Delroy

Delroy Winslow died this week. He was 59. A notoriously heavy drinker and often homeless man, Delroy was a “frequent flyer” in the emergency room where I work as a social worker. His blood alcohol levels were legendary – often twice or three times what would make a normal person pass out. But that didn’t stop Delroy, the Timex of drunks. He took licken’ after licken’ and kept on ticken’.

Nobody really knew Delroy’s story because most of the time he spent with us in the ER, he was passed out or asleep, snoring loudly. Occasionally, when it was time to go, Delroy would let slip something about his life or his pas - after the alcohol had worn off and the warmth of a hospital meal had set in to his usually aching and empty belly.

Delroy was Delroy Winslow, Jr., which meant somebody had admired his daddy enough to make Delroy a namesake. He never talked about his mama, except to say she “passed a long, long time ago.” He also never talked about a wife or kids. Tall, thin and muscular, Delroy looked to have been a handsome man, back before the liquor took such a toll. I liked to imagine there was a sad story in Delroy’s past – maybe a pretty wife and several small children, tragically killed in a car accident. Maybe that’s what turned him to drinking – the loss of his beloved wife and loving family…

The thing about Delroy was that he was so likeable – even plum drunk, he was a really nice guy. He never cussed or used the Lord’s name in vain. (“I might be a drunk, but I was raised up right,” he would say.) He was always polite (“Yes, ma’am” and “No, sir” that was Delroy.) And, he would answer any question respectfully and honestly. (“Delroy, why are you here again today?” someone would ask. “I just can’t help myself. I know it’s wrong, but I just love drinkin’ too much,” he would reply.)

Delroy had an aunt and a sister somewhere in South Georgia, and every so often, when his drunken escapades had pushed his old, rapidly tiring body almost to its limit, he would hitchhike “down South” to stay with them for awhile. In a few months, he’d turn up again, passed out on the street somewhere and hauled in by the ambulance, wearing nice clothes and looking a little healthier and fatter than when he’d disappeared.

“How come you don’t stay down South where they take such good care of you?” we’d ask, when Delroy came to after turning up again.

“I love my aunt and my sister,” he would say. “They feed me real good and they keep me in nice clothes, but they make me go to church, and they won’t let me drink, and there’s only so much of that kinda’ livin’ a man can handle.”

Sometimes when he was passed out somewhere, Delroy would get beaten up, rolled and robbed by other, meaner drunks. You see, Delroy had a “job” at a liquor store, toting boxes of booze around. Mostly they paid him in liquor, but occasionally they’d give him a little cash to go get something to eat or buy something warm to wear. And, when Delroy looked well-fed or had on a new coat, that seemed to be the signal for the mean bums to move in.
Delroy was always thankful for the care he got in the emergency room. And, he was always appreciative of the bed, the meal and the bus pass to the homeless shelter, where we knew he never stayed.

I think one of the reasons we all liked him so much was that he seemed like a kind man who life, for whatever reason, had dealt a particularly bad hand. Sure, being a mostly homeless alcoholic indicates a bevy of bad decisions and poor choices, made over and over again. But, somehow, in Delroy’s case, it always seemed like there was a reason he did so poorly – something beyond what could be called his fault – something bigger and sadder and meaner than anything in him.

It was surprising to see the reaction in the ER when we got the news that Delroy was dead. The ambulance crew dispatched to the “man down” call in the “Tent City” (where all the homeless people live) called in immediately. “It’s Delroy. This time he’s really done it; this time he’s dead….”

Word spread fast in the ER and the reaction was the same, over and over again. “Damn! I never thought he’d actually pull it off and drink himself to death…I never thought I’d say it, but I’m gonna’ miss Delroy…He was a good ole’ guy.”

We actually had a moment of silence for Delroy at the Charge Nurse’s desk the day he died, and I heard the crews the next day and the day after that did, too.

Strange how someone so unlikely, who many would consider “unworthy,” can touch so many lives, in such a poignant way. For me, it was Delroy’s resilience and hopefulness. His life was simple; his needs were few; he knew he was flawed , and, he just kept going anyway – always leaving the ER with a smile on his face, and big “Thank you and God bless you!” for whoever he passed by.

Rest in peace, Delroy; and, may your next time around be a little easier and less “spirits” possessed.