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I Knew Jesse (exerpt from June 2006)

Publisher's reflections of the Jesse Newberry "suicide-by-train."

(This month’s TSC issue continues its “Root Causes of Homelessness” theme.)

 I usually saw Jesse Newberry spray-painted and nattily dressed; although once a couple of weeks before the end of his life I saw him so neatly dressed in blue shirt and tan tie, dark pants and shined shoes, I did not recognize him. It was a little unsettling, to see this positive, "mainstream" image of him. He looked good by anyone's standards, certainly would have no trouble sitting for an interview of some kind for fear of a negative impression. Frankly, the guy struck me as two cans short of a six-pack from the get go, but when he or anyone approaches me for one of my Marlboros as he often did, or for a stack of TSC papers to distribute in exchange for donations, I am compassionate and I comply. Often he would light up with me at The Resource Center, in front of E street Roma or The Plaza across the street next to 31 Flavors. He’d talk, I’d try to make heads or tails of what he was trying to mean, if not say.. Just as often, I’d walk away thinking what he said “sounded too much like right.” What I mean is that this was a man with demons, and he was fighting them. Demons we all have to contend with from time to time. And with justification and conviction of the kind we should all aspire. He would make references to God, and life, and death.

The first time I gave a unit of 25 copies of The Spare Changer, I really didn’t think he would return the $1.25 per issue sold, as TSC Client Vendors are requested to do to help defray my costs of production. I didn’t think he could "stay in the here and now" long enough to “sell” them. I was wrong on both counts. First time he went out in front of the Chopotle restaurant he sold out in less than three hours surrounding lunchtime. He had his retro donations separated from monies he could keep; his own $1.25 for the $2.50 requested donation, plus tips, when I came bicycling back by to check on him. Another time "something happened" and he lost or ruined twenty-five copies, and he disappeared for a few days. When he returned, he told me about the mishap in his own inimitable way, paid me ten dollars and promised to pay the balance when he got his check “on the first.”

Well, I was so pleased I told him not to worry about the balance. It was all good and it was, really. I think it was his honesty, in all things, that stand out in my mind the most now that he is gone. And his sincerity. And his homelessness. I honestly believe his evident suicide-by-train might not have occurred, had this certifiable mentally challenged…and emotionally challenged I imagine, young man had been housed in some kind of affordable supportive housing. Think about it: Whatever went through his mind at the moment of decision to let the train hit him, what ever demon urged him to investigate the mystery of death, what ever devil made him do it, how likely would it have been for him to have been even near a train, at that moment, if he had been housed? At times of extreme depression, (or exhilaration,) how likely am I to blow my brains out if I have no gun? I believe we, as a community, must take some responsibility for this kind of tragic ending to the young life of one of our members, “homeless” though he was. I’d like to see affordable housing for the mentally or emotionally challenged, whether they have benefits or still in the processing phase. The process can be lengthy indeed, so a safety net while the applications are pending is needed. The Caesar Chavez Project will prove to be just such housing; 52 units at a rental rate of $225.00. It will be supportive, I believe with on-site tenet/client support, but sadly, too late for Jesse. I'm not one for funerals, so I skipped the 10:00am service on the 6th of May. I did attend the memorial service of his many friends and family. Survived by a mother and father, grand-parents, a brother and several sisters, uncles, aunts and cousins, this talented if troubled young man will be missed by them all. I will miss him too.

 As soon as I walked into the Ranch Yolo Club House, I was greeted with the warm smile and handshake of a mother who had been flown from Tennessee to burry her son. I say "had been flown" with a sense of Davis community pride and compassion, because Grace-in-Action, a local non-profit which provides services for the un-sheltered poor, and where Jesse was an occasional guest, collected donations for the air fare. At the last minute, University Honda here in town provided two tickets, and the donations collected by GIA's Director, Cindy Berger, were instead put into the service of paying for memorial reception costs including food and refreshments, multi-media equipment (Jesse was an inspired free-style rapper and a good one!), candles, helium for the balloons. Good lookin' out, I say. Anyways, Jesse's mom, "Bunny," introduced herself to me and sat down for a few minutes to talk. she looked a bit surprised to see me there, but a look I can't quite describe just now faded when I told her we were both clients of the DCM Resource Center and GIA, that we were buddies if not close, and that Jesse distributed TSC issues for me once or twice. She seemed in organization mode, pressed for time as everyone was, to get in and out...with the Club House cleaned and refreshed for later use by 1 0'clock. She began to tell me of Jesse's beginnings, how he was born into a home of contention between father and mother; how he had come from a broken home. She expressed the difficulty he faced coming from a broken home and the resentment and bitterness as well as difficulties she faced as a single mom:

" Jesse was hit by a car when he four years old and I don't know how much of his schizophrenia was caused by that r genetics. He seemed ok, but as he grew into adolescence he suffered. He went to live with his father as a teenager; he went back and forth between us until he was about 17. After that he was kind of on his own. He enlisted into the Air Force but was discharged on a medical. And then he found himself on the streets. He went up to Oregon and began getting hassled the police. He was always eloquent in his poetic rapping, but usually misunderstood. This happened quite a bit in Oregon and in Washington he spent 60 days in jail down there, instead of being n a hospital. He was mentally ill, but misunderstood. It’s tragic. He slipped through the cracks. Police, professionals... I dunno. It was his time I guess." With that "Bunny" stood up, shouldered her brown leather purse and we said "good-bye." Jesse is yet another one of our un-sheltered poor lost, and another reason I personally support sustainable and “truly affordable housing" for all, particularly those with mental or emotional impairments, as well as those with personality dysfunctions that preclude them from working with others.


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