Playing Fair and Being Kind

I’ve been overwhelmed with good fortune and new experiences beyond words. I am still processing my trip over the past month that I have been quiet on this page. Please forgive my absence and enjoy this short story that I just completed today. The story is true to the last detail. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you are of a mind to .

Peace,

g

EL PADRINO

The neighborhoods of Boston are all the same. Only the names are different. People living on the nonlinear grids, the old cow paths, the bovine trails of the neighborhoods of Boston have all lived nonlinear lives in similar fashion. Their lives take winding paths through time and space in a mildly chaotic pattern. The neighborhoods take on that flavor of chaos, in the energy and the direction of intent. Walking the sidewalks of the streets through the neighborhoods of Boston one has the sense that anything can happen and it does.

I grew up in Dorchester and found that the trek from my parents home on Adams Street to the Red Line subway station was as eventful and uneventful as the trek from 52 White Street in East Boston to the Blue Line subway station. The journey to Field’s Corner Station was eerily similar to the adventure of walking to Maverick Station. To walk Adams Street was to walk Meridian Street. Keeping one eye on the cars passing, the doorways, and the dog shit landmines. I grew up in Dorchester and much, much later I spent three years as clinical director of a half-way house in East Boston. Both situations were nonlinear.

East Boston was inhabited by Italian families and I worked at the half-way house owned and operated by an Italian family. Greater Boston is divided still by ethnic groupings; less than before but still. Mirroring the divisions are the associations and ties within the political/professional circles of alcohol recovery programs. Most of the recovery half-way houses in Greater Boston were started by and catered to by the Irish communities. I know of only two alcohol recovery programs hosted by other than Irish; one is in Roxbury near Dudley Station on the Orange Line and the one in East Boston where I was the clinical director. To make the system unhealthier for non Irish executive directors of alcohol recovery programs the director of the state agency writing and implementing and enforcing the laws and statutes was a man named Mulligan.

One of the major struggles of a recovery home or half-way house is keeping the beds filled with clients so the state will pay a large share of the client’s cost of living. That is how the money is made and the wages are paid. The executive director and I spent much of our time, when she was present, discussing my inability to keep the beds filled. At least that was her part of the conversation. My part was always a bit passive aggressive. I’d be busting my butt networking with agencies that provided detoxification to alcoholics. But those agencies were always sending the men who wanted to do a six month program to the half-way houses that were their favorites. Those houses were, as you can guess, the ones operated by the Irish. It took me a while but I eventually made inroads with that group. I was born and raised in one of the most Irish neighborhoods therefore I had a toe hold. The bottom line though was to fill the beds. Nothing else mattered as much.

A stroke of luck brought a guaranteed supply of alcoholics to our doorstep. There was in Chelsea, the next town over from East Boston, just across the Mystic River in fact, a large population of Hispanics. They had an active group of recovering alcoholics. With a bit of inquiry I discovered there was one man in Chelsea who was the godfather of Hispanic Alcoholics Anonymous. In Spanish the name used for the word “Sponsor” is “Padrino”. El Padrino, the man I wanted to meet in Chelsea to network with was Lino Perez. Lino was El Padrino. In fact Lino was the Padrino of all Hispanic AA in New England. Lino was a very influential man. To be clear, Lino had gained his position of influence long before his entry into the the AA business. Lino came to his high regard through other means none of which were clear to me. It was obvious however that Lino was very influential.

I cooked up a plan to visit with El Padrino at his headquarters in Chelsea. I wanted to go to him to show my respect. I asked around and discovered that Lino kept regular hours at the AA headquarters in Chelsea at a storefront operation. I went alone in the middle of the day and I found the location easily. Lino came out of the back of the storefront and greeted me politely. His focus was on me and on what I had to say. I felt welcome but at the same time I knew I was being scrutinized and measured. Lino could be intimidating. His gray polarized eye glasses hid his expression so I was careful to stay on topic and keep the conversation simple and to the point. Lino had few questions. He knew more about me and the half-way house than I’d expected.

My meeting with Lino was cordial and productive. Lino and I came to an agreement to keep a number of Spanish speaking recovering alcoholics housed at East Boston on a continuing basis. I had a counselor in house, Ben, who could speak Spanish well enough to provide treatment for the men. Lino had a steady stream of homeless men with alcohol problems who were arriving in this country from all over the Central American region and the Caribbean. We had a deal so we parted company with the understanding that I would contact him in a few days to let him know that the way was clear to begin our operation.

I made arrangements with the executive director to dedicate six beds for men who could not speak English. I told her I could guarantee those six beds would always be occupied. She didn’t care who was in the beds as long as she could bill the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for them.

The new addition to our program was successful. There were adjustments necessary because with any new solution there is a new set of problems. None of the staff spoke Spanish with the exception of Ben. All of the residents needed to be constantly reminded that some of them did not understand English. In a forty-two bed facility with six non-English speakers that was a hurdle that needed clearing constantly. There were also cultural and class differences that became a constant challenge. Personal space and personal property was always a topic of contention. The upshot was that there was no need to hold a special meeting to introduce the Hispanic population to the other clients. These guys were constantly interacting on some level of confusion. My Spanish language vocabulary was increasing hourly.

Ben was doing a terrific job with his six charges. All the Spanish speakers were attending AA meetings in Chelsea at night and the Chelsea AA group members made sure that the six were toeing the line and were always back in the house by curfew. The six men were doing as well as could be expected for newly sober people. Ben was happy with the new responsibility. There was only one glitch as far as Ben could determine. One of the six, Manuel, was a very quiet man. He didn’t interact with anyone. He spoke Spanish and he was provided us by Lino. We couldn’t determine what prevented him from being more interested in his comrades.

Of course the problem was non-existent. The problem was cultural. We gringos were unclear in regard to the behaviors exhibited by the six and Manuel was the most unclear of the group. The fact about Manuel was that he was simply different from the rest of us all. We never considered that at all. Shame on us.

About a month into our new Spanish speaking element Ben and I were discussing his case load. All were doing well but Ben was concerned with Manuel and his seeming isolation from the others. He had determined that Manuel was “crazy”. I saw nothing wrong in Ben’s assessment so I thought that Manuel was “crazy” too. We determined to keep an eye on Manuel and if the problem persisted we would ask Lino to help. It didn’t take us long to decide that Manuel was too isolated, too this, too that so we made a call to Chelsea and asked Lino to stop by the half-way house to pay a visit and see his contributions to our treatment program. We did this on a regular basis anyway so the request was not an alarm going out to Lino.

Lino arrived as arranged and he and I sat in my office. He and I had gotten to know one another over the brief period of our new relationship. We were comfortable with each other but there was still that level of vigilance that he commanded. Lino’s history demanded he be watchful and I never doubted the fragility of trust with him. I was careful to be as dedicated to our promises and agreements as possible. We sat in my office and exchanged pleasantries and cautious gossip for a few minutes and then it was time to offer to Lino my reason for inviting him. I was a little hesitant and I’m sure he knew I had something out of the ordinary up my sleeve. With characteristic patience Lino kept his eyes on me and remained perfectly still while I circled in to present the situation that Ben and I wanted to clear up with him about Manuel. Lino had lighted a cigarette and was casually smoking and listening. I finally got to the part that was the crux of my meeting with him.

I stammered a bit and said, Lino, we think that Manuel is a little bit crazy.

Dammit! I had choked and pulled my punch at the last moment. A little bit crazy? What was that about? I don’t know what I expected Lino to say or do. I was nervous and unsure what would be coming back from him. He didn’t move a muscle except for the hand with the cigarette and the smoke coming from his mouth that circled his head. I could not see his eyes for the gray lens-ed glasses. He had kept his hat and top coat on for the whole meeting. Lino sat motionless for a moment and let the statement We think that Manuel is crazy hang in the air. The implication was that Manuel was not welcome to stay at the half-way house and that we were now setting a boundary for the behavior of his charges. I was very uncomfortable and I’m sure Lino was well aware of that.

Lino saved the day. He saved the day and got me off the hook and cemented a new level of trust all in one simple response. Lino seemed to relax about one eighth of one inch into the chair across from mine and he raised the cigarette to his lips and took a pull keeping his eyes on mine. I was leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees in my counselor-attending posture.

Lino’s face showed the slightest signal of amusement as he exhaled smoke and said, Aren’t we all, Jorge?

That was it. I was caught flat footed and I had no where to go with that. Of course he was absolutely correct. We are all a little bit crazy indeed. No one is exempt. Lino hit it out of the park and I could only stare back in complete agreement. He had me and we both knew it.

All I could say was, You’re right. What was I thinking? We can deal with this. I’m glad we had this conversation.

We spent a few minutes more talking about the others and how well they were all doing. I’d gained a new appreciation for people and their differences. I was a step closer to accepting life on life’s terms. Lino and I both came to a new place and it was good and on schedule. El Padrino indeed.

G. M. Goodwin

17 March 2016