For down and out, a fragile link to the world
VANCOUVER• Andy Mori works the evening shift behind a horseshoe- shaped counter at the Carnegie Community Centre in the Downtown Eastside.
His job is to direct visitors, be a sounding board for pa- trons who just want to rant, and, with support from his security staff, defuse the occasional dust- up between guests.
He is also the personal secretary for some of the poorest people in the country. He takes calls from desperate relatives, medical clinics and prospective employers, jots down messages on small pieces of paper, folds them, puts the recipients’ names on them and then pins them to the centre’s bulletin board.
“It’s extremely important because there is no other means of communication for some of these folks,” says Mori, who’s worked in 14 of the city’s community centres and knows of no other message board like it.
Most of the centre’s patrons survive on disability, pension or welfare cheques or work below the poverty line, he says. Many cannot afford a phone or spare 50 cents for a payphone, and may lack the skills to use a computer.
Robyn Livingstone, a selfdescribed man- about- town/ poet/ performance artist, checks the board almost daily.
On a recent afternoon, he ambled across the linoleum floor, past the men huddled over a chess game and up to the bulletin board and found a message waiting for him. “Dentist a pp( ointment) at 1 p.m. tomorrow ,” it read.
“I feel very important when people call here,” he grinned, smoothing t he mop of hair flowing from underneath his tightly worn cap. “I can imagine they think that’s my secretary and that I’m pretty high up in a corporation.”
The community centre is often referred to as a “living room,” says Mark Oakley, another longtime area resident. And the board? “It’s sort of like the kitchen fridge ( door) — you know, when you leave notes for somebody else.”
Musicians use the board to check for upcoming gigs. Those who are unemployed sometimes get lucky and find temporary work as a roofer or drywaller. Not too long ago, one patron learned he had won two tickets to an Ozzy Osbourne concert after entering a contest.
Patrons can also l eave messages for other patrons. One recent message, visible for the curious, was addressed to “Scott Carter.”
“It’s Hayley ,” it began. “WTF? I still have your stuff and would like you to come get it please! Call me asap.”
Not all messages deal with the practical or the mundane.
Livingstone once got a note labelled “urgent.” It was f rom his estranged family telling him his mother was in the hospital.
“I figured I got to go. It was sort of like a forgiveness thing. What are you going to do? I had to go.”
Not everyone wants to be found.
“Robert,” who asked not to be identified by his real name, says about a year ago, he walked in and saw a missing person poster with his name and face on it. He tore it down. Six months later, his family in Victoria tried again, posting a personal message this time.
“We love you. Come home,” it read. Robert cried. He has since re- establi shed contact with his family; they’ve given him a cellphone.
But he still comes in and checks the board to see if any messages have been left for him.
The toughest calls are the ones from family, which spike during the holidays, Mori says. He knows he’s supposed to be the dispassionate note taker, but it’s not easy.
“Sometimes, it’ s really hard because the person on the other end desperately wants to reach the other person.”
And when a parent who had called on a regular basis suddenly stops, he can’ t help but wonder why. Did they reconcile? Or did they just give up?
One recent posting sought to find anyone who knew or was related to Sarah Jane Leveque. It left a phone number and email for “Clifford” in Little Grand Rapids, Man.
Reached by phone, Clifford Keeper Jr. said Leveque was his mother, a heroin addict who abandoned him and his siblings when they were younger in Vancouver. He later learned she had two other children before passing away in 1994.
The notice, he says, was his attempt to locate his half- sister, whom he’s never met. He doesn’t even know her name.
It is a bit of a fishing expedition, he admits. So why’s he doing it?
“Simple thing,” he says. “Closure, I need closure.”
Sometimes, as Mori is taking a message, his suspicions are twigged. Is the person on the other end really a relative? Or is it someone looking to settle a score?
Of course, he remains professional and dutifully relays the message.
“I always tell people I’m just the messenger.”
Calls from medical clinic staff to reach a patient can also get tricky. Mori knows he can’t be nosy but wants to get enough information to convey the appropriate level of urgency in the message. Does the patient need to go to the hospital to take a routine test or a very important test?
“If I put down the word biopsy, is Person X going to know what that means? Or do I put, ‘ big test at the hospital,’” he says.
Occasionally, a patron will come in and post a message that is not directed at any particular person. It’s just a rant.
But Mori doesn’t get too bothered by i t and may leave it for a couple days.
“It may help someone vent out something.”
I ALWAYS TELL PEOPLE I’M JUST THE MESSENGER.