The Legend of Willy & Patches (pt II)

Part II is the story of Patches, Willy's loyal one-time roommate...

I briefly met Patches at the izzy food pantry, before he and Willy were roommates. He lived in a rental house behind the Civic Center downtown. Like Willy, Patches lived the life of a mole. He fit the majority of that profile: came from a wealthy family, highly addicted to substances, (eventually) received a monthly government check, etc.

Legend has it that Patches' grandfather was the Attorney General under President Johnson. And this grandfather left Patches an inheritance which he received at age 21. I was told that it was a sum in the neighborhood of $125,000. He blew through it within 3-5 years. He took his friends and traveled around the world, literally. They climbed Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa and visited other exotic places. I can't imagine having that kind of money and having nothing to show for it a few years later.

Patches had extremely low self esteem and self worth. He was addicted to pain meds or any kind of prescription meds he could get his hands on. And the worse part is that he had an uncle who was a retired doctor and he'd prescribe most anything Patches wanted. In other words...Patches was related to a supplier AND enabler of his addictions.

When Patches got a new prescription, he'd often take the whole bottle at once and be in a doped up daze for about 4 days straight. I can only remember Patches being 100% sober about 3 times in the several years I knew him. Willy & Patches became roommates after one of Patches' dope spells where he sat in Willy's recliner for an entire weekend and never moved. Willy felt as though it was his job to be his care giver from then on.

Like Willy, Patches chose Jesus as his king one day when he was coming down from a 4 day high. He really took in our Friday morning hangout times reading through John in The Book with The Bossman. One Friday morning, some doper friend of his came over. Patches, in his doped up haze introduced The Bossman as "the pastor" and me as "pastor Jr". That nickname has created great fodder for the izzy gang to this day.

It was Patches who called us from the emergency room the night Willy died. That event was a tough blow for him. Willy was one of the few shining, positive aspects of his life that he enjoyed. They were like true brothers. And that evening he had to return to an empty apartment...alone. He ran off from the hospital parking lot on foot and couldn't be found. It was a rough night for me too. I couldn't sleep much so I headed over to Willy & Patches' apartment to see if he ever made it back home. He was there but didn't want me to come in because he didn't want me to see the way his friends were mourning by shooting dope. I'll never forget sitting outside on the porch at 4am in the cold, crying with each other. That's when Patches told me he loved me.

During the next year we rarely saw Patches at izzy or out in the community. He moved 2 or 3 times and isolated himself from most people. Plus, he was usually so doped up when I'd go see him which made it impossible to communicate. His number of suicide attempts increased. I've dealt with his slit wrists more than once.

A year later when izzy was removed from the church building, we lost all contact with him. I had heard he left town to be with his ailing mother in East Texas. Then eventually he moved back. I ran into him at Carmine's funeral (another mole). Carmine died of AIDS complications. Man, that funeral was sad. Only 7 people were there. You KNOW it's a small funeral when you show up and they ask you to speak. The photo to the right is Carmine and Patches in the summer of 2002.

Then 6 months later in August 2003 Patches' name shows up in the newspaper's obituary section. Damn. I really missed him but I wasn't real sad as I figured his suffering had finally ended. Actually, I was amazed he had lived this long.

That following day before the funeral I was out at my secret rendevous point with the CEO. At this point in time, the izzy group had been out from the church for 8 months. Rumors of the izzy group started snowballing around town and getting real vicious. While praying about all the church mess I flippantly asked the CEO what was I to make from Patches' death. I swear, for the first time in my life I heard a faint voice in my head:

"bury the past"

I thought that was very interesting as it seemed relevant to both the church mess and Patches' upcoming funeral as he was one of the last remnants from the izzy group's old days. So I say to the CEO, "OK. Fine. Give me a sign that this word is really from you".

My wife and I went to the funeral. It was so un-Patches like in many ways as the place was filled with these starched shirts and blue hairs - all friends of his parents. I got to meet his lesbian sister who plays bass in a Vegas punk band. I also met his only child, a daughter who was about 18. I gave her an envelope with photos of her dad.

The service was short and sweet, given by some Episcopalian minister who never knew Patches. Then he announced, "We're now going to listen to one of Patches' favorite songs". At the opening note, I immediately recognize MY all time favorite song, Behind Blue Eyes by The Who, I burst out screaming.

I got my sign.

Not only is this my favorite song, but I had just finished learning it the night before and felt ready to play it live in my solo act on the 10 caliber. Hearing this song at Patches' memorial service really meant a lot to me. Behind Blue Eyes described Patches' life to a tee. It's a song about him. And I never knew he liked it as much as me.

The nature of my kind of agent work can be difficult. It's very relational based and impossible to avoid getting in too "deep" with the folks I'm called to. And unfortunately, the poverty class often have short life spans due to various circumstances and decisions they make. I deal with death of friends more often than I'd want. It sucks.

Fists clenched and all, I really miss Willy and Patches. A lot.