Bruce awoke to the most horrible experience he believes could ever happen to a person. He was in a room, but didn't know what a room was. The walls frightened him, but he didn't know what walls were; or the ceiling, or the floor. He was lying on a bed, but didn't know what a bed was, and he was afraid of it. There was a table next to the bed, and an old reel-to-reel tape recorder playing a voice. Bruce didn't know what the voice was and it terrified him. Eventually two men came into the room. Bruce was scared of them, even fearing for his life, except that he didn't know what life was. He didn't know what a human being was. He didn't know anything. He didn't know the difference between two seconds and two days. It was such a horrifying experience that there simply is no way to put it into words.
Eventually the two men did befriend him, and he followed them around like a sheep on a leash (although there was no leash). They were like a security blanket for all the unknowns around him. Bruce was afraid of everything. When the three finally did venture outside, it was also completely new and very frightening. Bruce could never remember having seen anything like it. The two men tried to calm him down and reassure him. Over time he came to know that he was in Chicago (whatever a Chicago was), and that these two friends were Jim and Vern (he never did know their last names). The only reason he knew his name was Bruce, is because that's what they called him. They went from bar to bar on Chicago's near west side, drinking. At the Calvary Gospel Mission on West Monroe Street, they got at least one meal every day, but first they had to sit through what seemed like an endless religious service.
Late each night (unless they stayed at the mission) they would return to their room on the third floor of a nearby building, where Bruce would pass out, not to know anything till the middle of the next day. Each time he awakened, there would be that tape recorder playing the same gibberish: "Your name is Bruce K. Williams. You are a homeless drunk. Your father's name is Kent Dane Williams. Your mother's name is Emily Masonic Williams. They were killed in an automobile accident. Your Social Security number is XXX-XX-XXXX." It went on and on, repeating this and additional information over and over again.
Each day was the same as the day before: more drinking, another visit to the mission, then returning to the room totally plastered. Bruce Williams-a drunk? How could that have happened? He had grown up in a well-to-do home. His father was a doctor. But here he was, a homeless drunk, dependant on these two men, and fearful of almost everything. He had lost all track of time. He couldn't picture anything from his past. He knew the facts, but there was no picture in his mind of his mother or father, Middleport, New York, the two homes in which they had lived-nothing. Vern told him that this was because the booze had so numbed his mind he was no longer able to picture things. One day ran into another. One drunken stupor started before the last one had ended. He had no idea what day of the week it was; let alone what month it was. All he knew was that one night he went to sleep back in the room, and when he woke up (who knows how much later) he found himself in some very strange surroundings. He was groggy. His head hurt. A quick assessment of the situation indicated that he was in a railroad car in a rail yard. He lay back down on the floor and floated off to sleep several times. Then, finally went to the door, sat on the floor with his legs hanging out and slipped to the ground below. He stumbled across the tracks to an adjoining park, where he sat under a pedestrian bridge for what seemed like an eternity. It was late afternoon and a cold rain mixed with snow was falling.
As night began to fall, Bruce began walking toward the downtown area. He did not recognize the skyline. It definitely was not Chicago, although it appeared to be a major city with numerous tall buildings. When he got to the end of the park, he started up a street, then up some concrete steps to a double door which led into a vestibule. There was a key in his pocket that had not been there in Chicago. He didn't know why, but he tried it in the door. It did not even go into the keyhole. Bruce slumped down in a corner. At least he was out of the weather. It wasn't long, however, until someone came along and shoved him out into the rain again. He went around the corner at the end of the block, through a parking lot (he didn't know why) and to the back door of a building on the other side of the block. His key not only went into the lock, but unlocked the door! He collapsed, exhaused on the stairway inside.
Several people passed him and said nothing. Finally, a lady appeared. Bruce later learned that she was the apartment manager. She got him up, took him up a flight and a half of steps, used the key in his pocket to unlock a door, and laid him down on a bed, covered him up, still in his wet clothes, and left.
It may have been the next day. It may have been several days later when Bruce woke up, sick beyond belief. A quick survey of his surroundings told him he was in an efficiency apartment. A small kitchen covered one wall with cabinets, a small cook stove, counter space, a sink and a refrigerator. The cabinets were stocked with dishes, boxed and canned food. The refigerator was full as well. There were two chairs, one on each side of a floor lamp and table, a day bed and a small desk between two doors, one of which led to a small bathroom and the other was a closet. Bruce still had no idea in what city he might be. There was no TV in the room, but there was a small radio. He turned it on, listened to several stations, and surmised that he must be in Minneapolis. But how did he get here? Where were Jim and Vern? Bruce fixed something to eat, then went back to bed.
The next morning Bruce got up, ate some breakfast and discovered a wallet in his pocket. In it were his driver's license, his birth certificate and some cash along with other documents. He had not had any of these items in Chicago. On the table in the room was his high school diploma, a college degree, a baptismal certificate from when he was just a few days old, and his passport. Where all this had come from, he had no idea. He decided it was time to explore his surroundings. Bruce emerged from the apartment house to a beautiful day. He walked and walked and walked some more. He must have looked a sight with torn clothes, disheveled beard and an old worn out coat. Finally, on his third or fourth day out, he spotted two rescue missions within a block of each other. At least here was something with which he was somewhat familiar. No one was around either mission. However, a sign on the door indicated the service times, and surely there would be free food and clothing after the service.
Bruce had a few drinks before returning to the service that evening. It was a long walk from the apartment-maybe a couple miles. When he arrived, several people were already there. He went in and sat down on the back row. There was the usual bad singing and some mediocre special music. But then a rather impressive man, an engineer at Honeywell, got up and started to talk. He gave a clear, simple presentation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Somehow Bruce knew he was a sinner. But, even though having grown up as a Presbyterian, he could not ever remember hearing that Jesus Christ offered Himself as a sacrifice for his sin. Jesus was not just a good man martyred because He was ahead of His time. He actually was God become man so He could pay the debt that man owned, but could not pay.
That night Bruce found new life in Jesus Christ. He also found some new friends who were interested in, and concerned about him. They gave him a Bible and took him back to his apartment. That was another thing he couldn't figure out. This was his apartment. He had no idea how he had gotten there, and during the approximately three months he lived there, he never paid any rent. He also had difficulty comprehending what had happened at the mission that night.
The next morning Bruce awakened wondering what had happened to him the previous night. He didn't feel any differently. But instead of getting up and walking aimlessly around town that day, he got down the Bible the folks at the mission had given to him. They told him to start with the Gospel according to John, and had marked the pages for him. He did, and before it was time for them to pick Bruce up for the evening mission service, he had read the entire book and was well into the Acts of the Apostles. He could never remember hearing or reading anything like this. It seemed like he had an insatiable desire to know more. In the days and weeks that followed, the people from the mission came each night to take him to still another service, and seemed to be impressed with his desire to learn more. On Sunday's they took him to a Bible Chapel in one of the city's suburbs, and Bruce spent the afternoon with them at one of their homes.
Bruce thought it was about time he should look for a job. He landed one on his second day of searching in a downtown Minneapolis cafeteria. Of course, that meant he had to shave the beard. The cafeteria was one of a number of corporate and public eating places in the downtown Minneapolis area operated by the Del Monte Corporation. Now he was working each weekday, and going to the mission each everning. After a couple of months, Del Monte sent him to a cafeteria in nearby Saint Paul to be trained as a baker. Once trained, he would return to still another downtown Minneapolis cafeteria. Everything was looking up! But Bruce had no idea that his new found world was about to be turned upside down.
Chapter 3 in next. Get there by clicking "Chap 3" at the upper left of this page.
