There couldn’t be a better time to write the final chapter in the story of the Hobson Family, who exactly twelve months ago (and for several months thereafter) were $1,000 dollars away from becoming homeless. Today, I have many of you to thank for being able to say, “What a difference a year makes!” with a smile on my face.
In August 2008, I met Debbie online through a Florida Barack Obama Presidential campaign support group. Like hundreds of others, the campaign group had suddenly sprung up online, and members were busy posting energetic welcomes and enthusiastic bursts of support for the candidate when someone mentioned something about “The American Dream.” Despite all that Debbie Hobson, a woman barely in a position to support herself let alone a political candidate, had done for Obama—hosting a house meeting and organizing local fundraising—she was at the end of the road many Americans had just begun to travel themselves. It was the road to financial ruin, and it was widening from a country lane into a major expressway.
Debbie wrote, “I too have hope, but my American dream is about over. My husband lost his job. We have two kids, and at any moment, my lights will be turned off. Come Friday my phone and computer will no longer be working. Today we are heading to the food bank in hopes of finding food … My last hope and prayer is Obama. I may be homeless on Election Day but I will sit with the rest of the women and stand up for our future, for my children, to bring back what once was a wonderful country and can be again.”
Her message went on a bit longer, but already I couldn’t turn away. In the spirit of the Obama campaign and the man himself, I couldn’t stand idly by and do nothing. I asked her how much money she needed to keep the lights on. Little did I know then that a brief email interlude would turn into a year-long relationship and several articles on this blog published in an attempt to keep Debbie and her family off the streets, out of the shelters. I’m not normally much of a joiner, nor a bleeding heart, but there was something about Debbie’s message that rang true and as I was to discover over the ensuing months that both her story and her family’s efforts to find employment were on the level.
For six months after meeting her online, Debbie and I kept in touch. I not only sent her money myself, but shamelessly used this column and my personal network of friends, family and colleagues to help raise money for her cause. Again thanks to many of you, we raised just enough to keep Debbie and her family in their home. Better still, we raised enough to send her husband—once a hospital administrative professional—to truck driving school. At least as a truck driver, he had a guarantee of work and therefore, an immediate income. Still, as the elation of Election Day and the cautious optimism of Inauguration Day came and went, the economy continued its downward spiral and in the end, my efforts alone weren’t enough to build a bridge to prosperity for Debbie. I felt I had failed.
