Remembering Gilbert Estrada

Ted Mead at People's Park in 2004, now passed into eternity.

Ted Mead, AKA Michael Clark Mead, passed from this earthly plane the second week of August, 2009. It appears that the exact date and time is uncertain, as well; I don’t know when Ted was born.

I had heard that Ted was sick and in the CCU at Sutter Solano Medical Center, just south of Marine World in Vallejo. I drove up to visit him on the Sunday before he died. Death had on its ugly face that afternoon as Ted had only me to keep him company. I knew his time was close.

Many of our homeless brothers and sisters have passed with only a moment’s pause in most all of our lives. Names such as Maria King, Brother Malcolm, Richard Moore, Troy Kimball, Gilbert Estrada and so many others roll off our tongues and are forgotten in an instant. Ted now joins the list of those to be forgotten.

We had two memorials for Ted. One was at Willard Park the Sunday following Ted’s passing. Another was held at People’s Park on the next Sunday.

I had announced this second get together at the meals and around 10 folks dropped by to reminisce. Ted had attended many meals at the Park over the years and met many friends either at the park or nearby on the Avenue. It seemed a fitting place to gather.

I brought a candle from home to symbolize that life is like a light that burns, eventually to be extinguished, and then to be reignited at a new time and place. Twenty or so sticks of various incense were purchased from the vendor in front of Amoeba Records. When I told the vendor what it was for, he handed me a copious amount for my dollar’s offering.

We sat at a metal grid table in the shade of the trees at the east end of the park. The candle was lit and we lit the incense sticks from it. I remember the sweet smell of the incense and the smoke from it burning my eyes and throat. We talked, told revealing stories and the secrets and private items that each of us had been privy to. This small moment of remembrance in exchange for a lifetime of one man seemed insufficient, but still we stayed on and spoke and listened to the life of Ted.

An hour and a half had passed. I passed out the remaining unburnt incense sticks and asked those to remember Ted when they lit them up. And Ted was gone.

Ted will never again have to worry about the cold rain drenching him in his sleeping bag during a night’s sleep on the streets. He will not be concerned that his shoes may go missing the next morning because he forgot to sleep on top of them as his pillow. He will not have to get a numbered ticket and stand in line for his meal.

But he will rest in peace….

Bye, Teddy

Words by JC Orton, Coordinator of Night on the Streets - Catholic Worker