Why Homeless "Voice" Ted Williams Got a House, a Job,and Millions of Fans

By now you've heard of 53-year-old Ted Williams, the Columbus, Ohio homeless man seeking voice-over jobs by standing with a cardboard sign on a highway exit ramp near several media studios.

If not, watch the original YouTube video, which contains an interview captured on a whim by Columbus Dispatch videographer Doral Chenoweth, III. The piece, which instantly went viral, has now led to Williams' receiving a plum announcer job for the Cleveland Caveliers, with the added bonus of a house.

It wasn't the mellow voice emanating from a most disheveled, wild-haired, unconventional-looking face that brought the positive response.  It was instead the guy's attitude, his gentleness, his humility. Those were the unexpected features that captured listeners' hearts, rather than merely Williams' clearly competent "demo" intoning, "When you're listening to nothing but the best of oldies, you're listening to Magic 98.9."

Since Twitter, Facebook and YouTube have made Williams famous, agents are clamoring to represent him and scores of job offers have arrived.  Talk shows have competed to have him on; in one touching interview on CBS' The Early Show, a cleaned-up Williams breaks down when describing his prayers that his now 92-year-old mother could see him rebound from years of drugs and hardship.

I have a hunch that Williams' story is much more complicated than what we've heard: a guy with a criminal drug and alcohol history finds God, stays sober two years, and uses his latent talent to find permanent success. He's got nine children--two boys and seven girls; grandchildren, too.  He had no form of identification and had to scramble to get one so he could fly to New York to do the Today Show.  Apparently, in the recent past he's turned down offers of housing in shelters (he used a couple as addresses to establish his residence, though), preferring a homeless encampment "behind an abandoned Hudson Street gas station," according to Ken Andrews, volunteer for Columbus' Mt. Carmel Outreach, who The Dispatch describes as "a 15-year veteran of local homeless-assistance work."

I'm among the throngs enamored by Williams, and I root for him. But when I mentioned to a friend Williams' refusals to accept help when it was offered--something that does bother me, since he might have begun his career and had a home at least a couple years earlier, rather than, frankly, bothering people begging--my friend had an interesting response.

He said, "who knows what kind of 'help' was offered; maybe it came with strings attached, and Williams wanted to do it his own way." Another friend said, "maybe he wasn't ready to get help; you have to reach a certain point to accept it."

I have a problem when someone's 'way' means living on the street when help is there. Or the idea that all the folk "not ready" for a home should just squat with their piles of stuff on public or private land. And while I certainly want government to cut expenses, providing mental health treatment or social services to panhandlers is a worthy use of funds; it helps cities attract tourism, businesses attract customers, drivers avoid distraction, and certainly the homeless themselves.  My friend even noted Williams might have gone to live with or near his mom (or at least one of his nine kids).

When I posted my surprise at the number of homeless with tarp-covered mounds of stuff in Waikiki parks, many lying on the sidewalks of touristy Kalakaua Avenue, I got some nasty comments about how heartless I am.  I don't want to abandon these people--I want charities or, failing that, even government to help them.

I think the ire comes from my underlying assumption that living on the streets is unacceptable.  Should the desires of a few (often) mentally ill or substance-addicted "free spirits" trump the needs of the vast majority to walk on streets unmolested, without insecurity about safety?  How comfortable are you about your teen daughter, say, walking down a street at night--one lined with fine stores at that--with less-than-clean people approaching her for money, or lying in her path?  Should she be the one to give way for the homeless, or should keepers of public safety step in to insist the out-of-the-boxers find more suitable sleeping space?

Tolerance for panhandling as a lifestyle is relatively new, even among people who don't want to conform, themselves. Remember the old Roger Miller song, "King of the Road?"  It was about a petty thief, drifter, loner who feels he's "king" not fitting into normal society.  He's not above bumming a ride on trains to accept "every handout in every town" and brags he knows "every lock that ain't locked when no one's around." A low-life for sure. But even he doesn't sleep on the street--and is willing to "push broom" for two hours to afford his "four-bit room."  A night's lodging may not be 50 cents anymore, but day laborers who want it still get work.  Every city has its sites where work-seekers congregate in the morning, waiting for someone to drive by and offer a day's wage to get a job done. It's not easy; working hard for low wages is tough and doesn't yield much. But I admire those who labor to get money rather than begging to get it.

Lately, though, not only is off-ramp soliciting accepted, but today it's glorified as a path to career success.

But not for everyone--only for a guy who is irresistibly polite, good-humored and sweet--and has talent. A guy who flaps his arms in excitement when contemplating his newfound opportunities. A guy who calls his interviewer "ma'am" and says his mama taught him to live by the Golden Rule. A guy who's articulate and on the Today Show urges viewers not to judge the homeless "by their cover" and to "give from the heart."  It's Williams' child-like thrill with the situation that makes us all feel glad he was plucked from the off-ramp and thrust into the headlines.

It was strange that Today chose to dress Williams in the same camouflage-patterned jacket he wore for his first, now-viral interview.  Was this a reminder that he's really still a homeless guy--rather than a new media sensation?  He was asked by Meredith Vieira why he thinks he can make it this time, given his past failures.  His answer: he's gotten a new spirituality; that now he thanks God for each day.  I would add that a major factor was that he'd decided to take action to market his skills, though perhaps not in the usual way.

Williams' humility is not only reassuring, but inspirational.  People who might have given up are rejuvenated; those continuing in established paths give thanks. His charming, giddy delight with his Phoenix-like rebirth has endeared him to us all and with his talent is the key to his success. There are enough people invested in his story now that he likely will come through, and every time we hear him, his voice will represent the sweet song of hope, the perfect melody for the new year.

Homeless in Hawaii

Leave it to the homeless to dampen my enthusiasm for paradise.

I haven't blogged in awhile as I'm in Hawaii, the best new-empty-nesters gift my husband could have given me this winter.  I'd rather have a warm downpour than a frigid one, and the overcast skies punctuated by monsoon-style cloudbursts have offered enough intermittent sunshine to allow us some beachy afternoons and great tete-a-tetes with friends to create some fabulous photos and indelible memories.

Equally memorable were the "landed-homeless" whose blue-tarp-covered heaps of possessions pock the grass-strips between sidewalk and street, even in the most touristed areas of Waikiki. Their tents pitched under banyans in parks and their groaning shopping carts draped with plastic bags stationed along sidewalks remind us that hospitable liberal government would rather enable freeloading on public property than business to high per-square-foot rent-paying establishments.

I've seen matted-haired scavengers picking through trash bins along the beach, and even right in front of Kalakaua Avenue designer shops, searching for cans to redeem for pennies.  Last night my husband and I walked by a woman settled on a store stoop who appeared in her 50's, entreating passersby for their restaurant doggie bags.  On a drive around the island, we saw a public elementary school lawn food distribution, long tables of comestibles seemingly offered to anyone approaching.

If you've gotta be homeless, Hawaii's the place.  No huddling under freeway underpasses  when you can sleep unmolested to the sound of lapping waves in a green park on the Waikiki shore.  In doorways, in front of expensive shops, you can catch your zzz's.  On last night's walk, we saw a guy lying asleep on the Kalakaua thoroughfare sidewalk. Near his extended form he'd laid out a couple necklaces, ostensibly for sale. His fingers clutched some kind of rifle, even in his sleep.  His clothes and person were dark with dirt, in contrast to the white sidewalk.  What an appealing incentive to spend big bucks in Fendi, Coach, and the other glitzy stores a few feet away.

I think it's heartless to allow pitiable people to amass mountains of stuff inches from the street, rather than placing the sad souls with mental health providers or shelters, which they obviously need.  Peeking from under their tarps were all sorts of gleaned goods, including a baby car seat. Some of the piles were ten feet high--clear evidence of the problems these vagrants face.

We've been privileged to come to Honolulu, where my husband works during our stays, many times over the years. I've never seen so many and such conspicuous homeless encampments, just plopped down in the most desirable footage on the planet.

The graffiti seems to have increased, too.  Now, I'm not complaining, as my daughter in New York is stranded by a blizzard, and our friends back in the Great North-wet shiver under continuing wintry storms.  But you'd think that Hawaii would want to rely on more than just the weather to entice visitors. Their "shaka" attitude of casualness goes a little too far when tourists are forced to step around some pretty disgusting inhabitants, and doesn't serve those individuals or their neighbors at all.

A Wedding, and a Sidewalk Encounter

The Wedding
It's wedding season, and on Friday evening we were thrilled to attend the wedding of a girl, now 22, who we've watched grow into a lovely young woman, since we met her when she was 11. Shortly after we moved to he northwest, her parents, who listened avidly to talk radio and home-schooled the two kids, sent us a wonderful letter, and the bride and her brother made personalized bookmarks for our kids. We were mutually smitten once we got together, and the click between us--despite our religious difference, has remained.

We don't go to many Christian weddings, but the sincerity and celebration in this one was beautiful. The couple, both deeply and actively religious, began their wedding with worship, and many, including the bride, sang with arms raised. The pastor's comments and the couple's interaction were both sweet and inspiring, and when, after saving the momentous act for their joining at the altar, the new husband and wife kissed--he leaning her backward--the throng cheered.

For Jews, the wedding is rather prescribed, according to ancient custom--and takes about ten minutes. By contrast, with videos of the bride and groom growing up, their engagement and coupling, as well as communion, signing documents, lighting of lantern candles throughout the church and personally "dismissing" each guest with a hug and happy words, this ceremony lasted more than an hour. Jews tend to go crazy, however, at the reception, dancing with such wild ecstasy (men and women separately) and eating and drinking, followed by "schtick" and more frenzied dancing until guests are drenched in perspiration--that the relatively brief nuptials become merely the prelude. While this Christian celebration was wonderfully joyous and sentimental, the refined meal, toasts and few traditional dances (bridal couple; dad with bride, etc.) were high on fellowship rather than perspiration.

The Encounter
Because the wedding ran into Shabbat, we stayed at a hotel about a mile away, walking back about 11:30 p.m. To get there, we passed through a less-than-savory stretch, and a "Jewish vagrant" who spied yarmulkes latched onto us, accosting us for blocks and blocks, insisting it was our duty to find an ATM and give him $20. Rather than engage him to respond that any observant Jew doesn't touch money on the Sabbath, we tried to ignore him, but he became more and more surly and finally, before leaving, told us "There's a special place in hell where you'll burn for not helping your fellow Jew!"

It was only one block further when my husband missed his step on the uneven sidewalk and took a nasty tumble, emerging bloodied on his hands, arms and legs, barely able to hobble the block further to our hotel. Lots of washing, ice, antiseptic and bandages cleaned him up, though he was in pain and still bleeding through the night--it was only once we got home after the Sabbath that he could properly address his wounds. Thankfully, they seem to be minor.

The Moral of the Story
We so enjoyed the beautiful evening with the breathtaking bride, her new husband and her family, whom we love dearly. Not even my husband's up-close-and-personal meeting with the sidewalk, or the verbal assault of a homeless guy could diminish the event. And the next day, when we heard of the passing of Tony Snow, someone my husband had known and respected, we realized again, how fortunate we are to be alive and well; how blessed and privileged, and how precious and momentous each day can be.

Mazel tov, and a life of love and happiness to you, Laura and Ben! We love you, Dale, Deb and Brett!

Tent City is Coming--but won't help the Homeless

It's almost Shavuos, the Jewish holiday celebrating the receiving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai. Certainly one of the commandments we received (subsumed in the Big Ten and expressed in the 613) was to be charitable, to care for our fellow man, right? Lots of Reform Jews think the idea of "tikun olam," perfecting the world, means generosity toward the homeless, no matter whether they sleep in business' doorways or beg at freeway off-ramps. They're clearly down and out, and so, we must come forward as the altruistic and compassionate folk we are.

Well, no. And I don't say that just because a homeless Tent City is about to move to my suburban community, but because our misplaced caring doesn't help these parasites one bit.

About a year ago, an article appeared in our community newspaper signed by a coalition of pastors of local churches explaining why it is our duty to host the Tent City in the parking lot of one of their institutions. Tent City is a bundle of about 100 homeless people who pitch their portable homes like nomads, moving from church to church every three months. In this way, they have permanent "support." Supposedly the residents must abide by rules that include no alcohol. Other churches who have hosted them have reported minimal trouble.

As far as I'm concerned, whether or not the Tenters cause major problems is not the issue. The question for me is--how does providing such a living arrangement help these people? There are lots of shelters with available beds. Heck, Seattle is famous for even building apartment-style housing for alcoholic homeless, nicknamed the "drunk dorms" because residents there are allowed to drink in their rooms. The kindly citizens of the Emerald City also imported expensive European automatic toilets and put them in public places for the homeless to use at any hour--which were recently removed because they were more often used for dealing drugs.

When the Tent City fait accompli was first announced, I wrote a letter to our local paper in response to the pastors' cheery endorsement. I proposed that if neighbors really wanted to help these chronic homeless, that they take one of them into their homes, allowing him/her to live there and learn from the homeowner, as a student with a mentor, how to live a responsible life. How to get a job and show up on time. How to find a room-mate or other inexpensive living arrangement, and maintain a home. There's no reason why these people, if fit enough to live in our midst in tents, can't learn the skills to live in our midst in apartments, rented rooms or homes.

The pastors didn't think much of my idea of making personal contact with the homeless. No one volunteered to allow such a disadvantaged person to live in his home; no one wanted to mentor someone in need. My compassionate neighbors would rather have these people pitch tents on a concrete parking lot and use Honey Bucket portable toilets.

Looks like we'll get to admire these newcomers close-up this August. I plan to take an afternoon or two and visit our new neighbors and find out some of their stories. I'd like to know how long they've vagabonded with Tent City, and what their future plans are, and why they find living in a tent on concrete preferable to the many options provided by religious institutions like the Salvation Army, Union Gospel Mission and many others who scour the streets offering them aid. Frankly, I find it insulting to these folk to relegate them to a Tent City if our goal is to teach them how to live self-sufficiently.

It's true, I don't want a hundred homeless folk added to the population of our small community. I am indeed prejudiced against them. Not because of characteristics they were born with--as individuals, every soul is made in God's image and in that way is inherently worthy of respect. But because of choices they have made. Perhaps long-ago choices dragged them down into a place difficult to escape, such as drug addiction. Perhaps they are victims of mental illness. But choices not to avail themselves of means to leave their dependent status bring my ire, my lack of sympathy, and my opposition to Tent City. Maybe when I go meet these folks, my opinion will change. I doubt it. But until August, I'm writing letters and campaigning to disband this artificial "community" in favor of real and permanent help for these down-and-outers.