The Ugly Dirty Secret of Crestline
Jessica……………………………………..
I met Jessica through IHSS, a state program that pays caregivers to help vulnerable people in our community. The first time we met, she waited for me outside. Her hair was gray and body so thin I could almost see through it. She was hunched over, fragile—but confident. She directed me to take her to the store.
Inside, it became clear she couldn’t walk the aisles. She sat in the Goodwin’s lounge area while I ran around grabbing what she needed, bringing items back for her approval. She was a strict vegan, and I had no idea what I was doing. We laughed a little.
When we got home, I offered to help put the groceries away. The outside of her house looked like a hundred unfinished projects and a lifetime of good intentions. A bucket of rotten food sat by the trash cans. My mind raced: maggots (I hate maggots), bears… and then the question I didn’t want to ask—what does the inside look like?
At the door, Jessica thanked me, took the groceries, turned around boldly and said, “Call me tomorrow,” and shut the door.
There is more to this story—blood, children, lawyers, and more maggots—but I’ll spare you the details. Within a week, Jessica was dead.
Buz………………………………………………
I met Buz through a friend who lived in the trailer park. He was a veteran, just a few doors down. We tried to get him signed up for IHSS. The red tape was unreal—forms, interviews, waiting, more forms. What we expect an elderly person with a flip phone to navigate is absurd. Even worse, a veteran on Social Security didn’t qualify.
So I found another way.
Buz hadn’t had a car in five years. He survived on food from the liquor store because that’s as far as he could walk. Over time, we became friends—playing cards, watching Bar Rescue (his favorite).
The first time I took him to Operation Provider, our incredible local food bank, we drove along Highway 18. The look on his face—astonishment, awe, relief—I realized he hadn’t been to the Rim in over five years. I watched a man rediscover freedom.
He used to be a biker, so I started putting the top down on my red convertible. Wind, sunshine, the good old days. My favorite part was driving back into the trailer park and seeing the looks on people’s faces as we cruised in together.
Steve…………………………………………………………..
Steve always sat outside his trailer with his dog. A gentle, kind man. I’d bring him leftover food Buz didn’t want, and his face would light up every time.
I asked if he wanted to go to Operation Provider. He said yes immediately—his car had been broken for years. As I got to know him, the truth came out: no heat for winter, no hot water to bathe, serious medical needs.
Another soul lost. Another neighbor forgotten.
This mountain is full of abandoned souls.
They need food. Heat. Medical care. Dignity.
They are hidden deep in the forest—or sitting right in front of us, in the trailer park behind the Post Office. You see them walking every day. And every day, they are ignored.
There are too many for me to save alone.
If you want to help, please email me:
MountainBearDemSecretary@gmail.com
https://mountainbearsdemocrats.org/help-our-neighbors/
—Holiday
