I feel I must write this article about a special person who fed me and many other homeless and needy people in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. I am embarrassed to have put off writing this article about James Foward, whom I called “J.J.,” until now. It is published posthumously. J.J. — short for his more popular nickname Jameson James — died before I’d written the story. But I can still tell it! I met him after I had been kidnapped and carjacked by shady characters in front of my temporary quarters. I had called the police and left the neighborhood, taking my place among the homeless men on Capitol Hill, some of whom I had employed for odd jobs during my more prosperous days. [Read more in my “Kidnapped, Carjacked and I Stole my Car Back” story on StreetSense.org] Now I needed food, shelter and odd-job money. I began eating at a soup kitchen run by the Capitol United Methodist Church at 5th and Seward Square, S.E. At first the meals were rare.
But after J.J. became involved in gaining the clergy’s trust, we began eating at Capitol United regularly, as well as at other churches. For many of the homeless on the Hill, including myself, it was the only delicious, filling, and nutritious full-course meal that we could depend on once a month. The pastor commented that the homeless would ask “When are the ‘Rogue Saints’ going to serve again?” We knew that whether it was pork roast, ham, meatloaf, turkey or BBQ, a good meal was coming. Personally involved in the soup kitchen work, J.J. would come out and greet us in his tall chef’s hat, usually after the food was served. I recognized him from a neighborhood tavern, the Tune Inn. On occasion, I would stop by the Tune Inn during happy hour. James would greet me by saying “Welcome aboard.” James had an interesting sense of humor. He once drew a picture of three Native Americans sitting on horses at the top of a hill overlooking the ocean. There was a ship like the Mayflower anchored in the distance. Underneath the drawing, his caption read “Aw sh**! More undocumented aliens!” In the later years, around Christmas time, I would say to James “Get your hand out of my pocket!:” He would look down and see my hand in his jacket pocket, Then he would check the pocket and find the $10 I had placed there. He would say “thank you” and I would reply, “No! Thank you for all you do.” It made me feel good to give back to someone who had done so much to help people in need. I had been selling enough Street Sense newspapers to put gas in my car and rent a room. My first recollection of Derrick Hopkin was at the ‘Lib Pub’ bar. I had been invited there by a coworker when I was teaching chess to children at the MLK Library, Southeast Branch. Back then and to this day, he always called me “Snoop.” A nickname given to me at the bar by one of its patrons. [Read more on the first and last page of Eric L. Wee’s “Shelf Life” on WashingtonPost.com] I recall taking pictures and videotaping the Rogue Saints in action, preparing and serving the food to the needed about 3 years ago. James was sitting on a stool directing the operation. That day they were serving pork tenderloin as the main course. It so happened that for Derrick Hopkin, this was his first day as a volunteer. I’ve been acquainted with Derrick for about 12 years but I’d never seen him so happy and animated. We had known “Captain James,” as he called J.J., for thirty years. That day Derrick learned how to prepare the vegetable soup from the Captain and later other foods, including how to properly carve a turkey. James would encourage and compliment him. When the pot of vegetable soup was too heavy for J.J to lift, Derrick said he lifted it and was bestowed the nickname “Right Hand Man” by the Captain. Some days he would say “I need you in the kitchen” and “I can count on you.” Derrick told me that one Sunday James wasn’t feeling well. He could hardly speak. “The crew handled it like a pro” Derrick said. On Tuesday mornings he would tell his coworkers that he helped to feed the homeless on Sunday with a smile on his face. His coworkers would say “God’s going to bless you!” “Once I had the good feeling that I helped feed the homeless, I couldn’t stop!” Derrick said. “It broke my heart when I found out that James had passed away. He was like a second father, the way he would teach me things.” James would go to the Safeway to get enough to feed 120 people. He told me that sometimes the meat was donated by Mr. Canales, the owner of the Canales Deli at the Eastern Market. The delicious pork tenderloin we were eating that day had come from Mr. Canales. When I asked Mr. Canales about his donations, he smiled and explained that on a regular basis he has also donated turkey for Thanksgiving, honey baked ham and other meats. He said “It makes me feel good to help feed the homeless when I can.” After more than a decade of purchasing the delicious sandwiches, chicken or spinach empanadas, seafood or chicken salads, I didn’t know until 3 years ago that the same Canales Deli had a hand in feeding me when I slept on the street or in my car. I believe that I found out when James invited me to a special meal for disabled veterans held at the American Legion near 13th and D Street SE. Again they were serving pork tenderloin donated by the Canales Deli. I used to tell J.J. how much I appreciated his help and how I planned to write an article about him for Street Sense. I’d even get his picture on the front page! A friend thought my grief over J.J.’s death was greater than after my mother’s passing. I had to explain I had put off writing J.J.’s article too long and now he would not be alive to read it. I can only say that my mother’s passing was expected, where the news of J.J.’s passing came so suddenly that I didn’t have time to brace myself and I lost my composure. But at last others will be able to read about the generous chef who fed the homeless residents of Capitol Hill. The common link between these three individuals is that they found joy in that feeling of accomplishment by doing their part in helping others. Each of them displayed a sense of pride in their own way.
