By Abe Villarreal
There are things in life that you think are permanent, and then life reminds you that they are not. Most things are not.
For as long as I remember, Scotty was a presence at the bench, outside the large windows of the Silver City Food Co-Op. He sat there. All day. Sometimes all night.
My guess is most people noticed. Mostly, because they did not want to notice. Scotty was homeless, and to many people that remains a bad word.
Because every human life is valuable, Scotty deserves a proper obituary. Here it is.
Scotty Buckley died on April 17, 2017 at 41 years of age. He was a resident of Silver City, and he did not have a proper home. On most days Scotty ate food at the Gospel Mission. Whatever was on the menu, he accepted, and shared his gratitude.
On cold nights, Scotty searched for a place to sleep, to keep warm. Many times, he found shelter with his friends at It Takes A Village. Other times, he would stay at the Gospel Mission's cold weather shelter.
Whenever he was at the Mission, he helped lay out beds. Sometimes the military cots were challenging to put together. If there was a newcomer, Scotty was there to give a helping hand.
Scotty always showed others the best qualities in a person. He especially did that with his friend Frank Vega. They were bosom buddies. When Frank fell into really hard times, Scotty was there to lift him up, in more ways than one.
Scotty's best quality was his name. He had the kind of name that made you smile. The kind of name that makes you think of a child, that All-American kid, living the good life, with no cares or worries in sight.
In many ways, Scotty wasn't homeless at all. He made a home wherever he went. He saw the good in other people. He gave of what little he had when others had more.
He showed others that underneath that thick layer of unfortunate circumstances, he was just like them.
And yet, Scotty was invisible. The bench that you pass by today is empty. In it remains the spirit of a real person. He was your neighbor, and to some of you a friend. Sadly, to many of you, he was just part of the bench.
A worn out face and tattered clothes can serve as effective camouflage for the vibrant, spirited person that once existed inside of them.
Life can be so hard. People can be harder. Scotty looked hard, but he was a softy. He overcame most things, and what ultimately took him, was that addiction that takes so many.
He needed help. We all do. The difference is that most of us have a support system. Scotty didn't. Most of us worry about what kind of legacy we leave behind. Scotty left behind an empty bench, and a reminder that there is always an opportunity to be a little kinder, a little more thoughtful, and a little more caring.
Abe Villarreal is the Director of Communications at Western New Mexico University. When not on campus, he enjoys writing about his observations on marketing, life, people and American traditions.