Newspaper Entertainment/Feature Column

Sylvia Shank, The Harbinger
Shawnee Mission HS (Prairie Village, Kan.)

Invisible

I was curious about Pete.

I go jogging in Mill Creek Park on the Plaza and as I reach the top of the biggest hill, Pete is always sitting there, bike propped against a bench, hands in his pockets.

While I run, Pete sits on his bench and watches the world.

Finally, last Tuesday I got up the guts to walk over and say hello.

“Hi, I’m Pete,” he said.

49 years old. Black. According to him, mentally retarded.

Pete likes to talk. He tells me it’s his favorite thing to do and he proves himself to be quite the conversationalist. Yet he has no one to talk to.

“I’m lonely,” he said. “Nobody ever talks to me.”

When you’re homeless, jobless and mentally ill, companionship is scarce. Because people don’t talk to him, he goes to the park and watches them talk to each other.

Loneliness and a lack of purpose in his life are his only complaints. So rare are conversations, that Pete says they become the biggest event in his week.

“When I meet somebody, I think about them for four or five days,” he said.

According to the National Center on Homelessness and Poverty, an estimated 3.5 million people live homeless in the United States.

Pete went to Lincoln Prep in Kansas City and married his girlfriend at 18 because she was pregnant. The marriage ended three years later, and he never sees their three kids. He doesn’t really want to. They remind him of his ex-wife, and Pete doesn’t want to remember.

He isn’t sure how, but he wants to help people.

“Can I help you?” he keeps asking. “I’ll help you with your homework. Don’t you need help?”

He takes comfort in being around people, even if they don’t look at him.

He tells me people are scared of him because they see he’s homeless and has a lazy eye, but he’s quick to defend himself.

“I am not crazy!”

He used to work- as a bus boy and cook. Eleven years ago, he quit.

“I didn’t like it. Plus, I wasn’t making enough money for it to be worth it.”

The government sends him a $600 disability check each month that arrives at his cousin’s house. Pete takes $10 and leaves the rest to his cousin because she’s single and has two kids.

“She lives in a little space in the projects,” he said. “She’s tryin’ to take care of her kids. She needs it more than I do.”

He suffered a heart attack three years ago, and to fight it, he’s made dietary changes.

“I drink a lot of juice. It’s good for my heart. I can buy a whole gallon of it for a dollar at the store I go to.”

He calls it his bench. It’s where he wakes up as the sun rises and where he goes to sleep around midnight. It’s also where he passes his days, looking at the businessmen, nurses, runners and shoppers.

The world ignores Pete.

Or thinks to itself, “Get a job.” “Stop being lazy.”

“I’ve been thinking about going back to work, maybe at Gates Barbeque,” he said.

; In order to apply, he needs $45 as an application fee.

“It depends on my luck, how much money I’ll get a day,” he said. “I don’t panhandle; I just hope people will give me money. Sometimes, they do.”

If he gets the money and gets a job, he still plans to stay homeless. It’s become his preferred way of life because he says it helps him deal with his disability.

“You learn to take care of yourself,” he said. “You take control of your life and you can’t just sit back and do nothing. You have to survive.”

Beside Pete on the bench is a bottle of vegetable oil and a crow bar. I ask about them and he says he searches through the trashcans every morning.

“You can find all sorts of things in there,” he said.

He doesn’t yet know what he’ll do with today’s items. He isn’t sure if he’ll make enough money to buy a $1.60 hot dog for dinner. If he doesn’t, he may find something left in a trashcan or on the ground. He may just wait until the morning and walk to the Mission on 41st street that serves breakfast.

But tonight, when the sun sinks down and all the runners and bikers and doctors go home, Pete’s still going to be sitting.

He’ll turn up his portable radio on Country 104.3 FM. Alone in the park, he’s a little bit lonely, but he’s made peace with this life. He shuts his eyes, curls up on the bench that’s too short for a grown man.

It might not be home, but this is Pete’s bench.