Paul and the Cup of Friendship
I want to give a little context with regards to this writing. The following transpired over the course of two years while Deb and I were out in Montana. Each scene is a glimpse of some of the many interactions that I had with a special couple. I hope to write more about so many other people that I interacted with. There is a lot of emotion that surrounds these thoughts and experiences that I have not been able to articulate in talking. At the end of the writing, I have included a couple of links. One of them being the New York Times article which was written regarding the situation in Flathead County. The second, is the letter penned by the Flathead County Commissioners in January of 2023. At the time of this writing, homelessness has been made illegal and a criminal offense in Flathead County like so many other areas in this country. The city of Kalispell suspended the permit for the Warming Center, one of the only homeless shelters in the county, to operate on September 16th, 2024.
Paul and Maria are two faces that immediately come to mind when my thoughts drift back to the time in the Flathead Valley of Montana. I first came into contact with them at the exchange. They shuffled in, Paul carrying a large top load duffle bag, Maria walking hunched over, holding onto a large walking stick for support. In that first interaction, I quickly sensed that these two people were extremely special and I needed to connect more with them. Over the next couple months they would visit and I would learn more of their story. Both were from tribes in the relative area, though they had made the Flathead Valley their home. Paul spoke often regarding his love of art, both drawing and painting. Shortly after having met them, they came in with their heads lowered and solemn, one day. I asked how things were going, and they responded that they had lost their housing. Then Paul asked if I had heard about the shooting related to a golf cart up in the Canyon? I said that I had. (For the readers that are unfamiliar with Flathead County, the reference to the Canyon, refers to a stretch of U.S. highway 2 that runs through the Rocky Mountains on the southern border of Glacier National Park. The highway connects the town of Columbia Falls with West Glacier and Browning. It is referred to by locals as the Canyon.) It was then that he broke down in raw emotion. Maria said through abraded emotion that it had been their daughter who had been murdered. What could one offer in a moment like that? What could a white man offer this Native American couple at that moment? I simply hugged them.
Our relationship continued to grow as the months morphed into each other. I began to see them during my outreach. They did not ask for much and were always thankful and appreciative. Because of their situation, health and age, I wanted to make sure that they had everything that they could handle especially during the winter time. The following January, the County Commissioners of Flathead County penned an open letter condemning those who were unsheltered and homeless along with anyone who attempted to render aid. After this occurred, there was a sharp increase in violent acts perpetrated upon individuals who were unsheltered. It did not matter if they were in wheelchairs or old. The attacks, simply, were indiscriminate. This culminated in the brutal murder of a Native American whom I had served, Scott Bryan, by two teenagers who videotaped as they bludgeoned him to death, crushing his skull, then putting the video on social media. All while he lay in a pool of his own blood behind a garbage dumpster. One of the two teenagers were not charged while the other was bailed out by known persons linked to white supremacists groups that were in the area and linked to the state legislature. As I continued to travel to the encampments and check on individuals including Paul and Maria, I also reached out to anyone and everyone hoping to spread the word regarding the overt acts that were happening with little to no repercussions. I sent messages to people that I knew around the country. I emailed media publications like the Washington Post and New York Times. The desperation felt like that of a wild animal stuck in a corner.
The day was hot with a hazy sun that burned through the smoke that hung in the air. The wild fires had been burning, both in Canada and and also in the immediate area. At that time, there were eleven fires having been reported in the general Flathead area. The air had a strong campfire smell, I kept expecting to see ash fall. Through word of mouth, I had learned that Paul and Maria were staying on a hill between the bike trail that ran through town and the water park below it. As my bike picked up speed heading down the bike trail, I swerved off the path and began pedaling up the hill on a little dirt trail, lined with tall dead weeds. After getting to the top, I saw them sitting under a couple scrub trees. I pulled my bike up next to them and asked how they were doing. ‘Hello Nate, brother,’ I was greeted by Paul with his gentle smile. ‘Come, sit’ he said and pulled up a camp chair for me to sit on. I looked over at Maria, who was sitting down on the ground. ‘Maria, do you want this chair? I can sit on the ground’ I stated. ‘No, no. You sit there, I am ok’ she replied. As I sat down in the chair, there was a distinct feeling as though I not only was a guest but also a friend, even family. It was at this point that Paul came up to me. ‘Are you thirsty’ he asked. I paused, as I gazed at the cup of Pepsi in his hand. He was offering me their only cup that was filled with soda. In my training and experience, I had quickly learned that for a variety of reasons, it was better to not accept gifts including things like this, but for some reason, I had the distinct feeling that this was more than a gift. this was a simple act of friendship, peace, and hospitality. In what felt like an eternity, but most likely was only a brief second, I nodded and said I would love it. As I sipped on the Pepsi, we talked about the recent attacks on the different people and encampments. They informed me that they had been attacked the night before by a couple of trucks full of young people. They described being hit with rocks and shot with fireworks. The young people had pointed spot lights (often used for spotting wildlife at night) in both of their eyes so that they were blinded and then had continued to assault them. It culminated with the brandishing of guns and declarations of hatred for the Native American couple. After hearing this, I was filled with anger but also a feeling of paralysis. What could I do? Paul continued,' I don’t understand why they want to do this. We simply want to be at peace. There should be a sit down... There should be a sit down.’ He reiterated it and I agreed profusely with him. We both understood though, without speaking, that this was an unattainable act. It was then that I unloaded my backpack of supplies for them. There was an emotion that began to form in the pit of my stomach. An emotion that felt like a rock weighing on me. Was it empathy? Was it sadness? Was it simply the feeling of helplessness, knowing that there was nothing I could do. The time came to a close and we said our goodbyes. I told them that I would be back to check on them the following day. And so, the summer went on like that.
It was a chilly September morning when I found Maria at the camp but not Paul. Maria explained that Paul ended up in the hospital. You see, Paul was in the process of dying from end stage liver disease. I reassured her that I would go to the hospital and see him. She told me the room number and thanked me for being willing to see him.
The room in the hospital was covered in shadows. It was a smaller room, just big enough for the one bed and a chair. As I walked in, I looked at my friend laying in the bed. I thought to myself, it was so weird seeing Paul lying there in the bed. I was used to seeing my friend greeting me with a big smile and a hello. But instead, there he lay with a hospital sheet pulled up over his waist. I walked around the corner of the bed and gently touched his arm. ‘Hello friend,’ I said quietly. Turning his head, his eyes opening half way. ‘Hello, brother,’ he responded. ‘I am sorry to see you in here,’ I replied. ‘Maria told me you were not doing good and I wanted to come check on you.’ ‘Yeah, I am in a lot of pain,’ he slowly responded. His eyes closed and rested. ‘Alright friend, I am going to talk with the nurse and see if anything can be done. I will let you get more rest.’ He opened his eyes, and a raspy cough came out. ‘ Thank you Nate for coming and seeing me.’ I reached over, grasped his hand and squeezed it. The weight I had felt in the pit of my stomach was there again, squeezing, as if embracing me like a hug from a long lost friend.
The October sun hung low in the sky. The shadows were beginning to gather as I rode the bike down the bike trail. As my feet pushed the pedals, my eyes scanned the scene in front of me. A cool breeze was in my face as my eyes darted this way and that. As I passed a clump of tall weeds and trees, I noticed the hunched over figure of Maria. I stopped immediately. ‘Hello Maria,’ I called out to her. She looked over, smiled and greeted me also. I got off the bike and walked over and gave her a hug. I then looked down and there was Paul laying in the weeds. His face was gaunt and discoloration could be seen around his eyes. ‘Friend, how are you doing?’ I asked him. ‘ Nate, brother, I am tired. I don’t know what we are going to do.’ Was his response. ‘Can you help me up?’ he asked. I reached down and grasped his left arm with my right hand while my left hand reached for his shoulder. Slowly he sat up. After a moment and with much effort, he stood up with my help. It was as if he were perched on the legs of a toddler learning to stand and walk. That feeling in my stomach that had so often visited me now wrapped its arms around my chest. What could I do? The thoughts of being helpless, hopeless, playing on repeat in my brain. I hugged Paul. I hugged Maria. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet. After opening it up I took a twenty out and stuffed it into Paul’s hand. I hugged both he and Maria again and after saying goodbye, I walked back to the bike, swung my leg over the seat to begin pedaling. The cold breeze seemed to pull moisture from my damp eyes, though they had been dry just earlier.
The cold windy day of December kept announcing itself to Deb and I as we walked. We had decided that we would take a stroll to a local brewery to grab a beer and something to eat. As we walked the route to the brewery, we eventually ended up on the bike path and continued walking along it. I looked ahead of us and saw two figures heading the opposite direction, coming towards us. I immediately recognized the silhouette of Maria but the figure next to her, I did not. We met and Maria immediately gave me a hug. As I held her in a side hug, I introduced her to Deb. The individual with Maria was introduced as Paul and her son. It was at that moment that the familiar feeling that I had known was no longer in my stomach. It greeted me in the tightening of my shoulders. I knew it before she could say anything. You see, Paul had always been by her side. No matter where they were. Where one was, there was the other. As Maria rested her head on my arm, she asked me,’ Did you hear about Paul?’ ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Paul died last week,’ she said through tears. My eyes became misty, a deep feeling of failure embraced me like that of a lover. My friend was gone. The sting of Death having visited once again. I kept swallowing, hoping that somehow I could figuratively or maybe even literally swallow the grief. Maria then told me that she had been interviewed by a reporter from the New York Times. A fire lit in her eyes as she talked about how she had told the reporter everything that had been happening to the homeless. To her. To her now dead partner, Paul.
Paul had extended to me that cup of Pepsi on a hot smokey Montana summer day. A cup that had represented so much more then just a drink. It had signified friendship. Family. I had been given a glimpse into the lives of two precious people. They had welcomed me in. Maybe that weight I had so often felt in my body was the knowledge that there simply was nothing that I could have done. I could not fix the situation. I had to bare witness to an unfolding scene, a scene that I had been cast in, but only as an extra. In doing so, I was given the responsibility to share the story, their story.
In my mind's eye, I see Paul sitting under the scrub trees on the hill. He looks up from the art that he has been working on. His coal black hair pulled back into a single braid, a feather hanging out of it. The gray highlights of wisdom streaked through his hair. His dark brown eyes dancing as a smile comes across his weathered face while looking up into mine. ‘Hello brother!’ he says, as he reaches up and grasps my hand, ‘Let’s have a sit down.’ ‘That would be good my friend,’ I respond. ‘It is good to see your face. Let’s sit and have a cup of friendship.’ ‘Yes, yes. That would be good.’
'May the stars carry your darkness away.
May the flowers fill your heart with beauty.
May hope forever wipe away your tears.
And above all, may silence make you strong.' - Chief Dan George
https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/09/us/homelessness-violence-kalispell-montana.html
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