The Sixth Day

CARMINE OLD died today, September 23rd, from suffocation and general inhumanity at his expense. He was 63. Another indirect victim of the destructive forces that hit the Gulf Coast over three weeks ago. A native of Mississippi, Mr. Old did not even receive the dignity of dying in his home town.

Ron Dubinski, an officer in the National Guard, found Carmine under a saturated mattress in the passageways under the Astrodome in Houston. His body was still warm.

“Ask me what I think…He died moments before I got to him. He just had that look. That feel. Not that we could have done anything for him earlier. He was there…but he was barely there.”

Apparently, Mr. Old had been considerably belligerent since being bused from Mississippi, against his will, six days ago. There was an incident between him and a Ms. Stephanie Flowers, a kind old woman from New Orleans, regarding a cotton blanket.

“He had two of them. I was just trying to get him to share. He wouldn’t let go. Kept talking about his teeth. Had to keep his teeth warm. They were going to get his teeth. He tried to hit me, then he ran off. I never saw him again. But what - with all of us in here together - I didn’t think it too unusual.”

With all the rapes and murders going on in the sporting arena, it’s easy to see how one - namely Mr. Carmine Old - could just disappear. Nobody was keeping track of anybody else. No one was caring for other people. Nobody was taking any kind of responsibility. In the meantime, while the world was trying to figure out what the hell to do, one man slipped away from it all and became a statistic.

We now know that Mr. Old suffered from severe paranoid schizophrenia. He entered the catacombs of the Houston Astrodome seeking refuge and some semblance of meaning after being ripped from everything he knew as life. He found an old mattress, covered himself with his two blankets, and for a little while, it became home. He lived on water and Captain’s Wafers for the remainder of his time on earth. And on the sixth day, which would be today, he pulled the now urine-soaked mattress on top of him for protection after hearing some strange voices. The weight was too much for his weakened body and he was smothered to death.

“Another thing,” said Dubinski, “the damndest thing. Other witnesses besides Ms. Flowers took issue with Mr. Old from day one at the dome. Said he was taking their share of the hotdogs that were found in a meat locker on lever two. Said he was chewing through the frozen wieners like they were going to disappear. Here’s the strange part - When I found him, one thing was missing from the picture. Poor guy. His teeth. They were just gone. Big open gasping mouth. A big black hole.”

For some, this passing is just another number. If that’s the way you feel, I hope someone comes into your room at night, in that place where you feel safe, and…steals your teeth.

Crazy George

CRAZY GEORGE, who bore the likeness of the Aristotle statue at Azalea Botanical Gardens, died sometime last week.

His ashes were spread by the reflecting pool where the feet of the marble sculpture stands. Also laid at the feet were bread crumbs.

Crazy George lived at 715 Norcova Avenue where the tall grass grows. Peeling pain, sagging porch, bread bags and a worn mattress are all that he left behind. He was burned in his well worn military jacket. Old enough to be a WWII vet but no one knows. When his mind went, so did his history.
He frequented the sidewalk of the A&P Market, Colonial Cleaners and Baby Clothes store. The butcher frequently gave him a loaf of bread or bag of Cheetos. He ate around his fingertips and what they touched was dropped for the birds to eat. Small piles of orange or white laying on the sidewalk corners like morning manna for robins and pidgeons. He had several missing teeth, a foul-mouth that he liked to share with A&P customers and keen knowledge of dentistry.

He was a dirty comfort to locals who had taken to his following and need for spare change. And now he is gone. A pair of his socks are resting on the corner next to a large orange-stained circle. The fresh summer rain will eventually wash that away.

His mind is gone. God rest his soul.