Ken Williams: A Lonely Death, a Father’s Prayer

The cruel realities of mental illness bind the stories of the departed Redbeard and of a runaway daughter still on the streets

By Ken Williams, Noozhawk Columnist | Published on 09.09.2009

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How does one die alone in modern society, in our bustling city? How does one pass on to the other side with no one noticing he’s no longer around? Did he have no loved ones or friends who missed him when he failed to show up for the small graces of life that we all take for granted? Were all of his meals eaten alone, to not even partake in the ancient ritual of breaking bread with others? Did he receive no mail or correspondence that connected him with family elsewhere?

Article Image
Ken Williams and his dog, Sampson. (Williams family photo)

Redbeard’s cold and lifeless body was hidden by uncounted time, much like his existence — the person he was, concealed behind his mental illness. Did he die with the sounds of manic rush-hour traffic in his ears acting like soothing hypnotic music? Or perhaps it was the quieter sounds of lonely cars at night, smothered by all that darkness.

Did Redbeard become suddenly ill, or had he simply grown weary and decided to lay his head down for some rest behind the bushes on Highway 101, never to open his eyes again? Or, sadly, did he know he was dying?

What was Redbeard’s real name? Was a mother and father left wondering what had happened to their mentally ill son? Was a wife left to fathom the cruel twists and turns of life without her partner, her soulmate? Or did he leave behind a child, alone and adrift without a father to fathom the cruel realities of mental illness, or to speculate how it drove his dad away from his loved ones? Maybe in the end, Redbeard’s life simply became too much — too much pain and too much loneliness. Then — and only then — did the darkness beckon.

Redbeard was like many of the mentally ill homeless people I have known. Their backgrounds are lost to a torrent of delusional hallucinations so profound and so deep that they altered their reality, thus changing their personal history.

The present — one filled with pain, loneliness and fright — is all that exists for them. It is a present without four walls or structures of any kind, a cruel world without cause and effect. Instead, it’s a world ruled too often by demons of the mind and capriciousness. It’s one without logic, for how else can one explain that a mentally ill wounded person living in the richest city in the richest country in history should die alone and penniless alongside a freeway just miles away from multimillion-dollar mansions? His existence was a living hell where most if not all others are perceived as a threat, as vengeful gods hurtling insults, insinuations and accusations.

Mental illness is so terrifying because you feel so alone. It is a disease that mandates all too often that you suffer by yourself without anyone to share the burden of that particular pain. You wake up alone, eat alone, live your existence alone and frequently die alone, as did Redbeard. There’s no one to tell you that the terror of the nightmares isn’t real; just the opposite: They are everything.

Redbeard passed quietly, missed by some in the community who no longer saw the presumed veteran walking our streets stoutly with his head held high. He was the 21st homeless person out of 23 to die in Santa Barbara this year, a year that becomes increasingly bitter as the time and body count mounts.

Thinking of Redbeard’s life journey, I wondered about his trajectory from his teen years into the descent of mental illness. At work I keep half a picture of a young woman at her 18th birthday — it’s only half because her father had torn it so the rest of the family wasn’t included. He had come to Santa Barbara years ago following his runaway daughter’s tracks. She had dropped the family a postcard from our community after her escape from Silicon Valley. I remember him as a wealthy, well-dressed, important man who had ditched the tie when he visited to ask for my help.

His story was a familiar one to me — way to familiar — but it didn’t dampen the pain that flowed from this man’s broken heart. Sitting across from me, I couldn’t help but think he was my mirror opposite, except in one dimension: He, like me, was a father, and our shared love of our children exposed us to a hellacious pain all its own, as any parent can attest to. He explained that his daughter had suffered her first psychotic break soon after the picture was taken. I remember looking closer at the picture in my hand and seeing the gathering darkness in the young woman’s eyes. Already the terror of mental illness was there.

Giving me his business card, he asked me to call him if contact was made. He lost the battle for his cool, business persona and let his father’s pain plead for my help. Of course, I told him I would try. I withheld the knowledge of just how daunting it would be to find a mentally ill girl in the open-air asylum that our city streets had become.

I slip the picture back into my drawer and pray that the man finally found his daughter — alive — and that she received help and was able to beat the disease and put the streets behind her.

Redbeard’s parents would never have that prayer fulfilled.

— Ken Williams has been a social worker for the homeless for the last 30 years. He is the author of China White and Shattered Dreams, A Story of the Streets.

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» JAX on 09.10.09 @ 07:23 AM

What is the solution to the problem of the marginal mentally ill who comprise a significant percentage of the so called “homeless” population as distinguished from the other categories and very visible and annoying panhandling bums?

What does Ken offer as a viable solution?

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» hopper on 09.10.09 @ 08:21 AM

Being out there all alone , thinking nothing will ever become of your life is so empty. Did anyone see those tears built up inside my heart? God I hope not!! I don’t want anyone to know that I feel so distant from life inside. Have I let everyone down in my life? Being so alone like a bird soaring over the beautiful earth, wishing to land and be apart of. I once new of those feelings, and I know they sre still going on out there every minute of the day unrecognized or over looked. I feel for Redbeard and he is in my prayers.How about something like Bigbrothers and Bigsisters for the Homeless to let them know that their is someone still will give them a hug and let them know that there is someone who still cares????

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» John Buttny on 09.10.09 @ 08:37 AM

Jax, it is not Ken Williams who needs to find a solution to this problem.  Our community, all of us, must participate in finding a solution. Our community has only 12 detox beds for the homeless.  Our community has a severe shortage of supportive housing, the kind of housing that offers not only shelter, but the services that assist the mentally ill in maintaining their housing. Our community has a shortage of the street outreach teams that make contact with the mentally ill homeless and help them find treatment and safety.

The list goes on. What can you offer to help?

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» Kathy Davis on 09.10.09 @ 02:24 PM

Hopper - yes, there is a movement in the Santa Barbara area of local, caring individuals coming alongside the homeless as long-term friends and advocates.  What we need is more of these individuals willing to love unconditionally - if only to affirm these folks as human beings.  Also, to offer them hope and help, if they want it.  Those of us in the field see what a difference it makes when they realize we truly care about them and hugs are often welcomed as the only touch some have had in years. My prayer is for more workers in the field willing to put themselves out there. In the meantime, as Mr. Butney states in his earlier post, we do not have enough services for those in our area and therein lies the long-term solution.

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» Anna Campbell on 09.12.09 @ 03:55 PM

Thanks again to Ken Williams for so truthfully and powerfully portraying the cruel pain of mental illness and of the isolation that it causes.

To me it is just plain bizarre that one of the richest cities in the richest country on earth allows some of its people to die of exposure or lack of medical care or murder because they are left to live under bushes and along railroad tracks, not able to have the simple comfort of a bed to lie on, the protection of walls around them at night, or a roof to shelter them from the elements.

The homeless mentally ill are our “untouchables,” treated by our society as though they are not full human beings.

(Ken, your nonfiction writing is eloquent.  How about a book putting together a collection of your best non-fiction pieces?)

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» WomanforPeaceSanity on 09.14.09 @ 10:22 AM

Thank you, Ken, for your sad and compassionate piece about a homeless man dying on the streets of our city.  It is a tragic scenario of a place where treatment for the mentally ill is just not considered important enough to fund, even in good economic times.  Now our CA Governor has chosen to cut services (HIV & Aids treatment) once again to the most vulnerable amongst us. 
Is anyone else sick of the Right Wing philosophy that everyone is on his/her own and Americans need not help those who are down and out?  This issue is at the crux of our health care debate!  True patriots should care about their fellow Americans. There is something tragically wrong with our culture.

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» Roger Dodge on 09.15.09 @ 07:38 AM

Will my old friend “Hopper” so good to see you here, I wondered what you were up to. I thought the same thing that all these stories should be made into a book. I wonder whatever happened to the man that was burned? Is he alive or did he pass on also? I hope one of these days I see one of your books in a thrift store Ken I can’t afford one new I’d have to panhandle in front of boarders. Keep it up.

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