Larry "Red" Creevan, 33

There's a nice picture of Larry Creevan in Saturday's paper. He's wearing a suit and tie, and grinning, looking like he could be a bank teller or Sunday School teacher or somebody's dad.  The first time we saw Larry in the suit was a few years ago.  He came in to the library late on a Saturday morning, looking downright spiffy, and we remarked to him that he looked sharp. Larry, also known as Red, smiled and shone, ducked his head and blushed, which is a remarkable thing to see on someone who is perpetually some shade of red.  He was going to a family wedding, and didn't have any place to go until the ceremony, since the shelter was closed during the day. He wanted to stay crisp, and so he sat, looking alternately mortified and pleased, as other folks admired and ribbed him for his snazzy outfit.  That suit was also Larry's going-to-court suit, because he knew it was important to look respectable when going before a judge. 

A colleague stopped by my desk today to say that she thought she'd seen Larry's picture in the obituary section on Saturday.  I dug out the paper, and verified that it was him.  Red was one of our favorites, sometimes a regular, sometimes gone for months at a time.  Mostly, he'd sit quietly and read when he was in.  We knew he had a horrible alcohol addiction and could tell when he'd been drinking by his level of effusiveness.  He was painfully, cripplingly shy, and it seemed that alcohol was the only thing that would make it possible for him to look you in the eye, and say more than hello.  He may have gotten a little loud once or twice, but we tended to cut him slack because he seemed so good-hearted and fragile.

Larry's obiturary was brief and spare, which isn't surprising for someone who has lived on the street for much of their adult life, whose next-of-kin may not have had contact for several years.  I was bothered, however, by the fact that Larry didn't even merit complete sentences. Apparently, it's a new policy to telegraph information in obituaries for those who don't have next-of-kin to write something more sentimental.  Colons are now used to get the message across. "Visitation: None." "Memorials: To Safe Harbor."  Aside from listing his next-of-kin, you don't learn anything about Larry besides the fact that he was 33, had a great smile, owned a suit and was cremated.

Our longtime former security guard, Tom, called to see if I knew anything more about what happened to Larry.  Through another patron, I learned that Larry took his own life; why is anybody's guess.  I was glad to hear from Tom, because he made an effort to get to know folks, and I knew he could tell me me something about Larry.  Tom knew that Larry had served in the first Gulf War, and that something awful happened there.  One day, after Tom was promoted and got his lieutenant bars, Larry, upon seeing the bars, knelt at Tom's desk as if Tom were his commanding officer and cried. Larry apologized for what he'd done to "those people," saying he was only doing his job.

I remember a couple years ago, Larry seemed to be getting his life together. He had some sort of work, if not steady, and was able to get a small apartment, and he was really proud of himself.  And that's probably a good place to end this story.
 

Comments

[rochelle]

Aww, Shoe--you of all people don't need to feel someone else's pain, but it hit many of us pretty hard. And, thanks, David. Larry is the third homeless person (and library patron) to die a really awful death in the past six months. There was Artice, who got run over, while he was collecting cans, and Barry, whose body (homicide) was found in the trunk of a stolen car impounded at the police station for a few days. There is a homeless community within our community, and I can't help but wonder how this sort of thing affects them.

[David H. Rothman]

Great send-off for Larry, Rochelle.- David

[shoe]

Maybe because I'm in pain and it's 4 am, but man, I'm bawling my eyes out for this guy. :(

shoe