To honor the requests of readers, I will fill in the blanks; the parts I left out concerning Marlin, the Nashville homeless man I tried to help. I'm not sure what percentage of homeless folks he was represented, but at the time, I thought he was the exception. In retrospect and even as time went on, I came to realize many things I did not in the beginning, but I also think he changed throughout the

three or so years I knew him.

Your having read Part I, you are familiar with how I met Marlin and of my efforts to help him. From my understanding through what he had told me, he had only worked a small amount of time in his life, and that was hanging dry wall, but from his description, it sounded as though that only lasted a couple days. I also believe he worked a couple days in a coal mine, the vocation of his father. Work did not seem Marlin’s forte or desire.

When he had been forced to move his van from the street and we allowed him to park it in our parking lot, he had backed it in to the farthest end of the lot so that the sliding door of the passenger side could open to face the hedges where his homeless buddies lived and the friver's side faced toward the street. They were able to enjoy each other all the time back and forth this way and the van blocked much of the view from the street of the homeless encampment on the other side of it as well as those who went back and forth there. I often went to the other side of his van and sat on a log to talk to him, but I never ventured into the encampment. It seemed like another world; theirs--in which I would have felt as an invader, nor did I really want to go there. But I was not uncomfortable talking to Marlin just a few feet away from it, or saying hello to the familiar faces that passed to and fro between the two worlds.

After he had to move his van, he asked me to call a helpful, sympathetic couple who had brought him money and food on occasion to tell them where he had relocated. They had given him their phone number  (a long distance call for him on a pay phone to another county) and had been very benevolent and kind to him. Now he wanted to make sure he didn't miss out on any such contributions. I did contact them with this message and I still keep in touch with them. They mentioned that early on, he had even requested a small battery-operated TV from them, advising them that they might be able to find one at a garage sale.  (They didn't pursue this suggestion.) He later gave me the same suggestion, which I also ignored.

Mostly it was on Saturdays when I got off early that I sat on that log to talk to Marlin. I always went to McDonalds first and got him a hamburger. He would say, “I don't feel like eating it just now. I'll save it for later.”  I often wondered if it was because he was embarrassed to chew in front of me with no teeth or because he sold it. My log discussions with him were usually about how to get him out of his  fruitless, dead-end situation and I had the plan in place in my head, step by step. He said he liked it and acted enthusiastic. I thought the ideal situation would be to find a job for him where he could have his van on premises, like perhaps a construction job where they wouldn't mind the presence of his two pets, though, even better would be if he could find them good homes. But he didn't seem to be willing to even consider giving them up. 

One time I took him to a local annual church clothing sale and let him pick out some nice pants and shirts, which I bought for him. Another time I went shopping for him in a local thrift store and brought him the clothes I had selected for him. Some of the pants were too long when he emerged from his van, having tried them on in there, so I pinned them and took them home to hem them. However, I never saw him wear any of those things. I think he probably sold them.

This van-in-the-parking lot arrangement went on for a couple years, then one evening as I was working in my office, the landlady of my building came and told me that the police ordered the van off the property. When I protested that it was private property and asked how this could be done, she said the police were enforcing it because of complaints of the apartment house owner across the street. I went over and talked to that landlady and she insisted that the goings-on after dark by the inhabitants of the encampment were very rowdy as they ran around shouting and raising cane. I told her surely Marlin wasn't like this and she insisted that he was right in there with the rest of them and that I didn't see what went on at night, but he was very much a part of all this. Ultimately, he was forced to move his van, which wound up in the back end of the nearby Compton's grocery store parking lot.

One brisk fall afternoon after Marlin had given his animals up, he called my office to ask me to give  him and another homeless person, a female named Inez, a ride to the local bus station where they would get a ride to a destination somewhere in Alabam. Here they would live in a trailer that belonged to a Inez's relative who would let them live there free of charge. Inez, despite her rough, disheveled appearance, one front tooth missing and shoulder-length, brown, straggly hair, had a great personality; very lively and vivacious, laughed easily and I often saw her from my upstairs office window interacting with various policeman as they both laughed and conversed together. They apparently all knew her from her long criminal record, but speaking with her on occasion as I did, it was hard to believe this was the woman Marlin had described as capable of being vicious and having to watch one's self around. 

“She'll stab you in the back if she thinks you have money or if she's on drugs,” he had warned. She told me once that she had just gotten out of jail for beating and robbing someone, but said that it was a case of mistaken identity. (I didn't believe the last part.) She was on any substance she could get hold of, Marlin said. Yet now he was asking me to take them both to the Nashville Greyhound station.

When we arrived there, he explained that they had to wait outside until close to their bus departure time, as no one was allowed to loiter inside the station without a bus ticket, which I suspect had something to do with anyone's indigent appearance. They needed to panhandle a bit more money for bus fare and I gave them at least part of what they needed. I was happy for them about going elsewhere and getting a new start. They were not involved romantically, but were good friends and I thought this meant a fresh beginning for them both away from their bad influencing indigent cohorts.

That new beginning only lasted about two months, as they were back in mid-winter. Marlin simply said when I saw him in Compton's, the local mama-papa grocery store a block away from my office, that it didn't work out. And he hadn't been seeking me out, but I only ran into him. I think he was embarrassed. I vaguely remember him saying something about a fire, which probably had something to do with him smoking; something he always seemed to have money for. He had also construed that the man who had given them the place to live had committed some injustice that terminated their relationship. I was to learn that nothing was ever Marlin's fault in his view.

He always called me from McDonald's pay phone a block away. Such was the time he called and asked me to take him to a location about 35 miles away to ranch of the lady who needed what amounted basically to 'ranch hands.' It was a job that included room and board as well as pay in exchange for working around the place. I told him I would do so after the last client at my electrolysis clinic.

I assured that nice female ranch owner as the three of us sat together upon our arrival that she had nothing to worry about with Marlin; that he was sweet, good-natured and would be very compliant. Marlin smiled and nodded in confirming agreement. His quarters were a neat little bunk house with all the basic essentials in one tidy room. She said she felt it important that everyone had their own private space. One end of the barn across the way was like a convenient home for all the help: a sitting room with a couch and chairs, a little kitchenette, showers down a long hall, and a covered porch. The rest of the barn was separated for the horse stalls. Though meals were furnished, there was also a small restaurant across the street where the help could go if so desired. She paid them in cash.

She said there was to be no smoking on premises because she was terrified of the barn burning. She related an incident several years ago, where one ranch hand had caught the barn on fire.

I explained to her that Marlin had a van in Nashville which held his few earthly possessions and that perhaps he'd feel more comfortable with it on the premises. If I could get it there, would it be okay with her? She said sure. I was thinking of having someone follow me there so I could leave it there for him and ride back with whomever had followed me. Marlin had given me the key to his van so that I could move it if need be, to avoid it being parked in the same place for too long.

I called the ranch owner the next night to see how he was doing and she said he played with the cats all day and didn't do a thing, but said she wasn't too worried about that because she figured he was just getting into the swing of things in his new environment.

The next day, I ventured into Marlin's van for the first time. Absolutely filthy, it stunk to high heaven, probably with duck do-do and the bag of rotting peaches, probably a neglected gift, but now with fruit flies buzzing around them, though I was determined to gather all his clothes and take them home to wash them. I would then put them back all neatly clean and folded. I had not volunteered laundering his clothes before because I hadn't wanted to start such expectations. I was also going to rip the horrible carpeting out and replace it with new floor covering of some kind, which I promptly went and purchased. This is how I would present his van to him when I brought it to the ranch.

Two days later when his new employer called me at home, she said she was terrified that Marlin would come and burn her barn down because she had mentioned to us both how terrified she was of that. She explained that all the other helpers were afraid of him. They tried to help him by showing him how to do things and he got mad and threatened them bodily harm. Besides the rake, he had a knife strapped to his ankle under his pants with which he had threatened them. He had gone across the street to the restaurant with a couple other guys in the morning, paid for his meal by borrowing money from one of them, and then got mad when he got back and the owner had asked him to do the weed eating. Out of her sight now, she was worried of his revenge. He wasn't only mad because she refused to pay him for him doing no work, but for 'expecting him to be her slave.'  He threatened to take her to the labor board. Of course he didn't have a case. Besides that, he ruined her weed eater. I told her that if he stormed off, he was probably well on his way back to Nashville by hitchhiking.

I happened to stop in Compton's on my way to the office that same morning of her worried call and was surprised to see Marlin had returned already. He said he had gotten mad and again, 'wasn't going to be anyone's slave.' I didn't let on that I had talked to her or knew anything. He asked me for the key to his van and I still had his dirty clothes bagged in my car. Not wanting him to know I was willing to do his laundry, I told him I would have to get it for him later. Then I promptly went to his van and put all the dirty clothes back first. I later got a refund for the flooring. He was none the wiser about his clothes being out of order—not that they were in any order.

He called me once and told me he had seen an ad on Compton's bulletin board by someone seeking to give free away puppies to a good home, and he had called several times, but the guy wouldn't give him one. (It made me wonder, if he couldn't read, how he was aware of this ad and how much he was faking.) Being an animal lover, I did call the guy, but I told him all about Marlin who had called him trying to get a puppy and that he is homeless, so warned him that Marlin wouldn't be a good candidate for adopting a puppy. He thanked profusely me for the tip.

Marlin could only apply for financial assistance by having a mailing address, so we used my office address. This necessitated my finding him and reading the questions to him on the forms, then I would fill in the answers. Along with this, there were food stamp applications and one for disability. I remember one question in particular asked how much did the heaviest thing weighed that he picked up in a day. I read this question and as he searched his brain for something he picked up, being as lazy as he had shown himself to be,  I laughed and asked him how much a cup of coffee weighed. (Surely more than a cigarette, which is the only other thing he lifted.) He laughed too.

He wound up getting himself admitted to Vanderbilt Medical (only a couple blocks away from his stomping grounds) for a check up to prove his medical condition. Real or trumped up, I was never sure, but he claimed he had a bad heart which is why he couldn't work. First he checked in under a false name, using the name of his brother,  Marvin, which I'm sure was to absolve him from being responsible for the bill and also having a nice, clean bed somewhere and a little room service, care and meals. Then when he realized he had to later substantiate a real medical need to validate his disability claim, he asked me to call Vanderbilt and explain that he accidentally gave them the wrong name, and change Marvin to Marlin. I thought this was absurd and would sound so, but I did it and surprisingly, they seemed not to have a problem with changing it at all.

At one time, he wanted me to open a joint bank account with him so he could have access to his money by my going and getting it for him. I declined this, as I didn't want him to ever accuse me of dishonestly using his account. I also didn't want his checks to come to my office. As it turned out, he later accused a friend of his for doing that very thing, so I was glad I had never consented to this. The friend was probably a Good Samaritan trying only to help also.

Whenever he received his monthly notice that he had to go back to reapply for food stamps, I'd scout him out to remind him and he'd say he was too busy. It seems a pretty important issue, but this was his response, so apparently, not expending any energy or effort to get there was more important.

In speaking with the ARC person once Marlin got into an apartment, she said the first thing he did was go to her and ask for money out of his monthly allotment for a TV and then for cable.

One time another local medical facility called to say Marlin had admitted himself to the hospital the day before for an angiogram: a heart test that necessitates putting a needle in the inner, upper thigh. Now Marlin had told the nurse to call me and pick him to and take him home, because the only way they would discharge him was to know he would be taken home.(And the only way he could smoke was to be discharged, which the nurse explained to me was the very reason he insisted on being released.)  She said ideally, with such a procedure, he should spend the night; otherwise he could bleed to death by putting too much pressure on the leg, such as by walking. I told her there was no way I could leave until about 7:30 because I had clients coming until then. She called back in about 20 minutes to say that Marlin was now instructing her to call me and say that he had forgotten that he had left something on the stove and the burner was still on. What a transparent ploy that was! I told her to tell him that if the burner had been on since the morning before, there was no sense in going, because the building wouldn't be standing. She added that there wasn't a thing wrong with his heart. The tests proved it absolutely normal. Another thing he wouldn't want me to know. I later found out that he threatened to walk home, which was several miles, and that forced them to send him in a taxi rather than risk a law suit by him walking and  harming himself in doing so.

Another time a man at a hotel downtown called to say he had found Marlin's wallet with his ID in it, and when he called Marlin, Marlin told him to call me to go pick it up. I told him that Marlin could find a way to get it himself. I don't know what he was doing in a hotel, but if he found his way once, he could find it again. It was only about a mile down the road.

Just prior to when he sold the van, he had given me the phone number of the attorney who had taken enough pity on him to buy it and provide him with the shelter of it and a dry place to keep his possessions. Now about three years later, Marlin decided to start pestering him for the title, which the attorney retained to prevent Marlin from selling his only shelter for quick cash. I hadn't realized Marlin didn't have the title until he wanted me to start calling and bugging the attorney too.  He said with calls, the attorney would get tired of them and hand it over. In my speaking to the attorney, he thought Marlin was a very cunning user, not as dumb as he pretended to be and also didn't think he should have this title, for Marlin's own protection from making a stupid move. But eventually he must have relented, because Marlin did wind up selling it to some kid that worked at Compton's. I can't imagine anyone wanting to buy that horrible, smelly thing. Who knows, maybe he sold it for $50 or even $100 thinking it was a fortune. I never asked, but it couldn't have been much.

I didn't see him much after he got into his first apartment, but he did bug me by phone to give him the original copy of his birth certificate. I had only given him a copy for fear he would lose it. He was still homeless when I originally obtained that for him. After the financial assist started, he moved to three different apartments that I know of, probably having gotten kicked out from each.

Finally I got tired of hearing the birth certificate request, which was surely his strategy and decided he would just have to be responsible for it. I went over to one apartment he had that was fairly close by my office to deliver the original copy of this. When I rang the bell, he opened the door the tiniest crack. From inside emerged a powerful stench not unlike that of his van, which he had long since sold.  He opened it only far enough to see me, standing as to block any view I may have of his apartment. He also had a dog in there. Someone told me he rarely took it outside, opting to let it do its business in there; a real landlord's dream and not hard to believe, by the smell. He quickly accepted the birth certificate and thanked me. That was the last time I saw him. 

The next word I got of him was via the phone message from the people he had me originally contact for letting them know where he could be found for more handouts. They had heard on TV about an indigent person named Marlin being found under a bush, dead in the town's big park across from McDonald's. There were two more messages with no details for me to call the morgue. Within the next week or so, Marlin's landlord called me to go through his apartment to collect any of his personal belongings. To these callers, I explained my relationship to him only as a person interested in helping him and I told the landlord I  had absolutely no interest in collecting anything from his apartment, and that she was free to dispense with it however she saw fit.