July 2007

 

I have decided to dedicate the month of July 2007 "Pete's Corner" to an article written recently by a friend who went around with me on a typical day of my "unplanned" work schedule. Where there were a few mis-quotes in the text, I have made corrections in the text.

 

By Bruce Barton

Town Crier Staff Writer

 

It's another day at work for Pete Fullerton. In this case, work comprises deliveries of furniture, cooking utensils and other essentials for the needy and homeless.

 

Welcome to a day in the life of the founder and soul employee of Truck of Love, a San Jose-based non-profit organization. (A friend, Gordon Stewart, actually started  & named this project 1967.) The former Lockheed employee left the business world for the spiritual world- one that keeps him in touch with humanity on a daily basis.

 

"If we don't think God is in each of us, we're in deep yogurt," said Fullerton, spilling out one many philosophical quips he might use on any given day.  Asked how he raises money to support his cause, he replies, "Everyone has a different way of raising funds; mine is taken care of in great deal by groveling.  Our Truck of Love newsletter is the first and best fund raiser."  A personal appearance at churches and social events is another.  "I'm very good at groveling because I know none of it is for me."

 

Truck of Love is one of 11 non-profits supported by the Town crier's annual Holiday Fund.

  

One can readily tell from spending any time with Fullerton that the man is an eternal optimist, swayed neither by misfortune nor by criticism.  He greets homeless people cheerfully, including those whom he already knows have violent tendencies, without fear or hesitation.

 

On this particular day, Fullerton dropped off furniture promised to Yanet, a young woman who had just moved with her daughter from a San Jose shelter (where he assists residents as a case manager) into a modest apartment. He quickly opened the back of his "Love" truck, revealing old chairs, a table, a lamp, framed pictures, and a television set, with which he would fill her empty apartment.  After a few words of encouragement and thanks, Fullerton was back in the truck, on his way to check on the status of homeless people living in the underbrush bordering nearby creeks.

 

Fullerton occupies his days with deliveries and paperwork (his organization is a 501(c)3  non-profit organization) where he deals with emergencies on a daily basis. Emergencies might constitute getting food, medicine, and housing for needy people - sometimes in the middle of the night.  "These are people who need to be led someplace, who are new in town and need a friend to talk to," he said.

 

That Fullerton continues to keep a crisp pace in helping the needy speaks to his dedication, his "calling," as he puts it.  The man continues to walk briskly despite having lost his right leg in a fall while rock climbing during his 1998 Summer Day Camp on the Tohono O'Odham Reservation in southern Arizona.  He moves so seemingly comfortably in a prosthetic leg, fitted just below the knee, that most don't even notice at first.

  

Fullerton still recalls clearly the day of the mishap.  He fell nearly 40 feet, the impact shattering his right leg. He clung to dear life onto a rock or he would have fallen another 155 feet. Camp Councilors who were present came to the rescue while others went to the main road to make a phone call for a medivac helicopter. "Each person showed such courage in their attempt to keep me from dehydrating, and shaded from the 118 degree desert sun for a period of seven hours on the ledge of the canyon below.  I am so proud of them, and so happy to be alive.  None of the work I do today would happen without the events of that day happening just the way they did."  It took Fullerton six months to recover from his injuries and three years of practice on a prosthetic leg to get back to his routine.

 

People often ask Fullerton how he could have endured seven hours of intense pain in the wilds of Arizona.  "I sang with the councilors helping me," he said.  "Singing is the best way to keep your mind off the pain."

  

Asked to sing a song, Fullerton picked up his guitar and began singing "I Can See Clearly Now", a 1972 hit from Johnny Nash that includes the words, "It's going to be a bright , bright sunshiny day."

 

Fullerton takes these words to heart, for himself and his people.

 

 

  

Bruce's article has been the best, and the most factual of any written in the past.  I believe it is important to let people know what life can be as a worker for the Lord.  Life is simple, and extremely uncomplicated.  The most important advice I would have for anyone willing to give up everything, to work for others in the Lord would be to:

1.) Pray often

2.) Stay flexible

3.) Don't fear criticism

4.) Don't mind who gets the credit for the work

5.) Pay attention to your health, or your wife (which ever comes first)

6.) Use the KISS method (Keep It Simple Stupid)

 

Love in the name of all that is Holy,

Pete

 

 

June 2007

He was just a kid sitting on the corner of San Carlos St. and Lithe Way in San Jose where our local Orchard Supply Hardware store allows day workers to congregate.  The men who sit there are generally between eighteen and forty years of age.

 

He was sitting on his haunches with his knees bent to his chest.  I did not pay too much attention to him, thinking he was probably the son of one of the workers. I wouldn't have seen he was so young if he hadn't been wearing his baseball cap backwards.

 

I stopped my car, got out and walked toward a man standing nearby, Rubin, who is one of the men I know from work he has done with Truck of Love. I asked about the little boy.   Rubin did not know who the boy was, but said he had been sleeping under the tree when he (Rubin) got there that morning. Rubin offered to go to the other guys to see if anyone else could tell me. "They don't know," Rubin replied when he came back.

 

So I offered to buy Rubin some lunch and the three of us sat down as Rubin became translator and we both discovered the boy’s story. 

 

His name was Alberto Gomez. He was hungry and tired because it had been a long trip from Mexico, and he had not eaten in three days.

 

He crossed the border under the cover of night with a family friend and lots of other people. After he jumped the fence on the Tijuana border, she was caught just as she was coming down the fence into the USA.

 

The friend, caught by the Border Patrol, called his name to get him back to her, but he was afraid to go to her because he could see how the 'migrante' (US border guards) were treating everyone.

 

He hid in the dark until everyone was gone and he was completely alone. He didn’t speak English, he didn’t know what to do next. He was hungry, tired, and scared out of his wits.

 

He had $50 US dollars in his pocket that his mother and father had saved for him. As he hid in the bushes, he wondered if he should just cross back over the fence and return to his family. But his Dad had sent him north shortly after the death of his mother, telling him he was the only hope the family had. His Dad was ill and there were four younger brothers and one younger sister. He needed to help his family by going to El Norte (the North) and working as so many people in his village had done before him.

 

He stayed in the bushes by the border fence until others crossed over and joined with him. They were more experienced and helped him find the bus station in San Ysidro where he purchased a bus ticket to San Jose.

 

I found him three days later on the curb where we now shared lunch.

 

After about an hour of talking with Rubin and me, I had heard enough. Alberto had been waiting with the other men for day work, but no one was going to hire an eleven year old kid. He began to realize that this was not going to work for him. I told him to wait there for me and went off to the grocery store where I packed a small cooler with enough food and drink for several days. I returned to Orchard Supply where he was still sitting forlornly on the curb.

 

I explained to him that I was going to take him to the bus station where I would buy him a ticket back to San Ysidro. I told him how much courage he had to come so far north to help his family. I also told him to go home and tell his father all the details of what had happened.

 

My last glimpse of him was a smiling face in the bus window as he headed south.

 

11/1/05 

I hear that God never gives us more adversity, or success, than we can handle. I have always tried to believe this. Sometimes I cannot understand it very well. 

 

Recently, I met Sheryl.  She is a mother of three teenaged girls, and one eleven year-old boy. Currently they are living on the second floor of a low rent apartment complex. Two years ago the family had a father and lived in a house in a neighborhood much like yours or mine.  Late one night in January of 2004 the Dad was returning home from work. He was struck and killed by a drunk driver. The father was insured for just enough to pay for the funeral and a few months of rent on the house.

 

In the spring of 2004, Sheryl's father died of a massive coronary.  Her grieving mother was left alone.  The grandchildren were devastated by the loss of their grandfather to whom they were very close. Then their grandmother died – Sheryl says she had a broken heart.

 

When money ran out for the rented house, Sheryl and her children had to move in with her late husband’s parents. In July of 2004 in-law’s home burned to the ground. The mother and father in law were killed in the fire. They were uninsured.

 

Several agencies have been working with Sheryl. Services have included the help of a grief counselor for Sheryl and the four children.

 

Sheryl's only living relative after July of 2004 was her sister, Jane.  Jane attempted suicide later that year.  She survived the attempted suicide only to die two weeks ago when she stepped in front of a moving car.

 

To me, this is the story of Job come to life. It makes me think of the fragility of life. 

 

I am amazed at the resilience of Sheryl and her children.  They have each other. They help each other.

 

Friends of Truck of Love will adopt Sheryl’s family for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Please keep them in your prayers.

 

8/13/05

This morning I came out of the bank and was approached by a woman. She was shorter than me by at least a foot.  She was almost as big around as she was tall.  The grunge on her tee shirt obscured the words written on it. She was wearing socks but was shoeless.  

She gave me one tired look and I knew immediately I was going to get involved. I greeted her with  “Good Morning. Can I help you?"

She began to cry. Part of me wanted to beat a hasty exit. But I stood there waiting for the tears to subside.

Right there in the bank parking lot at 10:30am she told me her story of spousal abuse. She had no money, no food, and of had been on the street without sleep for two nights. She continued." I hurt so bad, and I'm so tired, and I'm so hungry right now I don't know what to do."

I gave the woman my cane, a clean pair of sox, a pair of shoes, and a huge sweatshirt that were all in the back of my car.

She graciously turned me down when I offered her a ride to the battered woman's shelter. Instead she accepted an all- day bus pass, thirty dollars for food, and a night paid at the Pacific Hotel in Mountain View. 

Sometimes people ask me how I can do this work that is Truck of Love. How do I know a person is really in need? Aren’t there too many people out there who need help? What if…

I’ve always been a person who has dealt with whatever is in front of me. I’ve never worried that there might be another person around the corner. I believe that God expects me to answer the need that is expressed now. That’s how Truck of Love works. 

If I encounter a person who has no shirt, I’ve been known to take off my shirt and hand it over (much to the embarrassment of some of my friends).

I cannot allow myself to be stopped by the overwhelming need in the world. All I can do is open my heart and the back of my car to the woman in the bank parking lot.

 

7/3/2005 - "Nathan" 

Fire destroyed Nathan’s home in Fresno. He moved to San Jose to live with relatives and get a new start. 

Before the fire, Nathan worked in a print shop. His twenty-year-old son, Josh, helped support the family as a telemarketer. Nathan or Josh’s incomes alone could not support the family. When the fire took all their worldly goods, they had to have extra help. 

New in San Jose, Nathan, his wife, Desiree, and their three children were eating lots of beans and rice – trying to get through each day. Nathan got a job with his brother-in-law but Josh didn’t have the skills to do much – so he ended up standing on the street corners hoping for the generosity of passing motorists. That was how he was killed – an innocent victim of a drive by shooting. 

I met Nathan a week after Josh’s death. Living with his wife’s family, he was focused on making a better life for his wife and two remaining children – ages seven and nine. Desiree was keeping them inside all day – fearful of something else happening.  

Truck of Love helps them with the little things – a food voucher, a bus pass and plenty of love and care.  

 

4/14/05 - "Carl" 

I was taking a break from driving from Tijuana and had stopped the car in a park in Southern California – one I had frequented as a child. As I tuned my guitar, there was a tapping on the window. Turning down the window, a young woman began to babble – as if she had been on an all night binge. I started singing (which was my original intention for stopping) and she began to cry, mascara running down her cheeks. I invited her into the car and asked her where I could drop her off and what she wanted to eat. She replied, “The Capri Motel”, but was asleep before she could answer the second question.  

We arrived at the motel and I reluctantly woke her, asking what room she was in. I wanted to make sure she was safe inside before I left. I asked again what she wanted to eat and she groggily said: “I’ll ask Carl what they want.” 

Not knowing who “Carl” was, I helped her to her room. A boy of about 14 turned out to be Carl. He was caring for six younger brothers and sisters in the small room. The children were of all ages and ethnic backgrounds. The woman made a quick move into the bathroom and closed the door. 

I asked Carl what they would like to eat. He yelled into the bathroom door, “Mom, this guy wants to know what we want to eat!” 

“Get as much from him as you can.” Came the reply. 

Carl and I headed out to the store. He talked as we shopped and told me that he thought I was just another of his mom’s “Johns”. She had been a prostitute as long as he could remember. He told me that they had lived in Las Vegas where his mom had been a masseuse. He told of their frequent moves and his mom’s absence every evening – “out partying.” He related stories with an air of acceptance – that this was just the way his family’s life was. His mom worked hard to keep them all together.  

Carl and I had a good time buying fruit and vegetables and diapers for the baby. He seemed to accept me as one who wanted to do good not harm. I think of him and his family and pray for them and all the other families who live from day to day. 

 

3/7/2005

I had the pleasure of meeting Anna and Randy about three months ago at their home here in San Jose. I was able to give them a $25.00 gift card for Albertson's so they could buy some basic food items.

Anna carves wooden figurines to sell at the flea market on Capitol Ave. Her living and work areas are clean. Remnants of wood chips and dry branches are in neat piles to be used later for kindling.  

Anna is unable to bear children so she and Randy have not seen a need to get married. When I asked if they might ever “tie the knot'” they replied simultaneously: "Why bother?"

Randy works eight hours a day at a Taco Bell not far from where they live. Randy's take home pay is a little less than $200.00 a week. Their combined income is right around $1,400.00 a month. 

Neither Randy nor Anna has life insurance or health insurance. Oh yes, have I mentioned?  They also don't pay rent. They live on the bank of the Guadalupe Creek.  They live there with a few other people they call friends. They are all homeless. 

Not having to pay rent is a big help. They tell me that having to put up with the   frequent raids (by the police) is a real hassle.

Both Anna and Randy are sober, gentle people living in unforgiving conditions. Anna has been living with cancer for the past two years. She is not receiving any chemotherapy or radiation. Doctors at the county medical facility told her she might have two years of living without the need for much pain management. She is nearing the end of that grace period. The future holds little hope of her leading life as freely as she and Randy are doing at the moment. 

Randy did have a family living in Oaxaca, Mexico. They were all were lost during a terrible rain and mudslide in 1997. With all of life's set backs and trauma's Randy and Anna see people and life as good. They teach me a lot about positive attitude and faith.

This month they are leaving the creek side. I hear they are moving south. I will miss them.

 Pete

 

2/13/2005

In early January I was asked to help an elderly couple move from their second floor apartment here in San Jose. The man and woman suffered from a disease which prevented them from throwing away their news papers. Because of the mounting clutter in their apartment, they were on the verge of eviction. When I received a call asking for my help cleaning out their place  I wanted to help in any way that I could. 

On my way to their apartment I was thinking of all the stuff I had to do to help them move. Garbage bin, workers, time, date, a place to house them during the cleaning day to keep them from hindering progress( by insisting on keeping obvious garbage). I was not prepared for what I saw.

On this my first, and final visit I wanted to see where to start the clean up. The woman opened the door about two feet. The door would open no further because of news papers piled from floor to ceiling. I could see immediately that there would be need for more than one dumpster.

The woman greeted me skeptically but kindly and invited me in.  I looked around the door for a path to walk. There was a single foot space between piles of news papers that lined the walls of the small entry way. I made small talk and asked her where her husband was to which she replied :" He's in the bathroom".  I talked to her about the importance of letting me helping them clean the news papers out as soon as possible - otherwise they would be evicted.  The previous tenants in the lower apartment had left because , quite frankly, they were nervous about the integrity of the beams holding the floor boards.

With every creaky step, I could hear the sound of cracks and pops coming from the floor. I was worried about my safety. Walking through the piles of papers, the floor bent beneath my steps and the piles swayed. I told the sweet woman I would be back in two days with help and a way to throw out the news papers.

I was too late.

The next day I was listening to Public Radio. The news reporter was talking about an elderly couple near Camden Ave. in San Jose who had been killed early that morning. They were found crushed at the bottom of a  pile of news papers and rubble from their concrete floor falling through to the apartment below them. Information was being with held pending notification of next of kin. I was too late for this one. Was I too late for a reason? Was it their time to go? I will probably never know.

Sometimes my best intentions bring me back to celebrating life. This is exactly what I do when a tragedy like this occurs. I celebrate life. I thank God for the gifts I have been given that I can  freely share with those in need.

Peace be with you. Pete