Scott

In a college town like ours, Fall is the start of a new year, fresh with possibilities. This year at the Survival Center, though, we're beginning the year in mourning for one of our regulars, Scott, whose body was found on the bank of a nearby river about a week ago.

Everybody knew Scott. He was the young guy (38 when he died, though he looked even younger) with the wild red hair, sunburn-peeled nose and the bare feet soaking up the warmth in a sunny spot by the kitchen door in the morning.

Though Scott lived outdoors, he would bristle at being called a homeless man. One thing I've learned in my six months here is that homelessness covers a wide variety of situations that don't conform readily to common stereotypes. Scott loved the outdoors. His homelessness flowed from a passionate appreciation for the environment, a passion that may have overtaken the more typical instinct for safety and comfort, for self-preservation.

Scott was also an ardent advocate for justice. He spent many hours standing quietly, observing as activity swirled around him at the Center. I could always rely on Scott to bring to my attention—gently but with a keen urgency—problems or inconsistencies that he had witnessed, and he worked with us to make sure that our rules and policies were clearly posted and followed. Scott’s primary interest was in making the Center a place where respect and kindness permeated each and every interaction. He never complained on his own behalf, but was always mindful about the comfort and safety of others.

Yet, for all this, Scott was clearly a troubled man. He clung tenaciously to a vision of a perfect world. His strongly held faith in the possibility of goodness took a daily beating in the rough-and-tumble of everyday existence. Most of us make a sort of peace with the disconnect between the kind of world we strive for and the one we actually live in. Scott, ultimately, could not.

I suspect that there are others who pass through the Survival Center who suffer in a similar way. Fervent in their beliefs that the Center, the town, and the world could all achieve perfection, they struggle against imperfect reality to the point where their fanaticism may overtake their ability to function in the mainstream.

Yet I’m lucky to be in a position where I can learn from these folks. As Director of the Survival Center, I count on them to keep my feet to the fire, to remind me not to give in to complacency or frustration, to tell me in no uncertain terms that the world really can be a better place. I hope to be able to continue to pay tribute to Scott in the coming years by remembering, and acting upon, the force of his extraordinary vision.