The first thing you notice about Lawrence Kekich, besides the tattoos and the missing teeth (oh, the joys of heroin addiction), is his sunny disposition. He loves Des Moines and he's upbeat about his future. It's an impressive trait considering he just rolled into town without a home, a job or a change of clothes.

"I love Des Moines," he says. "I don't ever want to leave it again. The people are beautiful."

We found Kekich one morning last week camped out on the stoop of the old Craneco building at the corner of Walnut Avenue and 15th Street. It's a popular place for others like him, who find cover at Churches United Shelter, just down the hill by the railroad tracks.

On this particular day the temperatures are in the low 50s and Kekich warms himself with a secondhand jacket and a steady diet of cigarettes. He leans back intermittently against the broken glass door to avoid the swirling wind blowing down the street. And he isn't afraid to ask those passing in front of him if they have work or a few dollars for him.

Kekich, obviously, is no stranger to the streets. He's seen thousands of miles of pavement during his travels which have taken him all over the country. You get the feeling he knows every inch of sidewalk from Frisco to D.C. But like a lot of people in his situation, the gleam in his eye suggests he'd rather be at home, if only he had one.

There is, however, a sense of familiarity about Des Moines. His stepfather moved the family here from San Bernardino, Calif., to work at a steel mill when Kekich was 12. His mother, who resides in a care facility, lives here. And the 48-year-old Kekich, who has worked as a cook at local diners for the past 20 years, says he's well known in these parts.

Maybe that's why Kekich caught the first thing smokin' when he had the chance to get back. It took him four months to return from Seattle, where he left in a hurry to attend his grandmother's funeral. He would have returned sooner, but he had to hobo to
San Francisco to get his medical papers transferred to the Methadone clinic in downtown Des Moines.

"I have to have it to stay alive," he says. "Otherwise I don't eat, I don't sleep and I don't shit. It's a hell of a deal."

Kekich, who says he was addicted to heroin for 10 years to relieve chronic back pain caused by a car accident, says he hasn't been smacked up since January. He says his daily Methadone treatments, which cost him $24 per month in Des Moines but were free in San Francisco, leave him with no desire to ever abuse heroin again, let alone any other drug. The truth is, he admits, he's addicted to the Methadone.

"It's worse than heroin withdrawals," he says. "And those made me feel like snakes were going through my skin. Sometimes I'd bite myself to get rid of the itchy feeling."

Methadone treatments and a sense of self-worth are the motivating factors behind Kekich's search for work, he says. He hates being called a bum.

"I'm a great worker and I love to work," he says. "That's what disgusted me about living in California for seven years. They just gave you a welfare check, but I've always taken care of myself. You get a little pride when you're working."

Kekich says he hopes to find work with one of his previous employers, adding how much he likes to cook. "People are happy when they get a hot meal, and I'm happy to give them one," he says.

In the meantime, Kekich is happy to have a place to stay while he looks, calling the shelter "a blessing." He says there are others just like him there, who struggle to regain control of their lives. If only they could find a job and save a few dollars to move out.

"There are a lot of good working people there," Kekich says. "They don't have the help behind them, or the family, or they can't afford rent. They're not drug addicts. Everyone I know there has a job. They just have nowhere to go.

"That's why you want to stay in with the good crowd. Don't mix with trash because they don't care about themselves. When you're trying to get back on your feet you don't need that." - Michael Swanger

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