Download a digital copy (1.5 MB) - Open Door Community

94 ˜ A Work of Hospitality, 1982–2002
Jeannette Lewis: A Debt Which I Can Never Repay,
by Elizabeth Dede
M a r c h 1 9 9 6
On Monday, January 8, 1996, our friend Jeannette Lewis died at Grady
Memorial Hospital, less than twenty-four hours after she had been taken there
in an ambulance. Her last day, like almost all the days of a homeless woman, was
spent in grief and shame, given to her by a white, racist society that can spare
no love for the least of Jesus’ sisters.
On January 7, the weather was cruelly cold, and snow was falling. Jeannette
came to eat breakfast with us, as she often did on a Sunday morning. But she was
very ill and could not eat much of her food. Her companions were concerned for
her, saying to us that Jeannette was sicker than she was saying. She told us that
she had the flu and asked us to call an ambulance to take her to Grady Hospital,
the only place where a poor person can receive medical treatment.
When the ambulance arrived, the emergency medical technician (what a
cold and technological name for a person) was enraged that anyone would call
an ambulance for a person with the flu. He berated her, yelling, “You want me
to take you to the hospital for the flu!” Jeanette could only reply weakly that
she needed to go to the hospital. Her friends spoke up on her behalf, telling the
EMT that this illness was more serious than the flu. He stood in the center of
this group of friends and said derisively, “Take her to Grady then,” like the people
who passed by Jesus and hurled insults at him as he hung on the cross: “You
were going to tear down the Temple and build it back up in three days! Save
yourself if you are God’s Son! Come on down from the cross!” Jesus could no
more come down from the cross than Jeannette’s friends could take her to the
hospital.
The next day we learned that Jeannette had died. After her death, I began
to recollect Jeannette’s life, and I sadly realized that I knew very little about her.
She was called “Pony” by all her friends, but I had no idea where the name originated.
Did Pony have children Did she have a family other than her homeless
friends on the street Where was Pony born How old was she These are questions
that a friend should have answers for, but they knocked around unanswered,
echoing in the emptiness of my head and heart.
Pony is a word with many meanings. It can be a small horse; anything small
of its kind (even a small liqueur glass); a literal translation of a work in a foreign
language, often used dishonestly by students; or a racehorse. Or it serves as a
verb: to pay (money), as to settle an account—as in “pony up.” Fascinating stuff!
An account must be settled. Why didn’t I know anything about Jeannette Lewis,
even though she lived in our yard for years and years