The hat ladies

If you are homeless and cold, one of the things you would most like to have is a warm hat. For anyone who has tried to sleep with a cold head, you know exactly what I mean. Therefore, a warm hat is worth its weight in gold to the homeless.

(If such a hat is literally handmade for you with love by an elderly widow lady, then imagine even how much more it would be worth to you.)

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Bernice Kegley Rynes was her name. She was a spunky, clever, spry little old widow lady who knitted toboggan hats. She did this pretty much every day throughout the year. Near the end of each autumn she would always ask me to pay her a visit - at which time she would joyously give them all to me to distribute amongst the needy homeless souls of the world.

And I’m not talkin’ a few toboggans. I’m talkin’ hundreds. Well over a thousand total.

Even with advanced arthritis taking its toll on her hands, she painstakingly and courageously pushed through her pain and made them every one with love, including a special one for me to wear each winter while I was out delivering.

These caps have eventually found their way to don the heads of many a needy soul, who would otherwise have gone a bit less warm - and whose souls would otherwise have felt a lot less loved.

This dear little lady passed away a couple of years back. As a result, I was sure life would become a bit less warm for many a homeless person passing through our region.

However, I bear good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all hatless homeless people; the little old lady’s two daughters and a friend have now joyously stepped in to take her place. Their names are Fredia Adkins, Yvonne Gross, and Nita Kyte.

Lo and behold, I recently picked up hundreds of brand new toboggans knitted by these three ladies - every one of them made with the amount of love and zeal equal to what the saintly Bernice formerly dedicated to her special mission.

Of course, there aren’t thousands of homeless people in Bristol. I knew from the very beginning of Bernice’s unique ministry that I was going to have way more hats than I had heads to put them on.

So the first year I handed out these beloved hats, I came up with an idea. I would try my idea on Friend Jim.

Friend Jim was a trusted homeless “regular” who passed through Bristol on occassion. So I asked Friend Jim to pass out a few toboggans to his fellow needy vagabond travelers, while on his sojourns from city to city. Friend Jim happily agreed and took about a dozen.

When I saw him again the following spring, Friend Jim told me, “Mr. Talley, I want you to know I done give out them “dear old widow lady hats” (his name for them) plum from here to Boston. I wish I’d had a hunnert of ‘em. I coulda give ‘em all away. They are mighty prized possessions, I am here to tell ya right now. Especially when I tell the guys that they wuz all made by a dear old widow lady who just wanted to help us.”

As of this writing, I have already given out several dozen this year. Most men to whom I give a hat agree to take an extra handful or so and pass them out on their own, to other needy souls whom they may come across. (Few homeless men turn down a warm toboggan hat at any season of the year, as it can get nippy even on late summer nights).

Here’s the thing, though; the best part of the hats may well not even be the physical warmth they bring their wearers.

No, it’s something much bigger, deeper, and “warmer” even than that. The men know they were painstakingly hand-knitted, one-by-one, with the full intent of helping to relieve the suffering of souls who happened to be in their exact situation in life. I’ve come to view this as the bigger picture - indeed the bigger mission - of it all.

One man told me, “Mr. Talley, when you tell us the full story behind them, these here hats give us all hope that somebody somewhere might actually kinda love us. Most of us ain’t really felt love in a long time.”

Mental illness often runs rampant among the homeless. (If the readers and I all became homeless for a good while, we might very well become ill in this manner, too.) One man, who told me he was once the governor of Georgia, proclaimed these hats to be the highlight of his year. “Mr. Talley, you know we ain’t got nothin’. But passin’ these hats on allows us to feel like we can give somethin’. Money is always nice…and it helps…but it disappears like a drink of cold water in hell if anybody ever gives us any. But these hats last. And they allow us the dignity of bein’ able to help others, too. Reminds me of when I was in office and got a bill passed that …. “ I just let him rail on. No need for me to tear down his happy escape place. The longtime homeless look for a glimmer of hope and happiness anywhere under heaven they can find it; be it in it their heads, in a bottle, or in the case of these special tobaggans - on their heads.

Not just the homeless have worn the hats of the hat ladies. I have passed out more than a few dozen such hats to needy families in Bristol - families who were not “officially” homeless, but whom I knew would put the hats to grateful use. A lot of needy local folk must either walk or ride the city bus to where they need to go around Bristol, because they don’t have a car. So some of these hats now hug their heads and keep them warm on their local travels.

Perhaps my favorite exchange of words regarding these hats came between myself and a homeless lady I met in Johnson City. It was on a hot day this past summer.