I lost a friend last week.
It was happenstance that I met Azel Beckner in December of 2001. He, a diminutive, elfish-looking man with a white beard, and I, a big guy with a big camera, were thrown together on a blistery cold day when he was looking for shelter from the biting wind and snow and I was looking for a picture.
Azel was walking on one end of the square along East Main Ave. and I was on the other. I took notice because his mustache and beard were covered in ice. I raised my camera and reeled off a few frames. We met in the middle and talked. I figured out quickly he was homeless and talked him into letting me spend some time with him to document his story.
We agreed to meet a few days later at the old Train Depot Library branch. It was raining and cold and Azel was late. I thought about leaving, but gave it another hour since I knew he was on foot. I learned of his life and and asked if I could spend 24 hours with him for a story for the newspaper on the homeless of Bowling Green. He begrudgingly agreed.
Below is a portion of the story we ran 22 years ago to give you some insight into Azel.
Beckner lived in a Church Street apartment with his parents and two brothers and attended Southern Baptist Church services three times a week. His parents died years ago and at that time, he hadn't seen his brothers in quite some time.
During the early 1960s, Beckner traveled with groups of activists who picketed the White House regarding the Vietnam War. He also was active in the civil rights movements in Mississippi and elsewhere in the South. Toward the end of the Vietnam War, Beckner was drafted into the U.S. Army and sent overseas to Germany. When he returned in 1971 to Bowling Green from his military service, he attended Western Kentucky University on the G.I. Bill. He studied psychology, but never graduated.
During that time, he was living in an apartment at Bogle Hall and was evicted. He then moved on to a local motel until he exhausted his resources and began his life on the streets. Beckner had periods of employment and places to call home, but it was never very steady.
Beckner's latest shelter is far enough away from the hustle and bustle, and buried so deep within briars and fallen trees, he rarely is bothered by other homeless people who occasionally rob him or by the police who have in the past rousted him from other shelters he has set up in public parks.
"They really can't punish you for not having a large sum of money. Being poor is punishment enough," Beckner told me. "Everyone in general is threatened by poor people. They tend to see it as a contagious disease."
I spent 24 hours with Azel, documenting his homeless plight. We spent time together at his camp in the woods about a quarter mile from the College Street bridge. It consisted of a lean-to made out of sticks and a tattered blue tarp, plastic bags as a bed and mildewed clothes hanging in the trees as his closet.
That night he cooked ground turkey he had been carrying around in his backpack for more than a day. He was a gracious host, offering me dinner. He said he often battles the raccoons and other varmints that would steal his cooking utensils and camp supplies.
Just like any story in the paper about those in need, there was an outpouring of support in the way of pots, pans, food, blankets and home goods. Azel was appreciative, but he told me it didn't do him much good because he was living in the woods, always mobile. Along with the elements, he had to battle predators, including the human kind.
In the morning, I followed him to a local grocery store and photographed him while he hurriedly washed up in the men's bathroom before he was kicked out. He spent the day trying to find a place to be safe or hopefully get online, the place he was most comfortable. Azel spent most of his days at the public library, trying to stay awake at the computer as not to be escorted out.
That 24 hours with Azel turned into 22 years of friendship and hardship between us. I fought him and the system to get him help and he opened my eyes to those who live in the shadows. He was likely homeless for more than 30 years of his life by my calculations.
Azel was adept at blending in, hiding in the shadows and going unnoticed. It was his safety mechanism. He was most vulnerable when he fell or became sick. I spent Christmas Eve in the hospital with him one year when he fell and broke his leg trying to cross a dangerous footbridge getting to his camp in the woods. He was hospitalized briefly several times over the years. He never wanted to go.
I got a call one night from the nurse who said he had escaped only later to be found hiding in a closet on the floor. He never the trusted the "man."
My interaction with Azel increased by trying to get to the root of the problem, a safe place to live. Over the years, several people stepped up to help me get Azel housing. Sandy and Denny Preble, my wife and son. Maj. Vernon Dolby at the Salvation Army helped get him in the shelter. Darla and Faye Lash were instrumental in getting him into the Housing Authority of Bowling Green and lastly Evelyn Wright, at Park Row Senior Apartments, who was a Godsend.
After battling the system for years, we were able to get his military pension with the help of Veterans Affairs and American Bank and Trust. Azel finally had a debit card and a means to live a little better life.
Azel did not drink or do drugs, but like many homeless, struggled with mental illness. I would get him situated and after a couple of years he was evicted for not following the rules. He struggled to live indoors after spending so much time outside. His paranoia got the best of him.
We would oftentimes not talk for weeks and he never came running to me when he was homeless again. The only way I knew he was on the streets was hearing of a homeless a person being banned on the police scanner or I would see him walking near the river again. I always kept an eye out for him.
I made sure he always had a phone or laptop so he could connect with the online world. I always knew he was in a good spot when he would send letters to the editor at the Daily News or constantly email and message me links to causes he thought were important. Even in his later years he was an activist.
I thought Azel was was going to enjoy his senior years in his last apartment, but he fell and broke his ankle. He was unable to care for himself and was bounced around from the hospital to multiple rehab facilities. The system wasn't built for Azel. He barely had money, no support system and no one to champion his cause or fight for him on a daily basis. He fell though the cracks of our society.
I received an email from Deputy Coroner Dewayne Lawrence last weekend asking for my help to find a descendants next of kin. It hit me like a ton of bricks when the I saw the name ... Azel Beckner.
He passed away in a local nursing and rehab facility, alone. I guess I am dealing with my grief by telling Azel's story. I told it once when I met him and now 22 years later when he died. I am glad I'm writing this on my laptop and not on paper, because it would be stained with my tears.
He was always well aware of his place in society.
"They said I was someone of inconsequence," he said.
Rest in peace, Azel Beckner, you are homeless no more.
– Daily News General Manager Joe Imel can be reached via phone or email at joe.imel@bgdailynews.com.
