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Rags To Riches

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By D'ANN LAWRENCE WHITE

The Tampa Tribune

Published: June 25, 2008

TAMPA - Known for its freshwater lakes and bird-watching venues, Lake Placid in Highlands County was the kind of small town where Gregory Johnson was naturally buffered from the seamier sides of life.

Although he is black, he said he never felt the sting of prejudice until he joined the Army and moved away from home. Nor were drugs or peer pressure a problem in Lake Placid. And, if anyone was homeless, Johnson was blissfully unaware.

He was the middle child of seven siblings in a single-parent household where there was little money but plenty of love, he said.

"My dad was never around, so my mom raised five boys and two girls by herself," he said. His mother worked for Georgia-Pacific, which manufactures paper products, until her retirement. "We were poor, but we never went hungry. We had the ugliest house in town, but we never realized it. My mom gave us a lot of love, and all the neighborhood children liked to come over to play there."

It wasn't until years later, when Johnson was working as the assistant office manager for the National Association of Regional Councils lobbying group in Washington, D.C., that he encountered his first homeless person.

"It was 1990. I was on my way to work, and I had this nice suit on," he recalled. "When I boarded the Metro, I came face-to-face with this homeless guy, and I remember being intimidated. We're afraid of things we are ignorant about. Then it occurred to me that I didn't need to be afraid. He's nobody, and I was somebody."

Taking a sip of his coffee on a recent day in the cafe at Barnes & Noble Booksellers in South Tampa, Johnson, 46, shook his head at the irony of that encounter 18 years ago.

"I should have realized then that God had a plan for me," said Johnson, of Mango. "It's only when you realize that you're nobody that God makes you somebody."

Up to that point, Johnson believed his life was heading in the right direction. He joined the Army after graduating from high school in 1979 and used his $2,500 enlistment bonus to buy his mother a new stove. The military offered a pretty good life, so he enlisted in the Marines from 1984 to '87. After his military service, he worked for a computer intelligence company before making his way back to Washington.

"I was a small-town boy, and it's amazing how situations can change you," he said. "I began to love power lunches. I got to meet people like Ross Perot and Jesse Jackson. I loved making deals. It was all too much. Pretty soon, someone introduced me to crack. That's when the spiral began. I'd always been a spiritual person. Church was mandatory when I was growing up. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of God."

Johnson could have gone home. He knew his mother would always take him in. But he didn't want to burden her with his addiction and his inability to hold down a job.

"I take responsibility for my actions. What happened to me is nobody's fault but my own," he said.

He ended up on the streets of downtown Tampa, close enough to keep tabs on his mother, who lived nearby by then, but far enough away to keep her from worrying.

"I used to sleep by the museum near Ashley Street," he said. "There was always someone feeding the homeless there. But it was also easy to buy drugs in that area. I knew that if I was ever going to change, if I was ever going to escape this life, I would have to get out of this environment."

That's when he took the step many drug addicts can't. He moved to an area where drugs are hard to come by, and he became a regular visitor at the Faith Cafe, 3702 Kennedy Blvd., Tampa.

Established by four South Tampa churches in a wood-frame structure donated by Tampa lawyer Jim Mikes, Faith Cafe is a nonprofit organization that feeds 80 to 90 homeless people each weekday.

"Once you've gone to the dark side of drugs and homelessness, you'll grasp at any bit of light," Johnson said. "I walked into this place, and there was light all around. Faith Cafe and the people here were essential in my recovery. I was graced the day I came here."

Among the first people Johnson met was volunteer Ger Deloatche, a member of Christ the King Catholic Church in Tampa, who had been on the founding committee for Faith Cafe seven years ago.

"You could tell there was something different about Greg," Deloatche said. "There wasn't that feeling of hopelessness. He laughed. He had an upbeat demeanor. He talked to people. He was always sober. And he always had a book in his hand."

Johnson never had been much of a reader when he was younger. However, with no job and nowhere to go, he began hanging out at public libraries, where he was able to escape into books.

"I didn't read my first novel until 1996," he said. "I didn't like to read before. Suddenly, I was reading all the time, especially murder mysteries. I always had a book in my hands. People would see me walking up and down Kennedy reading."

"He'd always tell us about the book he was reading," Deloatche said. "And all the volunteers got to know him pretty well."

Eventually, Johnson's role began to reverse. After lunch was served at Faith Cafe, he would help put away chairs, then mop the floor. In time, the workers gave him shelter in a shed behind the cafe. As he kicked his drug habit, he was able to get day labor work but continued to volunteer at the cafe.

"My favorite day-labor work was being a garbage man," he said, chuckling. "I love riding on the back of those trucks."

When Susann Fox of St. Mary's Episcopal Church, also in Tampa, began volunteering at Faith Cafe two years ago, she had a hard time believing Johnson was once a client. Fox and her daughter, Madison, 13, soon became Johnson's friends and biggest supporters.

"Every day, I'd look forward to hearing his laugh," she said. "He has this laugh that just penetrates the whole room. We absolutely count on him. He's one of our few success stories."

The Foxes encouraged him to pursue a dream he'd put on hold.

After four years in the works, Johnson had completed a historical fiction novel set during the civil rights movement titled "Man in the Pulpit" in 2005. The book follows the life of preacher Joseph Leroy Johnson, a graduate of Morehouse College, the historically all-black male college in Atlanta, and his encounter with the Ku Klux Klan.

The Foxes persuaded him to try to get it published. Madison took Johnson's photo for the dust jacket.

Johnson sent the book to two publishing houses, including Ivy House Publishing Group in North Carolina, both of which accepted his manuscript. However, Johnson wasn't comfortable. He said the book wasn't intended to make money for a publisher, or himself.

"This is God's book," he said. "It's not intended to make me rich."

Instead, he wants to publish the book himself so all proceeds will help feed the homeless.

"It's the least I can do to give back some of what's been given to me," he said.

He's currently working with AA Printing in Tampa, which will publish 200 books for $1,150.

"I'm shooting for a publishing date of Aug. 28, my mom's birthday and the anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s 'I Have a Dream' speech," he said. "That would be icing on the cake."

For information, contact Johnson at greggospel@yahoo.com.

Reporter D'Ann Lawrence White can be reached at (813) 657-4524 or dlwhite@tampatrib.com.

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