That's funny. I didn't know he had a brain.
And Rodger would be the first to laugh at the joke because it's precisely what he would have said. The wonderful warped humor and cynicism of a homeless alcoholic.
When I was at Union Mission, Rodger was a client, an employee and my friend.
"You ever going to get married again?" I asked him once as we ate chili dogs from Tanners for breakfast. Once a week I'd buy breakfast for the staff and when it was Rodger's turn to choose the food it was always chili dogs.
Incredulous, the tiny man covered in tattoos wearing thick glasses that magnified his eyes just started at me.
"Rev," he finally said, "there is a lady I know downtown. I go see her from time to time. It's fun. Afterwards I give her some cash ... Hell! She even takes credit cards! ... then she says, 'Thank you Sir. Please come again.' Now you have a wife that says 'Thank you' after you have sex? Or lets you come back for more any time you want to?'"
I marveled at his argument.
"I didn't think so," he said tearing a piece of chili dog into his mouth. "Marriage has gone to shit in this country."
Yesterday I got an instant Facebook message from a friend from those days. Joe asked me if I knew about Rodger, told me what had happened and gave me his opinion on the state of homelessness in Savannah these days.
Afterwards I cried.
I can still vividly see Rodger staggering through Yamacraw Village wearing white painters paints one night when I was leaving Grace House, the shelter for men. A few days later he returned and the painters paints were filthy and he'd been beaten up. He asked for my help.Years later he would say that I slowed down to 35 miles per hour and threw him out of the car at Potter's Place, our group home for alcoholics. "You're in charge," he claimed I yelled driving away. "You can't drink because you're in charge of alcoholics trying to quit. They will kill you."
And he never had another drink.
He remained at Potter's Place for seven year before leaving to ... get married, though it didn't last.
The last time I saw Rodger was at the funeral of his sponsor Jerry Robinson who happened to be the President of the Union Mission Board of Directors. After the service, Rodger and I hugged. He kept his emotions in check, like most homeless people, forever guarded and never completely trusting anyone.
Keeping his arms on my shoulders, he stepped back, looking me in the eyes.
"Thanks Rev," he said and sharply turned and marched away ... wearing clean white painters paints.
