The Human Element of Case Management

Part of street outreach is building trust, forming, and nurturing the bonds with those we meet while working.  It's a delicate balance to walk for many of us, especially for those who have spent much of our lives homeless prior to working in this field.  One has to be careful to detach oneself from the emotional impact human beings have upon each other, since some decisions aren't easy and may cause pain.

Those relationships can also occasionally put us into a very difficult position.  I spent much of my day today watching a friend, outreach contact and success story die after I ordered him disconnected from life support.

Elringo De'Angelino, aka Velvet Thunder, was a local icon here in Nashville Tennessee. He'd spent the better part of the past 30 years on 2^nd Avenue, singing on the street to anyone and everyone who'd lend their ears for a moment to listen to the man's silky smooth, yet deep and throaty crooning.  Just about anyone who's ever spent any time at all around the area known as "lower Broad" in this fair city will probably recognize who I'm talking about; they may not know the man's name but they almost certainly will remember him as the big man who sat in a chair, American Flag Cowboy boots and stylish hat always cocked at a rakish angle, singing and performing with his five gallon bucket at the ready for tips.

His landlord found him unresponsive and unconscious a couple of weeks ago when she did a welfare check at his apartment.  Because he had no family, the hospital contacted me after learning I'd been his case manager.  I hadn't seen him for much of this summer and curse myself for not stopping in and checking on him sooner.

I stood at his bedside this morning with a local police officer and another outreach specialist; each of us having our own histories with Velvet, each of us there for our own reasons, but all of us together with him because in working so closely with him to get him off the street. We'd each developed deep respect for, and friendships with, the man.

We gathered around him all morning as he lay unconscious, a tube in his lungs to assist his breathing.  We laughed, cried, talked about the work we'd all done with him, the temper he occasionally flashed when someone stole his tips.  We joked and sang a few bars of his "Big Butted Women" tune (watch the video here, song starts at 2:10) he loved to sing whenever a plus size female wandered by.    We all told him it was time to go, his body was no longer able to keep his music alive and there was better music to be made across the cosmos.

We watched the man's breath ebb slowly out of his body; stood by as the heart monitor showed first a rapid heart rate, then a slowing, and finally, a flatline.  Alarms sounded on the few machines still monitoring him; a nurse came in and quietly turned them off.

We each said our silent goodbyes.  The officer said the Lord's Prayer.  A man - another loving, fragile, yet tough as nails human being - I'd met living on the street didn't have to die alone, like so many people experiencing homelessness do every day.

Rest in peace Velvet.  I hope the heavens are filled tonight with some of your finest efforts.

If you'd like to help provide Mr. De'Angelino with a proper funeral, please feel free to make a contribution of any size to the Elringo De'Angelino Memorial Fund at any Bank of America branch. Any monies left over after the service will be used to start a Homeless Burial Fund for those individuals who pass away on the street here in the Middle Tennessee area and have no family or families with little income. Thank you.