There was an Old Man Named Henry......

In 1994 we moved to Beaumont, Texas.  It was a different world from San Antonio.  We had come from a large multicultural city to a place where the description “The Deep South,” fit perfectly.

Within a few months of our move we joined First Baptist Church (FBC).  It was one of the oldest churches in Beaumont.  Started in 1875, it was steeped in tradition.  

One tradition was Henry.  When I first met Henry I thought he was well up in years.  His clothes were old, tattered and hadn’t been cleaned in quite a while.  They were worn layer upon layer.  On first sight, I was sure he must be wearing everything he owned.  I thought he was a homeless person.  His short gray hair stood on end, reminding me of a tomcat whose fur was still rumpled from a cat fight.  His pockets buldged with treaured belongings.  Occasionally he would pull out a cellular phone, not that common in 1994 (one of those big ones the size of a brick) and make a call to someone who sounded important....like the mayor or governor.  Around his neck was a headset to his walkman, and on his lapel, a badge of some kind, the writing long ago worn away.  On his finger was a class ring from the University of Texas. 

My first assumption was that he was a wino or a drunk, but he didn’t act like either of those.  He seemed to know everyone in the church, children and adults alike.  It was as if no one could see his appearance...or it didn’t matter.  On the Sunday we joined the church we stood at the front of the church to be welcomed as the  congregation filed by, traditional in Baptist churches, and along came Henry calling each of our family members by name and welcoming us.

Several weeks later I was in the church office when Henry walked in.  I expected to see him shooed back outside but he helped himself to donuts and coffee.  The office staff seemed to hardly notice him. I asked Beverly what the deal was with Henry.  “He is just an old street person, I wish he would stay outside, he stinks so.  I am afraid he is going to leave lice on the sofa.”  
I asked, “What’s wrong with him?” 

“Oh I don’t know, I heard he was a successful CPA at one time and was in an accident,”   Beverly told me with disgust in her voice.  That wasn’t the only story..there were more.  Each was about as varied as the person who told it.  The one thing people knew was that he did have money in the form of a trust fund, so no matter how bad he looked he did not have to go hungry and he didn’t sleep on the street.

From time to time he would come into the church office to see Robert, our pastoral Care minister.  One day I heard a heated arguement going on.  “Okay Henry, I will give you ten dollars but you cannot buy cigarettes with my money! Do you understand?”  Henry promised solemnly, like a child, and in his slow shuffling walk disappeared out the door.  Robert stood looking after him,  “He’s off to buy cigarettes again.... I just know it!” as he shook his head.  At the end of the month Henry usually ran out of money. He would come to Robert to get a few dollars to tie him over until the first.

I continued to be curious about him and would see him at various places around town. I was sort of amused at myself actually knowing this unusual little man.  The thing that baffled me was that everyone knew him, but knew little about him.  

Our church wasn’t the only one who claimed Henry.  When Pastor Sandy was new to our church, he and several other pastors had a lunch meeting to get better aquainted.  As they were walking out of the church Henry walked by, our pastor said hi to Henry.  He was surpised when the other pastors said hi, and called him by name too. Pastor Sandy said, “He is a member of my church,” the others smiled. It turned out Henry was a also member of their churches. He was diligent too. He made it to all the services every Sunday morning.  At First Baptist he would slip into the balcony just as the offering was being taken.  He would drop his handful of coins into the offering plate and then proceed to stand at the end of the pew and finish up as an usher.  I had noticed in the back row of the balcony, there was usually an assortment of street people.  I heard someone say that Henry had invited them.  They were people Henry met who had “ roubles" and he told them they needed to come to church.

For as happy as Henry always seemed, his life was not easy.  He had been beaten up by gangs and almost killed.  They knew he always had a little money on him.  Although he didn’t live on the street, in many ways his life was the same as if he did.  One time while jay walking, he was hit by a car...both of his legs were broken.  After a long stay in the hospital, he was back out walking along the streets again.  He always assured the church staff that he “only crossed at the corners now. That way I won’t get hit again.”  His little shuffling walk was so slow that secretly everyone who knew him worried.

Henry was not just a familiar face at all the churches.  He also made it to all the city council meetings.  Three mayors had known him.  At the end of each meeting the tradition was to open the floor for anyone to speak... and at the end of each meeting, Henry did.  He sometimes started his speech with “I am sure you didn’t know this, but I am a member of the Police Department.”  At the time he really thought he was.  One of the Police officer’s had gone so far as to give Henry a Junior Police Officer’s badge, which he wore faithfully.  He wanted to be someone important that people respected.

On January 15th as I was driving to my job at the church, a traffic jam, unheard of in Beaumont, stopped me on the overpass.  I could see some big tie up at the corner of the church.  As I looked at my watch, my heart almost stopped, it was right at the time Henry usually stopped by the church office. As I got closer I could see someone covered up, lying in the street.  Strewn in the street was a headset and an old coat.  The police detoured me one block over.  Finally making it to the church parking lot, I jumped out of the car, ran inside, to find everyone standing, stunned.  Someone looked up and said, “It’s Henry.” Tears were streaming down everyone’s faces......and now mine as well.

Pastor Sandy and several other ministers met the ambulance at the hospital.  Henry had been crossing at the corner but his little shuffling walk was just too slow.  He had only made it to the middle of the street when the light changed.  A young woman rushing to work turned the corner and didn’t see him.  He was hit and thrown several yards, sustaining massive head injuries. He was put on life support immediately.  As they took him to the hopital, the police listed him as a fatality.  A well known neurosurgeon from our church rushed in to consult on his case, but it was too late, his inuries too severe.  At noon he was taken off life support and died.

On Tuesday there was an extensive article in the paper about Henry. That was the first time I had heard his last name. He was known by everyone in downtown Beaumont.  He attended every city council meeting, had been known by mayors and police chiefs.   He had told people he had been a police officer, a fireman, a graduate of the University of Texas and, yes, a staff member of each of the churches. Everyone who knew Henry thought he must have had an awful family to leave him to fend for himself when he was obvisouly so incapapble.  

His family though, was not uncaring at all.  Henry was mentally challenged.  He was like “Rain Man” of the movies. He could remember the names and birth dates of every church member but he couldn’t care for himself. He loved the children because they would all proudly say hi to him and call him by name.  They respected him.  He had been taken care of by his mother until she died.  After her death his two brothers each wanted him to come and live with them.  That meant leaving Beaumont.. the only place he had ever known.  He refused, so they found a group home where he could live.  They expected him to stay there so they could check on him and visit him from time to time. As time passed, he moved from place to place around town.  He never remembered to tell anyone where he would be.  The Christmas and birthday remembrances sent, were then, returned to sender, when Henry couldn’t be found.  His brothers wondered where he was or if he was even still alive.   The fact that hedidn’t hear from his brothers  on his birthday or Christmas didn’t seem  to be of much concern to Henry.  He kept their names and addresses safely tucked away in his wallet, which was where Pastor Sandy found them when Henry died.

His family was thrilled to know that in spite of his limitations Henry had managed to be someone special.  They were overwhelmed that so many people had cared about and loved Henry.  “Henry always wanted to be someone important... he would have been thrilled to know that he made all three TV stations and got a nice write-up in the newspapers,” Robert remarked. 

Memorial services were held at First Baptist Church, First United Methodist Church, and St. Mark’s Episcopal Church...each filled to capacity. People from all walks of life attended, city councilman, the mayor, pastors, lawyers, doctors and the street people.  Henry was someone important.

I first had looked at Henry and thought, “What a wasted life.” I was wrong, his was a full life, lived to his greatest abilities.  He was quite remarkable.  Robert would smile and say, “Henry is with the angels now,”  and...of course he is.

Today if you are close to the Greyhound bus terminal in Downtown Beaumont you will see at 1107 McFaddin Street,  "Henry’s Place. "   Inside the door is a picture of Henry. It is a soup kitchen named in his honor.  When you walk in and ask, “Why is this called Henry’s Place?”  They will tell you, “Well, there was an Old Man Named Henry......”