Welcome to Eureka Street

back to site

Homeless truths from an agent against poverty


Twice I have spent a goodly stretch of bright redolent days in Australia, and both times I stayed in the same little friendly unpretentious hotel on Brunswick St, Fitzroy, and both times I wandered widely around the neighbourhood, ambling through the spacious Carlton Gardens, and avoiding the roaring tumultuous pubs after dark, and finding lovely little cafes and music shops and bookstores.

Gertrude StreetIt was at a little bookstore on Gertrude St, during my first trip, that I met a tall craggy man who told me a story that has niggled at me ever since, for its mysterious meaning; so I tell it to you, and maybe between us we can figure it out.

The tall man worked in the neighbourhood as an agent against poverty, as he said; his employer was a group called the Brotherhood of Saint Laurence, which had been founded by a priest in the 1930s. The Brotherhood had lost its religious affiliation over the years, but it remained devoted to doing whatever it could to ameliorate and assuage poverty and poverty's endless attendant ills.

The tall man had worked for the Brotherhood for years, and he long ago had lost any illusions about the overarching nobility of people who were hammered and lost and helpless against addictions and diseases and crisis and tragedy.

While I have met many wonderful and gracious people in the course of my work, he said, people who were so kind and brave under duress that they remain lodestars for me, I have also met hundreds of people, mostly men but a lot of women also, who would snatch any advantage possible, and steal you blind, and lie and cheat and prevaricate, and beat up children, and do everything to advance themselves and nothing whatsoever to assist anyone else.

This is just a fact and anyone who says it isn't a fact is a fool or a liar. But on you go, if you believe that all people have dignity and holiness somehow somewhere within them, which I believe, hard as it is sometimes. Hard as it often is.

I asked him about the most wonderful people he'd met in his work, and he told me some amazing stories, and then I asked him about the worst, and he told me some horrifying stories, and then his face twisted and he told me about the worst of the worst, as he said.

I will call him Mokee, he said, which means cloudy or about to thunder, which he always was. This guy was a snake. Certainly there were reasons he was such a snake, he'd had the childhood from hell, and the system had beat him down good, but he also burnt every bridge possible, and abused and attacked and stole from anyone and everyone who came in contact with him.

It got to the point where even the Brotherhood wanted nothing to do with him, and we never turn anyone away, never — that's sort of the point.

But this guy — even I finally gave up on this guy. I couldn't take it anymore. The final straw was when he stole my car. I got it back, that's a long story, and I didn't turn him in, but I just couldn't deal with him anymore. Felt a little bad about that, but everyone has limits, man. Everyone has limits.

We talked a little more about the neighbourhood, and how it was improving markedly from its old days as a rough part of town, and then he had to go and so did I, and a few days later I went home to America. Four years later I came back to Fitzroy, though, and to my delight the bookstore was still there, hanging in against the tide of our electric times. I got to talking to the owner, and I asked after the Brotherhood, and the tall craggy man who had told me the story of Mokee.

The Brotherhood is still there, and still doing great work, said the owner. I know the man you mean, though I haven't seen him for quite a while — I am not sure he works there anymore. But I'll tell you something about that man. The fella he called Mokee got worse and worse, he dove completely into drugs, and one morning as we went to open the store we found him huddled in the street.

I thought he was dead. I was about to call the police when your man from the Brotherhood happened by and saw Mokee in the gutter. I was just inside the store and happened to see this. Your man stopped and stared at Mokee and then knelt down and felt his pulse, and then he picked him up and carried him up the street, I guess to the hospital. Saint Vincent's is right up the hill there.

And maybe I am wrong, but I thought for a second that your man from the Brotherhood actually kissed Mokee's forehead as he went. Now why would he do such a thing, and Mokee all covered in garbage and worse? But I swear that's what I saw.

I haven't seen either of them since then, and I speak for the whole neighbourhood when I say we sure don't miss Mokee, but I do miss your man from the Brotherhood. He was a good bloke. His only vice was that he barracked for Carlton, but no one held that against him, much.


Brian DoyleBrian Doyle is the editor of Portland Magazine at the University of Portland, and the author most recently of the essay collection Grace Notes.

Topic tags: Brian Doyle, Fitzroy, Brotherhood of Saint Laurence



submit a comment

Existing comments

The Brotherhood of St Laurence still exists under the aegis of the Anglican Archdiocese of Melbourne. It was founded in Newcastle in 1930 but moved to Melbourne in 1933. It was once more overtly religious with Priests and Brothers. During the Great Depression it was enormously helpful to many. It is not overtly 'religious' in its approach but profoundly practical. It works with refugees and many other disadvantaged people.

Edward Fido | 08 March 2016  

The man from the Brotherhood and Mokee may have been closer than we think. Maybe not much separated them. Both with bodies made of tissues, fighting against oblivion in different ways. Just one of them didn't have anything great to put on a curriculum vitae.

Pam | 08 March 2016  

Beautiful essay, thankyou

Cara Minns | 09 March 2016  

I think that Mokee and the craggy man had a relationship and even though Mokee was a 'snake' the two had a relationship that could only be based on love.

Norma Marot | 09 March 2016  

"The Brotherhood had lost its religious affiliation over the years." Not too sure where Brian gained the impression that the Brotherhood has lost sight of it's Anglican foundation. As someone who was a Brotherhood chaplain for nearly a decade, not that long ago, it remains proud of and committed to, it's Christian origins. It's founder was Gerard Tucker, an Anglican priest.

Robert Holland | 13 March 2016  

It is indeed sad to hear such a story/A lost soul and a wonderful human being who refused to give up on some unfortunate druggie/I say sad because in Australia we should have better facilities for drug addicts and the HOMELESS

Maurice O'Reilly | 21 March 2016  

I wonder if that bookstore in Gertrude St. was the one operated by poet/larrikin Shelton Lea. A biography was published titled "Delinquent Angel"

Maggie Nell | 09 April 2016  

I just found out about Shelton lea today when a lady wanted to photograph my shop, she said Shelton lea had a bookshop here. I've been here 10 years at this address I make jewellery and live upstairs. I knew this place had a good energy now I know why. Shelton lea sounds like an interesting person

william griffiths | 07 February 2017  

Similar Articles

Great white filmmakers can't dismiss diversity

  • Tim Kroenert
  • 10 March 2016

When questioned about diversity in his films recently, Joel Coen replied: 'You don't sit down and say, "I'm going to write a story that involves four black people, three Jews, and a dog".' The answer is disingenuous at best. Filmmakers choose what stories to tell and how; with a few exceptions, the Coens tell stories about white men. Just as Quentin Tarantino ought to continue discussing the role violence and misogyny play in his films, the Coens should engage meaningfully with questions of diversity.


Home, alone and stoned

  • Peta Edmonds
  • 08 March 2016

I've run out of dope. This is my last ever toke of synthetic pot, I hope. There's synthetic people, but my heart drops like a coin into a homeless man's hat. The eternal night isn't very maternal. Of all those people sleeping on a concrete mattress under a black sky doona ... The homeless have faces like empty spaces. No solution to their heads in the pollution, and their feet in the gutter. The poor gather on the banks of the flowing street. The rain hits the roof in pain.