"The winner of the Employee of the Quarter is Wesley Nelson," declared executive director Anita Nelson, no relation to Wesley, during the recent quarterly meeting of the non-profit SRO Housing Corp.'s employees.
The auditorium at the James Wood Community Center in the heart of the Skid Row district of Downtown Los Angeles erupted into applause. The honoree wore a boyish grin from ear to ear, and walked back to his seat amid a roaring ovation. Just before he reached his seat, he raised his hand slightly and gave himself the power sign and shook his fist. He was grinning, but I could see he was deep in his own thoughts, flashing back on his journey.
I knew this as I stood in the back of the room watching the scene.
I knew Wesley before he arrived on Skid Row.
I met Wesley sometime in the middle of 1994. It was at a gas station on the corner of Martin Luther King Boulevard and Arlington Avenue, on the fringes of the Leimert Park district, one of the best known middle-class enclaves of African-American life in Los Angeles.
As is often the case throughout African-American neighborhoods across the country, this intersection was also the longtime home of a liquor store. Liquor stores are also information centers for many things in some communities, ranging from hot merchandise to drugs. There's often someone around a liquor store who has drugs on them or can get them quickly.
Wesley and I were there for the same reason — we were checking in on the drug market, exposing ourselves to various risks in the pursuit of the precious rock cocaine, aka, crack. Our paths met as we were introduced by an intermediary who was trying to serve us both.
Through the course of the conversation we found out that we both lived on the socially acceptable precincts west of Arlington Avenue, just one block away from each other. The meeting served my purposes well, because I would not venture east across Arlington Avenue, where the cocaine trade was like a cottage industry operated by a local street gang. Wesley had more extensive contacts, and was able to put my money with his and get a volume discount on the crack that we would often smoke together at his house.
Wesley grew up in that house, and went to nearby Dorsey High School. He was a talented bass player in local rhythm-and-blues bands in the 70's and early 80's. Wesley possessed a sharp, curious mind. He tinkered with mechanical things to see how they worked. He had an eye for detail, and prided himself for a level of exactness that most people do not associate with crack heads. He had various jobs, including a stint as a paramedic, a job that paid well. The crack still left his pockets empty within a few days after each pay check, though.
The two of us casually associated with each other for several years. Wesley's mother eventually sold the house, and she and Wesley moved from one place to another. During the last move, Wesley and his mother were picked up by one of his cousins. After three days in his cousin's house he got a clear message: His mother could stay — she was getting on in years and would be cared for by family. The cousin told Wesley that he was a grown man and would have to fend for himself. He was estranged from his sisters, and his brother was serving time in prison. Wesley was taken to the Harbor Light shelter in Skid Row, and for the first time in his life he was on his own.
I lost track of Wesley during those years, although I did seem him twice, both brief glimpses. The first time I was walking toward Martin Luther King Boulevard on my way to the store, and Wesley zoomed past me on a bicycle. Three or four men were chasing him. A few months later, he walked by my house carrying a huge duffel bag. I figured he was spending time at one place and then another, getting some sleeping space on floors in exchange for cocaine.
Wesley was far beyond that, though.
Since I reconnected with Wesley a year ago on Skid Row — where we are both in the process of rebuilding our lives — he has shared with me his journey. There were five year run of intense substance abuse. His daily focus and purpose was to find enough money to finance his cocaine consumption and 40-ounce beers. His territories were around 5th and Main, and on San Julian, between 5th and 6th Streets. He would smoke some cocaine and then sell enough cocaine to "re-up," replenishing his inventory so he could begin the cycle again.
Wesley lived in that insanity for five years. Occasionally he stood in line and got himself a bed ticket at a local mission. Mostly, he slept on the streets.
"I smoked cocaine all day long and then I would fall asleep on the sidewalk," he recalled. "My money was spent on cocaine or beer. Never for food. I would eat in the missions if I could, or dig in the trash cans for food. I must have been deranged to live like that."
Then one day, after he had been smoking nonstop for two weeks, he became very ill. He couldn't sleep — couldn't even stand up — but he continued to smoke. That's the moment when he knew that if he didn't do something he would die. He went to the bus stop hoping to catch a ride to USC-County Hospital. He got sidetracked, and tried to purchase some crack. He passed out before he could chase the crack — mentally, physically, emotionally exhausted. Eventually he woke up and saw a bus. This time he boarded it and road to the county hospital, where he remained for 10 days.
Once discharged, Wesley went directly to the dope man and got himself a rock. He tried smoking it, but somehow realized that he was no longer willing to live on the streets for the sake of getting loaded.
Wesley found his way back to the Salvation Army Harbor Light Mission, where he checked into the drug program. He has been clean from alcohol and drugs ever since then.
It's been a tough road. Approximately 100 men started that program with Wesley. The attrition rate was high. Some would relapse. Some would commit a crime and violate their parole. Others would fall prey to the streets that were calling them. As is the case throughout Skid Row, the drug trade rages on just outside the windows of the rehabilitation programs.
Wesley was determined to go forward.
"I knew there was a better life and I was determined to experience it," he said. "I prayed every day just to make it through the day."
One year after entering the Harbor Light program, Wesley graduated and moved to the Panama Hotel a few blocks away. At first he was a little scared, having been in a program for a year. Now he was on he was on his own, but he quickly found his stride. He secured a part-time job as a food server with SRO Housing Corp., a non-profit organization that provides housing, meals and social services in Skid Row.
Wesley later moved from the Panama Hotel to the Marshall House, a transitional housing facility operated by his employer, SRO Housing Corporation. While there, he was able to obtain a full-time position as a janitor. He worked hard to keep his building clean.
"Man, I tried like hell to win that Employee of the Month Award while I was a janitor, but I just couldn't get it," Wesley told me. "I knew my building was the best. I knew I kept it operating at peak level, but they gave the award to someone else."
It was only six months after Wesley received his full-time position as a janitor that SRO Housing promoted him to desk clerk at another residential facility. It was a challenging position because the tenants did not trust the new owners. Many of the tenants have issues with substance abuse, and require special attention from a staff that understands their various mental, physical, and emotional challenges.
Wesley has maintained a calm demeanor while dealing with the tenants. He has worked hard to get that building organized, assisting the building manager in coming up with a system for smooth operations. His eye for detail has served that purpose well, and he is always willing to help out. Those qualities won him the Employee of The Month Award.
Wesley Nelson's story is one of amazing courage, will power, determination and faith.
"I firmly believe that there is a higher power," he told me recently. "I tried everything to quit. I failed each time. But I was saved — and I am grateful each day for it."
Walter Melton is a writer for the L.A. Garment & Citizen.
Visit Walter Melton's blog at www.scribeskidrow.blogspot.com.
Photos by Walter Melton
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