Maggie

The heat of the day had subsided and I was out for my evening walk. Walking through the neighborhood is therapy for me. Walking helps me clear my mind, giving me time to think. Besides, it is good for me. It was summertime. The sun stays out past 9:30. The people that live on the porch don’t really come out of their apartments until after 3:00 in the afternoon as it begins to cool off a bit. Most go in about midnight or so. It is not unusual to see the well-lit playground full of children late at night. On this night I was rounding the corner heading home when I heard it. It was faint at first but the closer I got the louder it got. “Jeff, Jeff”. As I turned my head toward the sound I saw who was calling out my name. It was a woman I had talked with many times before. Her white hair seemed brighter as the sinking sun was shining brightly on her west-facing porch. Her hair was perfect as usual, her makeup just right, but I couldn’t help but notice, as she sat in her lawn chair, that her ankles were swollen again. “Hi, Maggie”, I finally answer her.

She tells me about her day, shares some information about some other neighbors, and reminds me of the Annual August Night Out block party, insisting that I attend. I assured her that I would be there. She and another neighbor had been planning the event for a long time. She was working with the police who would co-sponsor the event. There would be food, games, and a drawing for prizes at the party. Maggie had been working on it for several weeks and it has seemed to take a toll on her ankles and feet. I asked when she would start dialysis. “Never”, she replied in her stern voice. Maggie is not afraid to speak her mind and almost everyone knows what’s on it. Maggie has a sense of pride in the neighborhood and knows the neighborhood could be better if everyone would take pride in it. She petitioned to put trash cans at the playgrounds; however, someone bent the cans into an unusable heap. She tries to encourage residents to take care of their pets by registering them with the Housing Authority and keeping them in the apartments not running wild. She is not afraid to knock on a door and get someone to turn the music down, nor is she afraid to call the police. Honestly, there are several neighbors that really don’t like Maggie, but do you know what? She really doesn’t care. Not only is Maggie strong-willed, opinionated, and a bit stubborn, but she is known by many as the “Grandmother of Gateway” (In the early 40’s Gateway Gardens was built to be used as military housing. After that it becomes the homes of low-income families. In 1996 the name was changed to Garden Square. Almost everyone in the apartments calls it “Gateway”, as does almost everyone else in town.)

Maggie is a grandma and is very proud of her grandchildren. She also has a couple of hundred grandkids in “Gateway”. It is not unusual, seeing Maggie playing with a child, holding a hand, having a conversation, blowing a nose. Or correcting a rule-breaker. Like Mary Poppins she appears to have a magic touch as she shows a small child how, when she touches a street light it comes on. How she does it nobody knows. She is loved by children. August Night Out is an example of how much she cares not only about her neighborhood but the children. Maggie went to local businesses gathering donations for prizes, food, and drinks. Maggie doesn’t have a car and struggles to put on shoes, let alone walk; but she worked hard to pull off August Night Out. When I went to August Night Out, I was very surprised to be presented with a plaque that read "In appreciation to Pastor Jeff for your loving service. Garden Square Residents 2006". I also received a card that said "Thanks a Million" on the front with the words, "and then some" on the inside. It was signed my almost every resident in the complex. I was very touched, honored, and felt appreciated. I was able to share this story in a newsletter to remind supporters that they are appreciated. Our work in the community is not a one-man show. It wasn’t until a few days later that I learned that it was Maggie who stood on every porch securing signatures for the card, knocking on the doors of everyone, friend or foe. If that were not enough, she had to take the shoestrings out of her sneakers, pull the tongue forward, and squeeze her swollen feet into a pair of shoes that had become a couple of sizes too small, to do something nice for me.

Thanks, Maggie.