Lost December (25 page)

“Maybe you could help me out. We’ve got too many open beds.”

“I could help you with that,” I said. “But then I’d be pushing myself out of a room.”

“You get these beds filled, I’ll find you a place,” he said. “In fact, I’ll pay you a five-hundred-dollar commission on every new contract. Fair enough?”

Thirteen beds at $500 each. “Sounds great,” I said.

He looked at me thoughtfully. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to work here permanently.”

I smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but someday I’d like to make more than minimum wage.”

He started laughing. “Yeah, I don’t think you’d be happy even with my salary. Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I’ll stay here as long as you need me. Besides, I have to. I don’t have any clothes.”

“I was thinking about that. I can advance you a little. If you like, Saturday morning I’ll drive you somewhere to buy clothes.”

“That would be really great.” I looked at him quietly. “Carlos, why are you so good to me?”

“I told you, amigo. We’re brothers, right?”

“I know,” I said. “But really, why?”

He looked at me for a while, then a sad smile crossed his face. “Truth?”

“Of course.”

“I understand a little about what you’re going through. I’m an alcoholic. Eighteen years ago I lost my job—I almost lost my wife and children. If I’d kept it up, I probably would have lost my life. Then someone rescued me. He cleaned me up, stayed with me as I sobered up, drove me to my AA meetings and sat through every one of them with me for more than a year. He was there until I was strong enough to carry myself. I’m forever indebted to him.”

“Who was he?” I asked.

“My father.” Carlos’s eyes started to well up. “Even good people make bad choices now and then. Everyone needs help sometimes.”

I looked at him with a new understanding. “I have that kind of father too. He was always looking out for others.” I shook my head. “I actually criticized him for caring too much. Whenever my father was making a big decision, he would ask, ‘How will it affect the employees?’”

“What kind of business does your father have?”

“Copy centers.”

“Copy centers, huh? There’s a Crisp’s copy center a couple blocks down.” Suddenly he made the connection. “Your last name is Crisp. Your father doesn’t …”

I nodded.

“Holy cow. What were you doing on the street?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “And I better get back to work. Harold’s going to be angry if I’m late.”

“Come see me when you’re done,” he said. “We’ll talk advertising.”

“It’s a deal, amigo.”

I was given the chance to help Carlos.
It felt wonderful to be on the giving end for a change
.

Luke Crisp’s Diary

After I finished helping the residents with dinner, I returned to Carlos’s office to discuss marketing ideas.

“We run at a thirty percent vacancy,” he said, “The national norm is about thirteen. I’m doing something wrong.”

“How competitive is the care center business?”

“Cutthroat,” he said, running a finger across his throat. “Cutthroat.”

“What kind of advertising are you currently doing?”

“I run ads in some of the local retirement publications.”

“Can I see them?”

“Sure.” He went to a cupboard and brought out some magazines. All of the Golden Age advertisements were marked in the magazines with Post-it notes. I looked at the ads. They were poorly written and amateurishly designed. I looked over the magazines. “These magazines are geared towards wealthy people.”

“Yeah.”

“Let me ask you something. If the Golden Age were a hotel, would it be a five-star? Four-star?”

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” he said. “Most of our residents don’t have a lot of money.”

“Then you’re in the wrong venue. It’s like you’re trying to sell Hyundais to people who only drive Rolls-Royces. Do you have a pad of paper?”

“Right here,” he said. He handed me the paper with a pen with the center’s name on it. “That’s some of the advertising we do as well,” he said. “We had these pens printed.”

I clicked the pen open. “Tell me, why would someone stay at your place instead of your competition?”

“We’re cheaper than most of them.”

I wrote this down. “Anything else?”

“Our staff is nice. We don’t have a lot of the frills like the more expensive places, but we’re careful about who we hire. We do special personality tests.”

“You didn’t with me.”

“I did my own version.”

“So you’re less expensive and you have better employees. What’s your advertising budget?”

“About a thousand dollars a month.”

I thought about it. “Where did you get these residents you have now?”

“I don’t know.”

I scribbled on the pad. “We need to find that out. I can make up a survey for you. Who usually makes the final decision to come here, the resident or someone else?”

“Usually the resident’s family. Their adult children.”

“Who, I’m guessing, want what’s best for their parents but—and they’ll never admit this—don’t want to see their inheritance gobbled up either. We’re onto something. What’s the average age your resident comes in?”

“Late seventies.”

“Then their children are probably in their fifties, late forties?”

He nodded.

I thought for a few minutes, then scribbled something on a piece of paper. When I was done, I handed the pad to Carlos. “I think we should run something like this in the local newspaper.”

He looked at what I’d written:

Trying to decide how to
care for the parents who cared for you isn’t easy
You want them treated with dignity, respect and kindness.
Money can’t buy those things, so we don’t charge for it.
Exceptional care, reasonably priced.
You could spend more, but you won’t find better care.
Golden Age.
Let us care for those you care about
.

Carlos looked up. “Hey, that’s good.”

“Do you have someone who could put the ad together?” I asked. “A graphic artist.”

“I usually do it.”

I was glad I hadn’t said anything derogatory about the ads he’d shown me. “Why don’t I take a stab at it,” I said. “Then we’ll run it in the local newspaper community section.”

“Okay,” he said, looking excited. “We’ll run it up the ol’ flagpole and see if anyone salutes.”

“How many hired servants of my father’s
have bread enough and to spare?”
That’s what the Bible asks.
I figured out a way to get more bread
.

Luke Crisp’s Diary

Saturday morning Carlos and his wife, Carmen, drove me to Henderson to buy some clothes. It was a little weird leaving the facility still dressed in my scrubs, but people just thought I was a doctor and treated me with respect. Clothes don’t make the man, but they certainly make his image.

When Carmen asked me where I wanted to go shopping for clothes, I told her the places I used to go, not thinking through the fact that, on my new income, I wouldn’t be able to afford anything at those stores. She just thought I was kidding.

We ended up going to a nearby Target. I bought some Levi’s, khakis, loafers, a new pair of tennis shoes and a few polo shirts, spending only half of the advance that Carlos had given me.

I was overjoyed to wear normal clothes again. I had Sunday off and, for the first time since I’d come off the streets, I went out for a walk. At the first intersection away from the center, I ran into a homeless man panhandling. I gave him a $10 bill and told him where in the tunnel he could find my sleeping bag and air cushion.

I kept on walking. About three blocks from the care center
I stopped at an In-N-Out Burger for a cheeseburger and a strawberry shake. As I was eating, I looked out the front window. Across the parking lot was a Crisp’s copy center. I noticed that there was a
DAY SHIFT, HELP WANTED
sign in the window.

At that moment I knew exactly what I needed to do—the employees at Crisp’s got paid well, received health and dental insurance just a month after they started and had a chance to grow a real career. It was no accident that Crisp’s had made the
Top 100 American Companies to Work For
list for the last ten years. My father saw to that.