O P I N I O N
LEMENADE
By June Lemen
When a person of significance in a community dies — like a mayor or a police chief – there’s a front page story. A nice photo. A long article about the history of their service to the community. You read it and you think “They were so important, to so many.”
But there are communities within communities. Someone of great significance in one community may not be known in others. My community— the non-profit community — lost a very significant person early this month. Her name was Denise Jackson, and I was fortunate enough to be one of her colleagues for the past three years.
I met Denise soon after I started working at the Nashua Soup Kitchen and Shelter. She was one of the two members of the Soup Kitchen’s Outreach Team. It took me a while to get to know her, because she was usually at work very early – her car was often the first in the lot – and she was busy and I was busy. For the first couple of months I was here, I only saw her in the break room, when she came to toast her lunchtime English muffin.
But she was friendly, and we exchanged office chit-chat. But when I asked her what the Day Café at St. Patrick’s was, she said, “Come along and see. You’ll enjoy it.”
I walked over to the church with her and Wally (the other half of the Outreach Team) and the first thing that happened was one of the folks kind of, well, patted her bottom. Wally reacted before she did and said, “Ah – no. No. Don’t do that.” And the man who did it said, “Denise, I’m sorry. It’s just been so long.’ And she nodded and after he left, she looked at me and we both laughed.
She laughed constantly. And she loved the clients. Unconditionally. She met them where they were and tried to help in any way that she could. This is how she and I got to know each other.
“June, you can get people shoes, right?”
“Sure. Not Louboutin’s, but sure. I have a shoe lady.” (And I do. An exceptionally generous woman who fulfills special shoe requests.) “What do you need?’
“Size 9 men’s red sneakers.”
“Okay. It’ll take a few days.”
“That’s what duct tape is for.”
I got the sneakers. She thanked me and pointed the client out one day at dinner. I knew him. I had watched him walk all over this city in pitiful shoes. It was nice to see his feet totally covered and you could tell, by the way he smiled when he looked down, that he enjoyed having new (and red) shoes.
After that, Denise often asked me for things she and Wally needed, and I did my best to find them. She also would stop by my office to tell me funny stories of her clients, and I would tell her funny stories of dealing with folks on the phone. We enjoyed each other’s company.
But I did not know her well. She was a private person, and never talked about herself. I knew that she had grown up in Maine, on a farm, and that she had a daughter, Jaylee, who was about the same age as my daughter Lucy, and we talked about them, as mothers do.
But we never talked for long. Denise always carried two phones, and if ten minutes went by without one of them ringing, it was unusual. And Denise had an exceptionally soft voice, which I think was an asset. Clients leaned in to hear what she had to say, and I think they paid attention.
Denise was good at her job. I learned quickly not to walk to places with her if I was on a tight schedule because we would be stopped by at least five people every time we left the building. Clients would stop her and ask for things, and she would always listen carefully and patiently. She knew every clients face, if not their name.
She had a great sense of humor, which I think she needed to do the kind of work she did. And she used it to help her clients. I once heard her speak to a client about his housing problem on the phone, and she said, “Dude, you keep getting turned down. Even with a voucher. Don’t you think you should take a shower? Who is the landlord going to pick? You? Or the guy who does not smell and is wearing clean clothes?”
I heard his response. “Fair,” he said.
I still have not totally absorbed this news. I was in our Program Room, where we keep all kinds of supplies, with a colleague and when she pointed to the bin that said “Easter Bunny costume” and asked, “Who’s going to be the Easter Bunny now?” I felt a hot wave of tears begin. I managed to contain it, but it reminded me of how much fun Denise had playing the Easter Bunny at the Shelter
When people of significance die, there’s the initial shock of the news – like a rock being tossed into a pond – but then the ripples begin and you find out how important this person actually was to the community.
Her funeral is this Friday at St. Patrick’s, the church that sponsors the Day Cafe. Denise would have had a humorous remark for me about being buried on Black Friday.
The Soup Kitchen won’t be the same without her. And the ripples from her loss? They’re going to go on for a long time.
You can reach June at junelemen18@gmail.com
