by Cheryl DePaolo
One older Hispanic man seems to come back day after day with a different story and different bills. He doesn't
even pretend that he hasn't been in before, and always seems happy to see Helga, the Spanish speaking counselor
that he has worked with before. When he is turned away he wanders off with good humor. He'll try again
tomorrow.
Another older couple seemed to gain two dependent grandchildren over night. They had forgotten to list these two
on their application the day before. I'm sure they were thinking that they might get more aid with a couple of
dependents.
Then there was the buff young man who insisted that his Gold's Gym membership was an essential expense!
One young couple seemed to have a legitimate claim as displaced workers. However, the counselor realized that
there was a cable bill that seemed a bit odd. The address on the bill was for the same building, but the name on the
bill and the apartment number were different. When the counselor pointed this out, they said "Oh, the mailman must
have delivered this to us by mistake. This is for our neighbor". The "mistake" seemed highly unlikely as the bill was
opened, with the stub tucked neatly under the flap of the envelope, ready to be paid. Completely unruffled, they
pulled this bill out of the pile. I'm sure their neighbor was a bit disappointed that The Salvation Army did not pay
his cable bill.
My favorite by far has to be Marguerite. She was a heavyset older woman with a lilting Haitian accent. She walked
very slowly with the aid of a cane, and she stated immediately that she did not want to talk about what had
happened to her September 11. That didn't seem odd; many people were emotionally raw and had difficulty talking
about their experiences. I told her that we did need to verify that she had worked in the "Red Zone". She stated
that she lived and worked in Queens, but had been walking on Vesey Street that morning and had been injured in
the attacks. But again, she didn't want to talk about it. She did not present the usual household bills for September
and October. Rather, she had a notice that her house was in foreclosure, and she had an old medical bill. She also
had a bill from the gas company for $6700, and she stated that her gas had been shut off. "Marguerite," I said
gently, "these bills weren't incurred after September 11. These had to be delinquent for quite some time".
All of the sudden she wanted to talk about September 11. "But I am a victim! It was 'orrible!", she stated. "When
de buildin' started to come down, I was runnin' and runnin', with rubble fallin' on my 'ead. I stepped into a store to
take cover, but de store man said 'e was closin' the store. 'e put me out. Then I fell, I got up and ran, but I fell
again. I 'urt my knees and my back. Then someone 'it me in the 'ead with a suitcase, and I blacked out. Then I ran
all de way to Brooklyn".
Well, I pondered her story. It's hard to fall on your knees and your back at the same time. Who would be running
down the street with a suitcase, let alone one held high enough to hit a tall woman in the head? How had she run to
Brooklyn after receiving severe injuries and blacking out, without receiving medical attention? And why, I asked
myself, did her cane look very well worn? She had no proof of any appointment in the area on September 11.
I turned my attention back to her bills. I asked her the amount of one month's mortgage payment. It was
somewhere in the vicinity of $5000, she said. And how delinquent was she? Only one month, she insisted. "They're
foreclosing when you are only one month late?" I asked. "Yes, and you can be sure I will change banks, with dem
'oundin' an old woman dis way!" I turned my attention to the $6700 gas bill. Since the mortgage was so high, I was
thinking maybe she owned an apartment building, but she stated that it was a single-family dwelling. "And how long
since you paid the gas bill?" Suddenly she raised her voice. "Look, young lady", she shouted. "I don' 'ave time for
all dis. I live in 'aiti most all the year. The bills 'ave to wait til I get 'ere. I pay my bills when I can get to dem". She
conceded that the gas bill must not have been paid in several years. $1000 was needed just to get the service
turned back on.
Unable to justify giving her any financial aid, I offered her some pamphlets, a devotional book and a Bible. She
expressed disappointment that we did not have a French Bible. She stated that she was very religious and read her
Bible and prayed constantly throughout each day. I didn't know how to process this information; my brain was
screaming "Does not compute!" But she took the books and left. Maybe it was my imagination, but she seemed to
walk much faster on the way out than she had on the way in.
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