I was 22 years old, at the prime of my youth, and had really made a mess of my life.

It was a challenging time in life for me and I reflected on that as I stood outside of the Genesee County jail the day of my release. After spending four months there after being convicted on a narcotics-related charge, I was finally out and had my whole life ahead of me. “Well,” I thought, “I’d better start thinking of who I can call, so I’ll be prepared when I actually find a phone.” I picked up all of my worldly belongings (which filled a paper bag, handed to me after I signed for it at the jail), and began to walk.

Through a series of phone calls and reconnections with some old friends, I proceeded through roughly two months of spending the night at friends’ houses and occasionally just walking through the night. My circle of friends had their own problems that made it a bad idea to house a recently convicted felon. Space was a problem for one friend, the social services case worker for another friend didn’t find my presence to be appropriate; it went on and on.

I needed a job. My bills had piled up while I was “away”, my probation officer reminded me relentlessly that employment was a requirement, and I needed to support myself somehow. Without a residence, I learned that most places wouldn’t even take an application, yet I didn’t want to go on welfare as my pride was almost gone as it was. I finally managed to get a job through a temporary agency in a factory in Batavia, NY (I used the address of some business and the phone number of my friend). I was staying in LeRoy about 15 miles away. “A car would be really helpful now,” I thought. My calculations proved to be correct when I arrived at the factory the next morning. “I can walk 3.5 miles per hour and it’s 15 miles away. If I start at 1:30 am, I’ll make it to work on time at 6:00am” I did this for 2 days, hitch-hiking back in the daylight hours. This is where I began to learn of the absolute, unwarranted goodness of people. Kindness flooded me the coming week.

I was exhausted and struggling to stay awake at my place on “the line” at the factory. The woman next to me commented on my obvious fatigue with genuine concern. She was about 50 and had a face full of deep rough lines. I liked her smile; it was warm and friendly. I’ll bet she was pretty when she had all of her teeth. Her hair was long and gray and she wore it in a ponytail at the nape of her neck.

I told her about my predicament and that I needed a couple of paychecks before I could even think of looking for an apartment or even just a room to rent. At this point my priority was better shoes! She began digging around under her stool for her purse, finally producing a pen and paper on which she wrote the name of a clothing store and handed it to me. “Go to this shop on Main Street in town and ask for Barb.” She said. “She rents rooms. I’ll bet she would let you pay her when you get a check.” I finished the day, left work and began walking into town.

“This is crazy,” I thought. “I don’t have any money, have no clue who this woman is and I look like a bum!” I kept walking, wishing I could have showered after work to at least look presentable.

In town, I found the tiny clothing store and paused before walking in. Once inside, I approached the counter and asked for Barb. Part of me was actually hoping she wouldn’t be there because I had no idea what I was going to say!

“I’m Barb. How can I help you?” She was a plump, friendly looking lady well into her fifties. She wore a lot of make-up and her hair was short, blonde and permed into the tightest curls.

I introduced myself, trying not to cry. This was all so humiliating and I was so tired. “A friend from work gave me your name and told me that you rent rooms. I need a place in Batavia to stay as soon as possible.”

“Oh dear,” she said. “I do rent rooms, but I don’t have anything right now.”

I sunk. I wondered if this was true or if I just didn’t seem to be “the kind” she would rent to. She seemed like such a sweet lady and I wondered if she was just being cautious. I couldn’t blame her. She didn’t know who I was, where I came from and I couldn’t have made the best impression with my appearance.

I opened my mouth to thank her for her time just as she said, “I have a few friends who also rent rooms, mostly to college students, but let me get their numbers for you.” She disappeared into a back room.

“What?!” I thought. “This can’t be happening. I know who I am, but she doesn’t, and she’s giving me the phone numbers of her friends?” I waited for her return.

Barb came out from the back room and handed me a piece of paper with the names and phone numbers of three people. “Tell them you spoke with me,” she said, and then “Good luck sweetie.” She smiled and waved as I left the store and ventured out to the street, arm outstretched, thumb up, walking backwards to LeRoy.

I finally arrived back at my friend’s house. She met me at the door and said, “My case worker doesn’t want you here anymore. I’m sorry Tiesha, but you can’t stay here tonight.”

I wasn’t surprised, nor was I angry. I agreed to leave that evening and asked if I could make some phone calls. “Thank God, it’s Friday,” I thought. I didn’t have to work the next day so that gave me the weekend to figure out the distance to work based on where I’d be Sunday night. Another friend of mine was living with her parents. She was a long time friend and I knew her parents so that was the first call I made. They agreed to let me stay the weekend on the couch. If I left before dark, I could probably hitch a ride and be there early. Then I took the piece of paper from Barb out of my pocket and contemplated it for a bit. “OK, here goes.”

I called the first number. After introducing myself and explaining my situation there was a pause. “I wish I could help you, but the rooms I once rented are not available any longer.”

I half expected that. I was met with much the same after making the second call. Discouraged and heading quickly toward hopeless, I put my head in my hands. My head was killing me and I was so tired. I looked at the third name on my list. Not sure if I could take one more rejection, I put the list back in my pocket and began to gather my things. After saying goodbye to my friend, I walked toward the door to leave.

It was almost as if the phone was pulling me back. Probably not the phone, but something. “One last call, then I’ll be out of here ok?” I said to my friend. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded.
I dialed the third number on my list.

“Hello?” There was a friendly yet strong female voice on the other end.

“Hi,” I said. “I got your number from your friend Barb today. I’m looking for a place to stay in Batavia and she said that you rent rooms.”

There was a pause. “Not again.” I thought.

“I do?” she asked. I closed my eyes and shook my head.
She continued. “I have rented rooms in the past to college students, but not for quite a few years. When would you need it?”

“As soon as possible,” I said still not knowing how I was going to pay for it.

“Well, I’ve got a room that I’ve been using for storage. I’ll have to clean it up and then maybe we could arrange a time for you to see it.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know how this is going to sound, but if you’re willing to rent it, I’ll take and I’ll clean it for you.” There was a long pause.
“What’s your name?”

“Tiesha Johnson.” Another long pause.

“Would you like to stop by tomorrow morning around nine o’clock?”

“It would be better if I could come late afternoon. I’ll probably be walking and it may take awhile.” I knew that I desperately needed some sleep and couldn’t bear the thought of walking through the night again.

“Where are you coming from?”

“Pavilion.” That’s where my friend’s parents lived.

“What?! That’s 20 miles away!”

Before I could respond she said, “What’s the address, I’ll pick you up.”

What?! Is this lady out of her mind? At this point, I just accepted the offer, gave the address, ended the phone call and headed out on foot to Pavilion. When I arrived, I joined my friend and her parents for dinner, thanked them for their kindness and generosity and immediately went to sleep. I fell asleep thinking about how lucky I was to have such good friends.

Sure enough, the next morning around nine, there was a white car in the driveway. I stepped out of the house and approached the car wondering still why this woman would do this. I opened the passenger door and got in.

Joanne was a heavy middle-aged woman with short hair styled via “roller-set”. I was a hairstylist for a few years before I was arrested. My cosmetology license was revoked as a result of my conviction so I wasn’t practicing, but I knew a roller set when I saw it and it had just been done.

“Hi,” I said. “Great hair! I used to do hair and yours looks great!”

“Thanks,” she replied, and that began our first of many conversations to come.

In the car we shared some light conversation as she drove me to her house. She obviously spent a lot of time in her car. There were papers, folders and books everywhere and I could see that her travel mug had spilled across the dashboard more than once. She told me that she was a college professor. We arrived at her house and as we stepped in the door, I continued to wonder, “Why is she doing this?”