Danny

Thea and I have written from time to time about the various "characters" that come to the St. Francis Inn. There's football-helmeted Harry, "Big Bill", the ex-state trooper, violent Leon (now being sought by police), Vito, Jimmie, and a host of others. One of the most enigmatic is Danny, not so affectionately called "Drunk Danny" by most of us.

Danny was one of the first of our guests that I knew by name when we arrived here. When he is sober (rare), he is very engaging. He's probably in his 40's but it's hard to tell because the ravages of alcohol, drugs, HIV, and street living have taken their toll. Before his decline, Danny had a wife, family, and a job, but for whatever reason, his fascination with drugs and alcohol ruined that part of his life. Since September, there has been a heart-wrenching progression in Danny's outward story. (As with all of us, it is really difficult to know what lies in his heart -- I am only telling you what I can see and observe.)

When Thea and I first arrived, Danny came to all the meals. I remember that he was fairly lucid, could carry on a conversation, and was not visibly drunk. He is, I believe, of Irish descent, and this probably contributed to his getting into lively verbal exchanges with some of the other guests. But, in those days, Danny was rarely too far "out of line". In sum, he was a colorful, a little rowdy, interesting guest.

As the fall progressed, Danny began his descent. He showed up at the Inn drunk more and more often. Sometimes, our staff judged him so drunk that he was banned from entering our yard because we feared that he would get into a fight with other guests. One horrible night in November, Leon, our neighborhood's "enforcer", saw Danny passed out drunk on our steps. Leon went ballistic and for no reason that I could think, beat the ***** out of him. Danny ended up bleeding profusely and Mary K (one of our current FVM's) and I patched him up until the ambulance arrived to take him to the hospital. A warrant was issued for Leon, who left the neighborhood that night and has not been seen since.

When Danny returned from the hospital, he looked much older. As winter continued, Danny drank more and more. On many occasions he came to the yard during meals and panhandled the staff and guests: "Hey, Man, can you give me $0.30 toward a token? I have got to take the El downtown for an important appointment." We all knew that Danny had NO important appointments -- he needed the money to buy a beer or heroin.

I remember one awful evening when Danny showed up drunk before a meal and tried to get money from Fr. Michael. Father responded with something like: "Danny, you are drunk, and I am NOT giving you any money for ANYTHING. I love you too much to give you money." Danny responded in an angry yelling voice: "So, you love me so much, well you have a funny way of showing it. I am only asking for a F****ing $0.30!" All of us watched as Danny, out of his mind with alcohol, approached person after person in the yard begging for a dime, a quarter, anything. Everyone rejected him. I remember feeling a deep sadness and pity for him. Eventually, Danny turned violent, cursing and yelling at everyone until some of the huge young guys from our AA program (directly across the street from the Inn) came over and literally dragged him away kicking and cursing.

About three weeks ago, I was on the gate and Danny came by. He looked horrible -- pasty, bloated face with several open sores, dirty, smelly clothes and body, no hair (fallen out as a result of the HIV) -- and, of course he was drunk out of his mind. I asked him if he wanted a meal (to go) because in his condition, I would not allow him in the yard. He responded, "No, man, I just want alcohol!" A few nights later, Danny was sitting on Thea and my house's front steps. The walls are thin, and I could hear him talking to Vito, who also frequents our front steps. "Vito", Danny said, "I'm dying. Got pneumonia, both lungs. I'm dying man....dying. Do you hear what I am saying, Man? I'm f***ing dying!"

I didn't see Danny for a couple of weeks after that. I feared the worst -- years of drinking and drugs had finally killed him. But, no... a few days ago, Brother Fred told me that Danny had stopped drinking! And, yesterday, as I handed out tickets for the meal, here comes Danny -- sober. I couldn't believe it. He certainly still looks sick, but he also looks so much better. His facial sores are healed; his color is pale, not grey; and he doesn't look so tired and on the verge of death. I greeted him: "Danny, you look great! How long have you been sober?" Danny smiled and said: "Nine days, man...haven't drunk in nine days!" I congratulated him, told him that he is in my prayers, and sent him inside to get his meal. I flashed on the courage that the man has to confront his demons in the face of so many obstacles. I wondered if I would stop drinking if my own death from HIV were fast approaching. Maybe, maybe not.

I don't know what will happen to Danny. He still has full blown HIV, and he still is dying. However, at least for now, he is sober and able to function. And, when you think about it, Danny is really no different than all of us. We have ups and downs; sometimes we handle our addictions and dark spots well, sometimes not so well. Sometimes we listen to God speaking in our lives, and at other times we block Him out with "legal drugs" like alcohol, tobacco, television, or mindless paperbacks. No, we are not so different from Danny.

I will continue to pray for Danny, realizing that I am also praying for myself, because there, but for the grace of God go I.