Remembering Leroy VanValkenberg
(I Miss the Guy Already)

(This article originally appeared in the Boston area publication Spare Change)
My last conversation with Leroy Van Valkenberg began with him asking me "Did you see what Governor Asshole wants to do now?" He was referring to Gov. Weld’s announcement that he wanted all welfare recipients in Massachusetts to be finger printed, which he had just read about in the news paper. "Jesus Christ, what is wrong with that guy?’", he said while he attempted to adjust the oxygen tubes in his nose. It was vintage Leroy.

Leroy had wasted away to about 90 pounds. He had lost the use of his legs and had only limited use of his hands and arms. He had to be lifted out of his bed and into a chair with a hoist. He had to wear a collar around his neck that made it next to impossible for him to move his head more than a few inches in either direction. Any movement caused him excruciating pain. But, right up till the day he died,Leroy read the Boston Herald (the Globe was too boring for the effort it required to get through it) each morning with his coffee. He read it from cover to cover, and would subject me to current events and sports trivia quizzes when I

visited him. One of the most difficult things for him to cope with during his last nine months was the fact that, because he was so ill, he could no longer could be part of the various campaigns for social and economic justice that were such an important part of his life over the past eight years. He always wanted to be where the action was, always wanted to be on the front line. He wanted his life to make a difference.

But the degenerative condition that wore away at his spine finally over came him. Leroy VanValkenberg died, just before noon, Thursday, October l9, 1995, and I don’t think he ever really appreciated just what a difference he made, how his life effected so many people.

I can’t remember the number of times over the past several years I have received phone calls from people asking me if it was true that Leroy VanValkenberg was dead. On a couple of occasions I got these calls while Leroy was sitting in the television room of First Church Shelter. I would let the caller know that, as far as both Leroy and I knew, he was not dead. This amused Leroy enormously, since he loved being a legend almost as much, maybe even as much, as being "part of the action."

Rumor and mystery have always surrounded Leroy VanVaklkenberg. No one really knows--even now-- exactly how old he was. This past September a few of us helped him celebrate his birthday while he was a patient at Saint John of God’s Hospital. All day long he accepted gifts, phone calls and congratulations from people convinced that he had just turned 61. He never said anything to discourage them from believing that. When I was collecting his things at the nursing home, every document related to his stay there, and those from his most recent hospitalization at Beth Israel Hospital, indicated that he had been born in 1938, making him only 57 when he died. Even after his death, the mystery continues. I gave the Boston Herald his dates of birth and death as I knew them, but when they ran his obituary Saturday, October 21, the head line read "Leroy VanValkenberg, 47"

We do knew that Leroy was a man who spent most of the last twenty years homeless. He would have a place to crash for a few weeks, sometimes a few months even, but he always seemed to wind up back out on the street or at the Boston Night Center, down near the Area A Police Station. He would sometimes stay with us at First Church, but our rules about drinking made it hard for him to stay for very long. He’d get on one of his occasional benders and not show up.. Our next contact with Leroy usually came in the form of a phone call from him or a nurse at whatever hospital his drinking had gotten him admitted to.

But, once he’s sobered up, and recovered he’d be back cutting vegetables and serving food with Food Not Bombs at their Tuesday, Friday and Sunday meals. From here he would get plugged into the latest direct action campaign around the issues he cared so passionately about--homelessness and persistent poverty. It was from here that Leroy’s life made a difference. It was from here that he touched, deeply, the lives of so many different people.

You cannot imagine the number of people who got to knew Leroy while he was working at the Food Not Bombs meals. Not just the anarcho-syndicalists and militant vegan/vegetarian volunteers who, along with him, prepared and served the meal. Not only the poor and homeless people who came for a much needed meal. Members of the staff of the Senate Ways and Means Committee, employees of the Episcopal Dioceses of Boston, Boston and State House Police officers as well as Park Commission employees all knew Leroy by name. When I called the Boston Globe to provide them with some information for their obituary, the woman who took the call said she had met Leroy while he was serving food one day.

Naturally, his fellow activists and volunteers were the ones who were most deeply affected by Leroy, and these were the ones who were most profoundly moved by his commitment, compassion and courage. They were also the ones who came forward at First Church in Cambridge on Sunday, October 22 to take part in "A Service of Thanksgiving for the Life of Leroy VanValkenberg."

They came forward to bear witness to how Leroy had shown them that it was possible for a person to lead a life of committed activism without "Doc Martens," a lap top, a Bachelor’s degree or a subscription to The Nation magazine. They stood up at the microphone and told how moved they were at his devotion to the people and issues he cared about.

Eric Weinberger, of Food Not Bombs, related how, while serving food at a demonstration during the Democratic National Convention in New York, in July of l992, Leroy refused to take a break. "He worked, non-stop, until he collapsed and we had to call an ambulance." "By the time the ambulance got there, Leroy felt it was time to get back to work, and wouldn’t get into the ambulance."

Macey Delong, of Solutions,Inc., told those gathered to remember Leroy that she will always remember how Leroy was one of the first to help establish an encampment of homeless people in front of the Sate House in 1988. "He was one of the first to arrive and the last to leave, and he was that way about everything."

They came to the microphone and expressed their gratitude for his life and how it had effected them. They sang songs and prayed that his example would continue to inspire them and others. But they also expressed gratitude that his suffering had finally come to and end. Everyone acknowledged that, for nearly a year, the life he had to live was, for him, a life really not worth living.

One of the last people to have an extended conversation with Leroy was Susan Bruno, who met Leroy through her work at First Church Shelter. She described how difficult it had become for Leroy to even speak, he was in such constant pain. "We were watching the ball game and having a chat, and he could barely speak. But he kept at it, and asked me ‘So when’s the next demonstration?’" Susan answered him, "Well, Leroy there’s going to be one, but you have to get stronger before you can come, be patient." Patience was not a virtue Leroy ever held in high regard, so he let Susan know he intended to get to the next demonstration. "He told me I don’t care if they have to wheel me there dead, I’m going to be there." Vintage Leroy.

So Leroy’s dead, for real this time. I miss him so much. We use to drive to meetings--here in Massachusetts and sometime Washington, Pennsylvania and Ohio. He always wanted to sit in the front passenger seat. He said he needed to be there to make sure I didn’t fall asleep while driving. Before we would get off the Mass Pike he would be sound asleep with his mouth open, wheezing and gasping. He was right, no way I was going to fall asleep with that ghastly racket.

He always wanted to be the first one arrested at demonstrations. He’d tell me as we were heading into the Governor’s office or getting ready to evict some other public official from their office that "this time" he was going to get "popped" first. But they always grabbed me first. That pissed him off.

There’s a thousand Leroy stories. Stories about Leroy "chewing out" the Commissioner of Public Welfare, about him passing out in front of a judge after we had been arrested for blocking traffic informant of the B.U. Armory Shelter, and lots of stories about him driving emergency room doctors and nurses crazy when they first met him. All those stories end with those same emergency room doctors and nurses becoming "converts," succumbing to the strange, VanValkenberg "charm."

If you never met Leroy you really missed something. As you go through life your lucky if you meet one, maybe two Leroy’s. I miss the guy already.