There were also three Native
American men who frequently dropped into the offices at Teen Challenge – Ralph,
Dennis, and Virgil. My friend, Shelley Savage, who also worked there, had
warned me, “Don’t give any money to Ralph or Dennis or Virgil no matter what
sob story they tell you. They’re nice but they’re alcoholics and use their
money for beer.”
Okay! Well, I haven’t any money to give them
anyway.
I believe one, or perhaps all
three, had checked into the program prior to my employment there. I know Virgil
had, and Jeff Richards made the mistake of trying to get the street filth
showered off of Virgil. Fortunately, Jeff lived to tell about it.
Sadly,
these men’s need for alcohol was stronger than any desire to surrender to
Christ. But, for the most part, drunk or sober, they usually stopped by to talk
with Jeff Richards, or to ask for food. They could occasionally be belligerent
and itching to start trouble, although none of them was ever rude to me. Not
even drunk Dennis who wanted to kiss me.
It
took Dennis a few minutes to maneuver himself through my doorway one morning
because he was weaving so badly. He almost fell over once he was inside, but
managed to grab the small ledge under the sliding window in front of my desk.
He steadied himself and grinned. “Good morning,” he mumbled, his alcohol breath
sending waves of foul odor over my desk
“Hey,
Dennis! What’s up?”
“You’re
purty.”
“Uh,
okay, thanks!”
“Give
me a kiss!”
“No,
Dennis.”
“Why?
A little kiss won’t hurt. I won’t tell.”
“No,
Dennis.”
“You’re
not married cause you don’t wear a ring, so it’s okay.”
“I
have a fiancé, Dennis, now go away.”
“Your
boyfriend won’t care. Don’t tell him.”
He then puckered his lips and made smacking sounds while he tried to
push his upper torso through the window opening.
“Stop
it, Dennis, or I’ll call one of the men to come in here.”
“Come
on, give me some kisses.”
He
was through the window past his shoulders and still wiggling to get in so I
pressed the intercom for the living area where the staff member and students
were. “Hey, someone, I need help in the front office,” I announced, backing my
chair up because Dennis’s hands were reaching for me.
Ted,
one of the male staff, came rushing through the door and into my office. He
grabbed Dennis and pulled him out of the window opening. “Leave Leola alone,
Dennis. Go on now, get out of here. You’re drunk. You can come back later.”
Dennis
swayed. “I just wanna kiss.”
Ted
grabbed Dennis’s shoulder and pushed him toward the door. Dennis turned and
threw a limp punch in Ted’s direction. Faster than I could blink, Ted’s fist
shot out and connected with Dennis’s nose.
Dennis
staggered back. He grabbed his nose which was spewing blood. “Ah, Ted, you gave
me a bloody nose. What’d ya do that for?”
Ted’s
eyes were wider than mine. “Sorry, man.” He awkwardly patted Dennis’s shoulder.
Turning to me, Ted mumbled, “It was a knee-jerk reaction. I should’nt have done
that. You got some tissue?”
I
inhaled and handed Ted my box of Kleenex to give Ted. I’m sure somewhere in the
Policies and Procedures Manuel for Teen Challenge, what Ted just did was a
no-no. Although Dennis continued to stop by, he never tried to kiss me again.
Happenings
like this were the norm, not the exception – not staff members punching people
in the nose, but similar things.
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