With last month’s death of homeless savant Peter Bis, we are reminded that we’re all just passing through life, said Deacon Gary Bockweg of St. Joseph’s on Capitol Hill.
“Over the years we had come to take Pete’s presence for granted,” said Bockweg during a sermon at a memorial Mass held for Bis on Saturday Sept. 22. “We’ve been walking past his vacant spot under the tree for a few weeks now. And each day growing a little more accustomed to the emptiness there.”
Bis, 61, died of a heart attack the morning of Aug. 16. For nearly a decade he lived on the corner of Second Street and Massachusetts Avenue Northeast, creating a home under a tree across from the Exxon Station.
Bis was a neighborhood fixture on Capitol Hill, befriending countless passersby, from congressional staffers to students to business owners. His uncanny ability to remember names and faces amazed people who passed by his “office” under the tree.
“He must have known over a thousand people by name in the neighborhood,” said Bockweg.
Bis sometimes stopped in for Mass at St. Joseph’s, and was considered an informal member of the congregation. On Sat., Sept. 22, a service was held in his name, inviting all who knew him to celebrate his life.
Scattered throughout the church’s pews were men and women of many ages, from all walks of life. Each had a personal story of Bis.
Martha Burns lived across from Bis when he was given an apartment through Pathways to Housing. She remembered sharing “a little cul de sac” with him at the end of the hall for nearly two years.
“We liked him because we recognized his humanity,” said Burns. “He was a paranoid schizophrenic. He was a hoarder and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Burns described Bis’s apartment as being stuffed in every crevice. He often slept in the laundry room because he couldn’t get into his home. But he seemed most comfortable under his tree by the gas station, shouting his well-known catchphrases.
“Four days until the weekend!”
“It’s 10 a.m., tea time in London, cocktails in Singapore!”
“No skinny dipping!”
“He had a coping mechanism which was to charm people,” said Burns. “And he was very good at it.”
Another neighbor, Lauren Shellito, who also attended the service said she once photographed Bis for a class assignment on portraiture.
“At first he said, ‘No, the CIA is after me,’ said Shellito. “Finally he let me take it and ever since then we were
friends.”
During his sermon, Bockweg said that the presence of the people attending the service highlighted the impact of one life lived fully.
“He touched hundreds or thousands of others who will always remember him,” said Bockweg. “How many of us will accomplish that in our lives?”
Paul Larkin passed Bis twice daily on his way to and from work at the Heritage Foundation.
“He was a kind soul, troubled, down on his luck, but had made a lot of what he had,” said Larkin.
Larkin has trouble with his knees and walks with a cane. Bis seemed convinced his troubles were the result of skydiving. Sometimes Bis cautioned him not to skydive but others offered him encouragement:
“You’ll be back skydiving in no time,” he would say, recommending a skydiving teacher he knew named Heather.
Bis was known as the homeless guy who never asked for money. He gave strangers business cards listing the address of his blog called “Peter Bis: Vatican, Finances, Mafia, Kalamazoo.”
Many of the details of his past remained mysterious to his friends. He claimed to have had an affair with Princess Diana and also to have been an extraterrestrial.
“He could amaze you one minute, and scare the hell out of you the next,” said Joe Jones, who sang “Danny Boy” during the service.
Posters, flowers, and packs of the Camels he loved now cover Bis’ tree. In passing, the tree seems ordinary. To those that knew him, a familiar face has left, but the memories remain.
Bis was cremated and his ashes were sent to a younger brother in Kalamazoo, Mich.
