okay,” I answered. “I’m just very tired.” I yawned as I waited for a response. “Well, hang in there, get some rest, I’ll talk to you later,” I said goodbye, then I fell instantly to sleep.

People can be jerks, but there are still good people out there

I woke up that afternoon, feeling like warmed-over death. I had a tremendous urge to pee, so I got out of the truck and went back inside the shelter to use the restroom. “May I help you?” The short doughy, fat woman asked. My bladder was ready to explode. “Can I use the restroom please?” I asked, at that point, I was concerned about having an accident on the floor. That morning I got my real taste of shelter life.

I earned the respect of the staff in time, but at first, I had to pay my dues

“We’re closed.” The fat woman said, then she looked down at the magazine she was reading, dismissing me. I gritted my teeth, then I began to beg. “I really have to go.” She lifted her head from the magazine and gave me a look of a serial killer before she takes a victim. “I said we’re closed.” I didn’t say another word, I just left the building. I walked around the block, and saw an Auto Parts store, and made a beeline toward it. I walked in and headed to the counter. “May I help you?” The employee asked. I looked anxiously at the men’s room door by the coffee machine.

He gave me a look, he almost said no.

“Can I use your restroom please?” The employee looked at me with a frown, he must have seen something in my face that spoke to his compassion, I know he must have had more than his share of homeless wanting to use his restrooms. “Sure, go ahead.” He nodded toward the restroom door, but I was already heading toward it. When I finished, I thanked the man profusely as I headed out the door. I went back to my pickup and slept the rest of the afternoon.

I don’t remember if the food was good, or not

I woke up tired and hungry. I grabbed the handle of the overnight bag as I got out of the truck and headed for the entrance to the shelter. I was relieved that the fat woman wasn’t sitting behind the counter. “May I help you? The man with the yellow t-shirt with “Security blazoned across his chest asked. “I need a meal and a bed,” I answered. The security guy pointed to a doorway to a small waiting area with chairs lining the walls across from each other. “Have a seat, you will know when it’s time to eat. When you’re done eating, come back here to wait for a bed.” I thanked the guard, then I had a seat and waited.

I was the only guy with an overnight bag, I felt like a tourist

I kept my overnight bag close as I watched the room start to fill. When I worked as a security guard in Florida, I worked at some posts where my main duty was to run homeless people off the client’s property. I looked for people; mostly men, wearing “the uniform.” The room began to fill with men wearing the all too familiar uniform. Worn-out jeans, ratty-looking jackets, and baseball caps, and the ever-present backpack.

I felt right at home

The strange thing, I didn’t feel out of place or afraid. I somehow felt that being among the ranks of the homeless, people I once despised, was a just sentence for my arrogance and bad attitude. As the room filled, it got louder. “Where the Hell is security?” I thought as the first of several young men walked down the aisle.

Pot didn’t stink in the ’70s and '80s

“Lao, Lao, Kush, Kush.” I didn’t know if he was buying or selling, but I soon smelled the stench of marijuana. The stench added to the noise. And soon; I had a headache. I hadn’t eaten anything but a cup of oatmeal, since I wolfed down the cold pizza the night security guard gave me the night before. My stomach grumbled as I sat waiting. As if a signal went through the room, everyone stood up and formed a line. I grabbed my overnight bag, everyone else left their backpacks in their seats, but I wasn’t that trusting yet. I finally made it to the cafeteria. I don’t remember what I ate and I didn’t finish my meal.

They didn’t give us time to eat and the cafeteria line was slow

“The dining room is closed.” The security guards screamed. I sadly looked down at my tray before standing up and taking it to the dishwasher’s window. I headed back to the waiting area with the rest of the men to get a bunk. It was the same drill as the night before, only this time I was assigned a bottom bunk, and there was a blanket. I left my overnight bag by the bunk and headed to the toilet and shower area.

You would think that people would value sleep

I came back and fell on the bunk and pulled the blanket over my head, using my jacket as a pillow. I wish I could say that I went right to sleep, but that wasn’t possible. The lights were bright, and they must have been on another two hours. It was like a dorm at summer camp. Most everyone was laughing and talking, somebody was playing Hip-hop as loud as the cellphone would play. “This is fucking nuts.” I thought as I pulled the blanket over my head, with my jacket as a pillow. I made my mind go blank as the noise got louder.

It never was quiet

“It’s quiet time, it’s quiet time.” One of the guards shouted as the lights went out. After several minutes it quieted down, but it wasn’t that quiet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” One guy muttered loudly all night long, while other men were whispering to their bunkmates, or talking to themselves. I managed somehow to get some sleep. That was pretty much what every night was like during that period of my homelessness.

Final thought:

Appreciate what you have and pray that you are never homeless.

Life after Minneapolis

Lawson lives in South Carolina with his wife Olivia. It has been four years since he left Minneapolis. His life is a lot better now.

The Next Chapter:

Details some of the struggles I had when I was younger, the road to homelessness started at a young age.

It Was Good While it Lasted

It was a good life while it lasted. I lived with my dad, a retired worker from an electronics plant and a retired Airforce Master Sargent, and my uncle, my mom’s brother, a retired plumber. We lived in a three-bedroom house that my dad bought after my mom died.

At the time, I was a security guard working the midnight shift at the largest criminal court complex in Pinellas County. I got up that night and went to the living room to check on my dad.

Dad was a life-long smoker

“What did the Doctor say, dad?” I asked not bothering to hide the fear. I knew what was coming, but I didn’t want to face it.

My dad was a life-long smoker, no matter how much my mom got on him, he never quit smoking. A week earlier, I woke up to an empty house. Richard had taken my dad to the emergency room.

He was in extreme pain in his hips. He would try to go on walks with Richard in the evening, but he would barely make it up the street.

His body was covered in tumors

The Doctors ran their tests, and that day my dad received the results. “It’s Cancer son, it’s in every cell of my body.” My dad sad calmly, as I stood there stunned. “It will be okay; it’s going to be alright.” He assured me.

“He was going to die, and he knew it, but he was reassuring me.” I thought much later. I ate dinner in silence and went to work that night with a heavy heart.

My dad died less than six weeks later

Things accelerated after that night. The Radiation treatments destroyed my dad, and the Chemotherapy didn’t help anything. Six weeks after his diagnosis, my dad was gone.

At that time in my life, I was forty-six years old. I had never lived on my own, I never had to pay bills, except for car payments and expenses involving the car. My dad only charged me eighty bucks a week to live in his house.

I was a late-starter

I opened my first checking account a few years before my dad died. To say that I was a naive late-starter is an understatement.

My parents told me the story so many times, I relive it like I was in the Doctor’s office with them.

What it must have been like

My mom and dad sat side-by-side in the Pediatricians office, staring at the plaques and Diplomas on the wall behind the desk. The Doctor looked down at the notes in his hand before looking up at my parents.

“There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m afraid your son is severely Brain-damaged.” My mom and dad sat there stunned. “I don’t see your son having a normal life.”

“What do you mean by that?” My mom asked. The Doctor took a deep breath, while my dad stared into space.

“At best, Lawson might be able to work in a Rehabilitative setting, I can’t see him going to school or having a role in the adult workforce.”

“So, he’s severely Brain-damaged.” My dad said angrily. “What should we do?”

I was in Special Education and Special Education classes

“Lawson will need Special Education.” The Doctor answered. “Maybe that will help him gain some functionality.” After talking some more, my parents thanked the Doctor and left the office, and drove home in silence.

I don’t remember much of my early childhood. I remember having trouble learning how to tie my shoes. I remember the snickers and looks I received when I got older. “Lawson’s in the Retard class. Haha.” I remember that quite clearly. When I was nine or ten years old, I was diagnosed with Dyslexia.

The school in Alaska was ahead of its time

At the time, we were stationed in Alaska, the Elementary school on the Base had a program for Dyslexics. I learned to read and write, but I wrote backyards, my parents and teachers read my work by holding it up to a mirror.

I attended Special Ed schools, then I was placed in mainstream classes, but I attended Remedial math classes the whole time I was in school. To this day, I can’t make change or do any basic math at all, But I was reading at a college level before my freshman year of high school.

I graduated from High School, barely. It wasn’t because of any Learning Disability; it was me screwing around in the smoking area and doing anything else but studying. After I graduated, I did what a lot of kids did, I left home and went back to the States by myself.

I came home with my tail between my legs

When the rest of the family came back to the States a year and a half later, I moved back home with my tail between my legs.

I had been living with my grandparents in Denver Colorado. I was in a Federally funded jobs program. I was working with other people in the same program. We did our jobs when we weren’t getting drunk and high.

I wasn’t happy, I missed my family, and I was bitter because I didn’t succeed the way I wanted to. My mom drove from Texas to Denver to pick up me and my brother, he was attending college at UC Boulder.

I lived with my parents until they died, then I lived with my mom’s brother, my uncle Richard, I was evicted from my trailer the year after he died.

The Next Chapter:

I discover the library and I get to know Olivia:

The library and Olivia

“This sucks.” I thought as I woke up stiff and tired in my truck. That night, while we waited for dinner. I turned to the guy sitting next to me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone but needed to know. “Where does everyone go when they kick us out in the mornings?” I asked. I sat in my truck for two or three mornings, watching as my neighbors spread out and disappeared, and I was tired of it.

I perked up when he said “library”

“Well,” the guy answered. “Some of us wander the skyway, some of us go to Mary Jo’s, and some of us go to the library.” I didn’t know what the skyway was, I should have asked about that, but I perked up when he mentioned the library. “Where’s the library?” I asked, “A warm place to read.” That was the first thing that came to my mind.

I managed to get there without getting lost

“Just head down Hennepin Avenue.” He answered, pointing in the direction of downtown. I sat there feeling better than I had in days. “Where are they going?” I wondered the next morning, as I sat shivering in the pickup. I got out and followed the crowd to the bus terminal next door. We headed to a loading area, there were busses with their engines idling, and there were also two security guards and a cop.

We had a place to hang for an hour

The area was full of men standing and leaning against the walls. I found a spot and waited with the rest of the homeless men. An hour later, it was time to go. “Alright guys, get a move on, you got to go.” The cop yelled. I headed out into the early morning, heading for the still closed library. It was a long walk, but I found the library with no problem. The lobby was open so I went in and sat on a bench.

Most of us hung out at the library

I watched as familiar faces entered the lobby and sat on the benches. At nine A.M. The librarians opened the sliding doors and we headed to the computers. The first thing I had to do, the computer needed a library card number and username. I had sat down in front of a terminal, and couldn’t log on, so I headed to the desk and got a card and instructions on how to log on to the computers. I sat down and logged on to Facebook, Olivia was waiting for me. We had met a few days earlier on Facebook.

The last thing in the world I was looking for was a relationship

I was in the basement, avoiding the people I was staying with. I was on my laptop on Facebook, when I got a message. “Can I talk to you?” An African-American woman asked. “Why sure,” I answered. We introduced ourselves and talked for about fifteen minutes. I told her a bit about my situation, then I had to go to work for the last time. At the time, Olivia lived in South Carolina, where she was a caretaker for her mother who had Alzheimer’s. She didn’t know why she started talking to me. She had sent me a friend request to pad her friend’s list.

We talked for over two years before we met

We talked off and on throughout the day, a pattern that lasted for two and a half years. I couldn’t always stay online all day, sometimes I had to give up my spot for someone else, but we still talked a lot and for a long time. I would leave my backpack with my laptop in the truck, but after a while, I started taking it to the library. I would use the library WIFI and Olivia and I would talk throughout the day uninterrupted.

The security guards were very aggressive

Like the bus terminal in the mornings, the library had unarmed security and armed police officers steadily patrolling. It was a good thing they were, the homeless would set in groups being loud and obnoxious, sometimes an asshole would crank up a radio. Two good things happened at the library, Olivia and I got to know each other, and I started writing again. I had always wanted to write, but I didn’t have the confidence or the skills. In my early fifties, I was working as a security guard at a transit bus terminal in Clearwater Florida.

I was paid to roust the homeless from the terminal, the irony

I would give a play-by-play of the weirdness I experienced during my shift. I had followers from all over the world, it was a live soap opera. I had the idea to write a book about my job at the terminal. I would sit in the library all day, banging the keys of my laptop, until I got tired, then I would sit and stare out the window or watch the other homeless people act like asses. I would doze off, but for only a minute or two before a security guard was tapping me on the shoulder. I would apologize and shake off the tiredness and force myself to stay awake. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I used to roust homeless people, and I enjoyed it. Now the shoe was on the other foot.

We met on FaceBook

I would write and talk to Olivia, until three or four O’clock, then I would pack up my laptop and take the long walk back to the shelter. I had started talking to Olivia, an African-American woman who lived in South Carolina, where she lived with her younger brother and two sisters. The three siblings took care of their mother, who had Alzheimer’s.

It was nice to have someone friendly to talk to

I was at my laptop, in the basement. I was on Facebook trying to stay out of the way of the family upstairs. I had accepted a friend request from Olivia, she wanted to fill her friend’s list. We didn’t know each other; we had never met. I accepted her friend request because I used to accept every friend request, I received. I still smile when I think of that first conversation. “Can I talk to you?” She asked via Messenger. I didn’t hesitate, I just wanted to have a friendly conversation. I would have talked to anyone at that point. “Why sure,” I answered. We talked for a few minutes, then I had to go to work. We talked again the next night and the morning I had to leave to find a homeless shelter. We talked throughout the day, every day.

Olivia was my lifeline

Olivia became my lifeline. I don’t believe I would have survived the streets of Minneapolis without her encouragement, and we had never met. She was the only bright spot I had for months, as my mental and physical health deteriorated.

The Next Chapter:

My health deteriorates