CE: the OZ. Nick, John, Christopher, and James

This week I’d been looking forward to the hour or so I’d be spending at the Ozanam Inn–or, “the Oz” as called by some.

As a photographer, it’s forcing me to change my normal approach, helping deepen and expand the fundamentals of my craft. And as a person, it’s a pure pleasure to talk and hear the stories of so many seasoned individuals. Some are straight from the silver-screen, larger than life characters, while others are as common and unassuming as I am.

For the past few weeks I had been meaning to talk to Nick–the guy with the hair. This week I had the chance. He tells me it’s not uncommon for him to have people follow him for a few blocks only to catch up and ask for his autograph. Tom Petty, usually. Coyly, he gives in. Nick, whose given name is Norman but chose his father’s name instead, came back to New Orleans 90 days after Katrina hit to help rebuild the city. And rebuild he did as both a commercial and mural painter. The next time you’re in the Mascarade bar in Harah’s casino downtown, check out the ceiling. Nick did that. Just one of the many places in the city he’s painted.

John called after me while I was taking a picture to inquire if I was with the newspaper. I told him I was not but asked if I could take his picture. Seconds later he had to go, so we didn’t have any time to talk. The Oz is run pretty tightly, and they only serve food for a short while; I didn’t want to hold him.

After the outside food time came to a close Christopher caught my eye on his way out. He asked me if he I could help him.

That’s kind of a scary open-ended question, but I agreed. He explained that he had been cited by NOPD for begging (when he wasn’t) on the 1700 block of MLK drive (where he wasn’t). One of the disadvantages to having no home is that you have nowhere to put your stuff. This means that you always have to carry it with you. The officer spotted the sign in his bag and proceded to stop him.

He told me he’d been through this before and public attorneys always make him plead guilty, and he’s far from being able to afford anyone else. It was at this that he asked my advice: what should I do?

I did my best to hide the awkward combination of bewilderment and ignorance that overtook my face. Of all the people in the world, someone is asking me legal advice. I thought for a moment of all the ways I couldn’t help him, as he stood their earnestly waiting for my reply.

Then, truly, I gave him the only thing I had.

The Truth.

We talked about how big God is, and the power of prayer. God created us to have a relationship with Him, so it’s no wonder prayer works. I couldn’t give him legal advice, help him afford an attorney, or even put him in touch with one who does pro bono work. But it didn’t really matter because these were all human solutions. It’s God who has the authority Christopher needed.

His court date is today, Friday. As you go to your job, take a lunch break, check my blog on company time, or put gas in your car, remember to pray for Christopher.

At this point the outside had moved inside, and Christopher had left. I snuck in the back door where everyone was eating to see if there was someone else I could meet. As I was trying to stay out of the way of the omnipresent food line, I overheard James in the midst of a story.

I shouldn’t say ‘story.’ I tell stories–James, on the other hand, delivers an experience. When he tells you about a boat, you move with the waves and feel the cold mist on your face. It’s like that. And it was like that while I stood there.

Humorously, I almost forgot to take his picture. And when I did, I gave him the I’m-a-photographer while motioning to my camera, to which he smiled: Well, I didn’t think it was an earring!

James.

Right now he’s working at the Oz and hopes to become the night manager. After that it’s California. He’s had enough hurricanes. And earthquakes? These don’t bother James; as long as they don’t turn into hurricanes.

Nick:

John:

Christopher:

James: