A man named "Toothpick."

The day I met Toothpick, aka LaCharleston White was more than memorable.  Toothpick came to The Farm several years ago looking for a job.  I can remember him saying, “I can do anything you need me to do and all I need is $50 a week. I will work hard for you.”   

I wish I could remember how he got the nickname “Toothpick.”  I can only imagine he was a tall, skinny little kid growing up in Minden.

Well, I hired Toothpick and he did do anything I needed. Not that he knew how to do anything I needed but I came to learn that he would ‘try’ and try with all of his heart and being.  I came to love Toothpick. I loved his optimism.  Toothpick grew up in Minden and graduated from high school. Trapped in a city with few opportunities for young black males to succeed, I quickly saw how his life became one of simply trying to survive.

Toothpick was in and out of my life as I spent my days volunteering at the Farm in Minden.  The Farm is a four-acre tract of land located in a black neighborhood that was donated to a nonprofit I co- founded some 25 years ago. 

 The Moess Center for the Arts & City Farm was fondly known simply as 'The Farm.' The land was originally owned by the Camp family and was donated to Cultural Crossroads in 2000 by Zenobia West. 

This four-acre piece of heaven would become home to the parish’s largest arts festival for children.  It would also become the place for many summer events aimed at children. And Toothpick would often come even when not assigned to, just to help me out.

 Toothpick fell in love with the Farm just as I had. He spent many of his days there with me working side by side, planting and caring for the gardens. He spent many days on his own time picking up the trash along the highway that led up to the Farm. You could tell he found great pride in that.

One morning, early on in our work relationship, I arrived unexpectedly early to the Farm. I opened the gate and walked in to see Toothpick coming out of the public restrooms with a handful of quilts. I found it odd and asked what he was doing here this early and what was he doing with those quilts in the bathroom.  The discovery that he was homeless and that he was sleeping the men’s bathroom brought me to tears.  That shocking revelation embarrassed me. I should have recognized before now that he had no home to go to. He would walk to work every day and I just assumed he walked home. I quickly caught up to speed on his personal life and together we worked on finding him a place to live.  His encounters with the law had alienated him from most of his family. And maybe it should have alienated me. But I found something honest and real about him. And I think he found that in me, too. 

Toothpick did have a drug problem. And without judgement, I tried to talk to him about it only to discover that many of the encounters he had with the police were intentional. His life of living on the streets had brought him to a point of despair when the only relief was three meals a day and a cot…in jail. I never had to bail him out. He wouldn’t let me do that.  He would spend his time and a few months later and sometimes a year later, I would see him walk up to the Farm and offer his help to me once again.

In the more than a decade that I came to know and love this man, I saw him in and out of jail several times. I saw him struggle for a meal or a place to lay his head at night. And I saw him struggle for acceptance. I think he found it with me. And I think he realized that I loved him unconditionally and I believe he loved me.

Getting close to someone who struggles daily to make ends meet was difficult at times. Toothpick had been married and had children.  He had since been divorced, I think. I say that because I tried hard not to judge him nor to nosey in on his personal life too much. So much of what I learned about him came from observing him and those who were also a part of his life at any given time and would venture up to the Farm while we were both working.  His estranged wife would come back into his life later and he eventually ended up living with his ex-wife and their daughter.

The last time I saw Toothpick was at my retirement party this past December. The organization that I founded generously offered up a retirement party for me as I decided to step out of public life as a community organizer/volunteer/administrator for Cultural Crossroads. It would be the first big event that I had no part of except to simply walk in, sit down and enjoy. 

Toothpick was there. He had heard about the party and came to help. With garbage bag in hand, he stepped right in where he had left off and took the job of making sure that there was no trash on the grounds. I cried when I saw him. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing now.  How was he taking care of himself?   I asked him how he was doing, he answered, “great.”  He would always say ‘great,’ even when I knew it to be a lie.

I have so much respect for him. I admire his perseverance. I admire his optimism. I admire his willingness to do anything for you, no matter how small or insignificant…. because he didn’t see any of it as insignificant. I do love Toothpick.  And because I love him, I worry about him. I can still remember the day I told him that I loved him and I worried about him.   “Don’t worry about me, Miss Chris.  I will make it.”

And ya know…he’s right…he will make it. He has made it. He is a survivor. I just wish with all my heart that life had dealt him a better hand because he deserved it.

I saw his heart and it was good.