Carrie Little

Back in '92, I was working with my husband, a union organizer, on an event celebrating a historical moment in the life of our city, Tacoma, WA. One hundred years before, people had come out of the ruins of a depression; supporting one another, they eventually rebuilt the city and got back to work. Our goal for the event was to regain that kind of unity by gathering together unions, organizations, and the community in a rally--a foundation to rebuild a fractionalized city. My job was to reach out to the community and get them involved.

I was told the man to seek was a priest who lived in the Hilltop neighborhood, a notorious part of town, most recognized on the five o'clock news for its drive-by shootings. The idea of going there was very scary for me. I went to his little house, which was connected to a much larger house. Later I would learn this larger house served the homeless. He wasn't there, but on the side of the house I noticed a huge, freshly rototilled garden area. I entered a little greenhouse in the corner. The small, plastic paneled room was filled with life--tomato plants, peppers, squash starts--all kinds of things! Marvelous! I looked around, then suddenly a black man with a very stern face bolted in and asked what I was doing in there. I explained to him that I was looking for Father Bix. His face broke into a generous smile and he told me to wait in the garden. (We later named a garden after this man.)