From the Curb to a Castle

By Robert Wessely

My name is Robert Wessely, and this is a true story about a relentless journey of one mans will to survive on the streets as a homeless man. That man was me. My childhood was the typical American story. I was raised by loving parents and my father was a respected police officer. I wasnt raised to be homeless, nor was I ever taught about the struggles that would come along with living on the streets. How did I get here? When was my next meal or warm shower going to come? Where will I sleep? Everything I had was gone, and the fears associated with my new way of life made it appear like there was no way out. Then it happened, and a way out did come along, but it didnt take long to end up right back where I left off. Unfortunately, I found myself homeless with the love of my life and our children this time. The addictions we had were too controlling to recognize the grasp it had on our lives. Every day that we were on the streets couldve been the last day we were spending with our children. It wasnt until a man named Chuck, stepped into our lives on Christmas Eve, to show our family the true glory behind the grace of God. Hold on tight for this journey, and see how we went, From the Curb to a Castle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490863849

Robert Wessely

Robert Wessely was born and raised in Upland, California. He has been married to his wife for nine years and has been blessed with six beautiful children. Their story has been overcome by the exclusive power of God’s love and redeeming grace. Please visit (www.chuckslove.com)

Book preview

A Man Named Scotty

On the very first day I became homeless, I remember walking around the city, not knowing what to do. I was worn out when I finally sat down after walking for hours. I just gazed across the parking lot of whatever storefront I had ended up walking to that day. It almost seemed like something guided me to that particular parking lot at the end of the day. There was always something leading me.

As I looked off to my right, I saw a man sitting approximately fifteen feet away on the same curb I was sitting on. I could tell that this man hadn’t showered for quite some time. He had an overgrown beard and was wearing a dirty leather cowboy-style hat, stained blue jeans, and a shirt that looked like it had been worn in a rodeo. As I sat there and watched for a while, I was kind of intrigued by what this man was doing. As people walked by him, he asked them for their spare change or occasionally for a cigarette.

I thought, What is this guy doing? In the city where I grew up I had never seen this before. Did he just need a little help that day, or was he down on his luck? I came to find out later that he was homeless, just like I was.

Finally, he noticed me looking at him. Hey, how are you doing, man? he called in a raspy voice.

I got a little closer to him to talk so we weren’t yelling at each other, and I could see that his fingers had brown and orange stains from smoking. As he spoke to me, I could also see that he really didn’t care about brushing his teeth. Their shape and color made it clear that they were decaying. There was also an overwhelming stench of urine surrounding him. I later learned that he would get so drunk that he couldn’t get his zipper down in time to relieve himself. Therefore half of it went down his leg and the other half went onto the nearest building or bush.

After a few minutes of talking, he asked me if I wanted to go get a beer. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I said, Let’s go. We got a few forty-ounce beers and a pack of rolling cigarettes with the money he had just panhandled. We went behind the store where he said he always sat to drink. It was dirty behind the store, and there were pieces of cardboard on the asphalt for us to sit on for a bit of comfort. It was also obvious by the smell that he had urinated in the general area of where we were sitting. This was the beginning of a serious drinking binge for me that continued for a long time.

As I watched my new mentor from the streets, little did I know that this would be my lifestyle for many years to come. In a way this man became a father figure to me. He, along with another man, taught me the shameless act of panhandling and even holding a sign on the freeway off-ramp begging for money. This was the way this man had survived for most of his life.

We sat behind that store and talked. He was willing to listen to all the stories I was about to share with him, as long as he had some beer to drink. His name was Scotty.

I told Scotty a little bit about my childhood and the events that led up to me becoming homeless. I was raised by a very loving and giving family. My father and grandfather were both police officers. Respect for others was our way of life. My father was the type of person who would go out of his way to make sure his family’s needs were met.

I had two brothers and a sister. We had nice clothes, soccer balls, baseballs and gloves, footballs, bicycles, and most importantly, a nice home with plenty of food. Dinners at our house always began with a simple prayer: God is good, God is great, let us thank Him for our food. Amen. We were thankful for the food that was provided for us to eat.

My father worked several jobs to make sure he provided for his family. This made it possible for me to play for the local soccer league in town. Soccer was thrilling for me to play. It was exciting and competitive, and it gave me such a rush to play games every weekend. At the end of each season, the league would take all of the good players from each team and make an all-star team. This was something I shot for every year. I played soccer for six years and made the all-star team every year. I got my competitive drive from my father. He had that drive that we all admired.

My father’s first marriage ended in divorce, so he remarried when I was about six years old. There was a new woman in the household who I called mom. I didn’t mind, because now I had two mothers and two sets of grandparents. I had the best grandparents anyone could ever have. They were all loving and very kind grandparents. When my new mom came into the family, we started going to church and living our life according to the Scriptures. This was all new to me, but later in life, I saw how important the Word of God really is.

As the years went by, my high school career was coming to an end, and it was time to make some decisions about what I was going to do with life. My dream was to become a member of the Professional Golf Association and eventually learn how to design and build golf courses. When I graduated from high school, I was nominated as the most valuable player for the school golf team. This was a big accomplishment for me. Playing golf was just as exciting as playing soccer as a youth. This gave me a chance to be competitive once again. I was also working inside the pro shop at a local golf course and trying to get my PGA card. This was awesome. My dream was coming true. I was doing exactly what I wanted to do in life, and I was seriously enjoying it.

My New Pal

Scotty slowly drank his forty-ounce beer and rolled himself a cigarette as I continued my story.

I told him that after high school, I moved out of my father’s house and moved in with my real mother, who lived only a few cities away. This was not the best decision I could have made, and this was when my life took a turn in the wrong direction. The strict rules and strict guidelines that I had growing up, like not going to parties and staying out late, were no longer enforced on me. Although my mother may have loved me with all of her heart, she wasn’t strict with me and had very few rules. I began to learn some very big lessons about life, and slowly but surely, I started to head in a downward spiral.

I started going to parties with a couple of friends I had known since high school. There was one party that I wish I had never attended. We were all sitting around at a friend’s house drinking. I got up to go use the restroom, and as I walked in, a friend offered to let me sniff up a line of powder on the counter. This friend I’d known since I was eight years old was the first person to ask me if I wanted to try some. He and I had gone to church together as children. We were in the same youth group. I really didn’t think much of it at the time because I had a lot of trust in this guy, so I took the straw out of his hand and proceeded to sniff this stuff up into my nasal cavity. It was crystal meth!

Snorting crystal meth was a complete rush that went from my head to my toes. It was awesome! I was on cloud nine. I felt invincible. The feeling that came over my body was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Where was I going to get more of this stuff? Luckily I had a good job at a golf course that was going to feed my newfound pal, this drug of joy.

At first I continued to use this drug a little bit here and there. However, it turned into a daily habit of nonstop abuse on my body. This drug was taking a hold of me, and it wasn’t letting go. It got to a point where I needed it every day. I was like a little fish on a big lure. I was hooked.

As this drug continued to control my life, my attitude started to change. I started having uncontrollable mood swings, which ultimately resulted in the loss of my lifelong dream. The head pro at the golf course was the one who terminated me. I was not showing up on time and was not following basic rules and standards that the golf course had set in place. This was devastating to me. I was right in the middle of a three-year course to get my PGA card, and I lost it all to this stupid drug that had taken over my entire life.

I tried to hide the loss of my job from my