He came there in the usual way. On the run from something with no real clue where he was running to, trying to lose some baggage along the way. Mark never talked about his family. They were part of another life he had left behind. He had a new life with a new family. We had become his brothers and sisters. Sally had found him in San Rafael and dragged him out to the lot. There he found a home among our odd little group. He started out on the garbage crew and worked his way up to dispatcher for Service and Supply. He picked up the handle “The Mule” which was both a play on his last name and a nod to his disposition. He had an eternal chip on his shoulder and an acerbic wit that could range from biting to skin peeling depending on his mood. But if he decided you were ok he could be as good and loyal a friend as you would ever know.

When I refer to “the lot” I’m talking about the old Northern California Renaissance Faire site at Blackpoint in Marin County. Many of the crew that worked the faire lived on the property year round in old trailers and school buses, except for the three months we traveled south to stage the southern Ren faire. The crew was a rough around the edges, hard living bunch of self-styled new age carnies. And the garbage crew was the roughest and the hardest, and the crudest, of the bunch. The garbage crew motto was, “hard drugs, naked women, and automatic weapons”. So Mark got himself a trailer and a dog and some guns and embraced the lifestyle. As you can guess the lifestyle included large quantities of drugs and alcohol and Mark embraced those with gusto. He went through a couple of relationships but he was always at his core a loner. But to some extent we were all loners who had come together in this ragtag community. He and I became friends and spent a bit of time together. We bonded especially over a week we spent in a broken down Willys at the top of the Cuesta Grade, but that’s a story for another time.

After I left the faire we would run into each other from time to time. At some point I became aware that he had also left the faire. And at some point I became aware he had gotten hooked on meth. We reconnected when I rented a room in the house where he was living in Santa Rosa and we shared a wall for three years. He and the other room mates worked for a company that did deco for events, including the Sonoma County Fair and Ghiradelli Square in the city at Christmas. He did their high work and plumbing. He learned to sculpt with cement and created the water features for the Hall of Flowers at the Sonoma County Fair. It was seasonal work and in his off time he would work on projects at his work bench in the garage. Though he seemed much the same I noticed that the speed had hardened his edge. The youthful arrogance had morphed into an opinionated cynicism. He was quicker to anger and slower to forgive. There was a bit of the paranoia that comes with meth. Some people began avoiding him and he began avoiding some people. When he was working he was better but idle times brought the darkness. He would spend his days out in the garage, often making weapons, and nights at the console in his room playing Grand Theft Auto, all to the constant drone of talk radio. There was the accumulation of more and more stuff. I introduced him to the internet and he would spending hours searching for new and better tools and toys. We got along fine but his relationship with the other room mates became increasingly strained. I decided I had to get out.

After I moved we would see each other from time to time. He came out to Tomales to do some tree work for my landlord, but his nerves were shot and he ended up blowing up at the landlady and losing the job. A year after I moved the death of one of  the room mates caused the dissolution of the household. At that point Mark began to drift. He bounced from place to place, hauling his demons with him. A DUI took his truck, and at some point he stopped paying for his storage unit. He finally hit bottom, shunned by most of his friends, sad and alone on his birthday. So he sought family. He went up to Sally’s for as long as she could stand him before sending him down to Mojo’s. It was at this point he had become claustrophobic and began sleeping outside by choice. From there he drifted into the homeless community in Guerneville. He managed to kick the speed but by then his heart was so damaged that any attempt to quit drinking would have likely killed him. At this point I noted a change in him, The softness and the sweetness that he had kept well guarded over the years began to emerge. His smile lost that cynical grin and he seemed more at peace than I had ever known him. He became a beloved leader in the homeless community, quickly gaining their trust and respect. He was the guy you went to when you needed to settle disputes or when the cops took your stuff. The sheriff’s knew him as someone they could reason with and he became a liaison with the community.

One cold winter night Mark and his friends were hanging out in front of the liquor store downtown. Suddenly two of them darted across the street just as a van came speeding down River Road. Mark reacted instantly. Leaping from the curb he pushed his friends to safety just in time to absorb the full impact of the van, hurling him to the pavement. As his friends gathered around him he looked up to see that his friends were safe and with a smile he was gone. Farewell, brother, go in peace.