No dead ends for Lucas Wynn — he’s pushing back

AND A HARD PLACE by Dwight Hobbes

To look at Lucas Wynn standing outside his South Minneapolis residence, he could be any one of several professionals. Neatly groomed in slacks, shirt and tie and jacket, he might be a coach. Or accountant. A counselor, maybe. When you meet him, his demeanor is reserved but cordial, respectful. Yes, he could be any sort of professional man.

You certainly don’t take him for an ex-felon. On job searches, though, and hunting for an apartment, that’s one of the first things people find out about him. As a result, the door is often closed before he even gets a chance to knock on it. On top of everything else, Wynn has a significant health issue but ran smack up against a bureaucratic roadblock when he applied for disability. “They denied me twice. I have to go to a hearing. That could take up to a year.” Meanwhile, the doctor has ordered him not be on his feet for more than a few hours a day.

Wynn has neuropathy of the legs, nerve damage in plain English. He’s frustrated but not all that surprised at the absurdity of his situation. “The majority of people who apply for Social Security [benefits] don’t follow through. I think they really want to see if you’re willing to follow through.” He’s willing to follow through, all right: “I’ve been dealing with these attorneys at Chamberlin Edmonds. They work with low-income people. They’re providing representation free of cost. I’m waiting to hear from them exactly when my hearing date is.”

While waiting for the Social Security Administration’s Catch-22 to straighten itself out, Wynn is contributing to society even without a job. “I volunteer at MADD DADS.” As a community liaison, he puts citizens in touch with the organization’s outreach. “They have fellas [who] go out on the [public] bus. They call it the Peace Bus. Provide security for Metro Transit. For the drivers, women, children and senior citizens. They [hand out] forms to request certain services. Whether people are looking for employment, trying to find a home church, want to volunteer, do mentoring. They will bring those forms back into the office. I’m in charge of going over those forms, calling those people who filled them out, leading them to the right direction.”

Wynn, despite considerable obstacles, is not out of options. Instead of just hitting a dead end when he was released from Stillwater last November, he was paroled to the support program 180 Degrees, Inc. Upon completing a 60-day halfway house stay there, Wynn took up residence at a group-home SRO for transitional housing, which is where he is now. The contract is open-ended, so he doesn’t have to worry about being on the street if it takes a long time to find someplace permanent to live. “Some guys have been here over 20 years,” Wynn reflects. He, of course, has no intention of doing that. “I’m not trying to make it long-term.” He plans to move on “soon as I’m able to secure a job, start saving some money up.”

He doesn’t kid himself, though, about having a tough job on his hands: “It’s not easy, but I’m going to do it.” Not by himself, though. He got help connecting with a place called Rehabilitation Services, and came on a promising lead. “I’ve been going through their services [for job readiness]. I have an appointment at Goodwill Easter Seals [to be placed for employment]. I’ll be getting 12 hours of work, it looks like, a week.” Beats a blank. In the extra time left on his hands, he’s headed to school. “I have an appointment at Brown College.

In order for a person to live with some kind of substantial income, you have to have a piece of paper. I’m going to try to get my associates degree as a paralegal. “I’ve always been the type of person, if you ask me a question and I don’t know the answer, I’ll go look it up. And that’s what a paralegal does, the footwork for lawyers, the research.” He hopes to enter Brown this spring. For now, instead of being able to earn a salary, Wynn gets by on Hennepin County General Assistance. It pays for rent and meals at the facility and provides a cash grant of $89 a month. That’d be walking-around money except, by the time Wynn buys a bus pass and minutes for his cell phone (required by his probation officer), there isn’t much left in his pockets to walk around with — $16.50 to be exact.

From this he purchases the essential personal hygiene products — soap, deodorant, etc. “I also utilize resources in the community. The food and clothing shelves. Vines and Branches. The Dignity Center, where they gave me clothing vouchers for this place called The Steeple People, a surplus store.” There’s a network, fortunately, of such places that provide a support system of resources and information on where to go for help. You can moan and groan about not being able to get on your feet because the big machine shuts you out and then go back to your illicit ways. Or you can get behind yourself and push. “You get a lot doors slammed in your face,” Wynn knows all too well. “People look at you funny. I cannot let that stop me. I have to keep pushing.”

Dwight Hobbes welcomes reader responses to dhobbes@spokesman-recorder.com.