His step father called him retarded over and over

They sat quietly in their small motel room rolling their own cigarettes to save money. Everything they own was inside the small 12 X 17 foot room that was coated in a smoke filled purple. Lamps lit the space occupied by the couple and their small dog.

Daniel told me the most painful thing he grew up with was his adopted father calling him retarded time and time again due to his learning disability. He said that his step father, who is actually his uncle that adopted him at age two, told him that he would amount to nothing.

Cassie said the most painful memory she has was that her father would tell her that she should not love her mother. Of course, she lived with her mother and three siblings. It was her mother that raised her, fought for her and held down a job while living in a motel so that Cassie and the others would have a place to sleep. 

Once you are down, it is hard to get back up. Cassie explained that not too many months back, she had to stay at the motel where her mother lives for two weeks while her mom was hospitalized. She stayed in her mother’s room to look after her two younger siblings that had to be in school each day while her mother clung to life with her kidneys and even heart slowly shutting down. 

Like Cassie, her mother is a fighter. She survived. But, it is one thing after another when you are at the bottom. A $20 bill can feel like a $4,000 bill. A $600 motel room is likely equivalent to a $5,000 house payment when you can barely afford food. Help for depression, it is almost nonexistent, as explained by Cassie while sitting in her dimly lit room.

Hear the entire story below (8MIN and 41SEC):

"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's whether you get up." - Vince Lombardi

A roadside motel in ruins

What's left of an old roadside motel in North Carolina...

"There is something uniquely American about the motel: It speaks to the transient nature of America itself, one enabled and encouraged by our roads and highways."

- Hanya Yanagihara, American novelist and travel writer

Prostitution feeding crack

She came to Nashville after getting married a number of years back. The marriage ended and she was soon on the streets.   Her speech was badly slurred and I asked, “What is your drug of choice?” She told me crack cocaine.

As we continued to talk a car drove by and she asked me to put away my recorder and camera. I asked why and she said, “That was my daughter, she’ll turn around and come back by to see what’s going on.”

I met Nicole by knocking on random doors of motels that most of us would never venture into the parking lot of, much less a room. The 40-year old woman is a prostitute and said that she makes about $1,000 per week. Of course, most of that is spent feeding her addiction which is out of control today.

I asked, “Is it a hard life that you live?” She looked down and responded, “Sometimes. You feel guilty for a while, then after a while you don’t. I’ve been out here a long, long time.” Struggling to find out why she prostitutes and uses crack I inquired, “Do you feel like your emotions are gone?” She looked up, “Yea, yea…” I came back with, “Is that ever a struggle in itself that you feel emotionless?”  She said, “Ummm, sometimes, yea.”

She told me that she left her family because of drug use and they no longer talk to her.

Addiction is a symptom of a bigger life problem or struggle. She never told me why she originally turned to crack and later prostitution to feed her addiction.

The great poet Edgar Allan Poe had the best statement I have ever read on addiction. He stated, “I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.” To me, that explains the unthinkable reason as to why so many spiral out of control. 

He mixes his daily food in a blender

My friend and I went to some of the dirtiest and darkest motels in Nashville and randomly knocked on doors. While doing so we met Mr. Jerry. He is 60-years old and has cancer in his mouth. 
About three years ago his teeth were removed along with part of his jawbone during treatment. Doctors used a bone from his leg to make a new jaw, but it left him unable to chew which required a feeding tube. I asked him where they got the bone from and he replied, “[Pulling up a pant leg] This is where they cut a section of the bone to use for my jaw [Pointing at a 6-inch scar just above his ankle]”. 

In late 2013 his feeding tube came out of his stomach, but Jerry did not want to go back to the hospital in fear of having another MRI. The Nashville native is claustrophobic and won’t have another MRI, but is open to other cancer treatment options, but has no one to turn to nor can he afford taxi trips to and from Vanderbilt Medical Center. The cancer is still active and his mouth is badly swollen and painful. 

After the feeding tube came out in 2013, he started blending his food in a blender to drink. As he talked he pulled up his shirt to show us where the feeding tube went in, “It healed and it now looks like I have two belly buttons [laughing].” He told me that he would prefer to drink Ensure instead of blending food, but does not have the money to pay for it. I told him not to worry, we would find folks to donate it. 

Jerry has not always been disabled. In his younger days he was married and worked for Ford Manufacturing in Georgia. However, he fell while working on machinery and broke his back. He still receives a small check from Ford for his injury, but it does not even cover the cost to rent a motel room. His state disability check helps to pay for the room. His marriage fell apart somewhere between Ford and cancer.

Despite his sadness of being all alone and ill, he still holds true to a love of cars. While he cannot drive and is wheelchair bound, he collects remote control cars. He often races them through his motel parking lot. He crashed one about a week ago and had to order a new part for it. “This car will do 100 actual miles per hour,” he said while holding up the instruction manual for it. 

The late president Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882 – 1945) once stated, “When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.” Roosevelt new pain well. He suffered from Polio and despite becoming paralyzed at age 39 from the waist down, he refused to look at himself as being disabled. 

Random visits to motel rooms?

How many times have you driven past a motel and asked the question, “I wonder what goes on in there day to day?” “Why are there always cars parked in front of that place all day long?”

We have heard about stories of prostitution in some motels, we have seen police reports from others in Rutherford County outlining drug arrests, rapes and robberies. One thing we haven’t done is to simply walk up to some of these motels and knock on the doors to find out what really goes on behind the dirty windows and dusty curtains. So we did just that to share with you some of the stories that we heard from behind the doors (hear and read the story here). 

This story is featured with interviews on WGNSradio.com. 

See our past random knocks on doors HERE.