Gold is a retired software jockey who teaches poetry workshops to teens in King County Juvenile Detention, shelters and psychiatric hospitals. No doubt he could be playing golf or peeling grapes beneath the palm trees somewhere, but that's not Richard Gold. Instead, he'll be at Bumbershoot over the Labor Day weekend, installed in the Alki Court, No. 22A, selling books of poetry culled from his workshops.
Some of the emotional trauma Gold works with is so harrowing it would crack the stoniest heart. Like a Dante-esque voyager, Gold is trying to help these kids toward the light.
"I feel lucky. This is what I was meant to do," Gold told me last week over coffee in West Seattle, where he lives.
It's been several years since I've written about Gold, how he started his nonprofit Pongo Publishing project in the mid-1990s, and how his solo efforts have grown into a corps of dedicated Pongo volunteers.
A few quick statistics: Over the past eight years Pongo has worked with more than 4,000 youth between 8 and 18 and has printed and distributed some 11,000 books of poetry. The kids can see their work in print and others, including judges, caseworkers and regular people, can get an idea what it must be like to stand in their shoes.
Here's one of the milder examples. It's by Sam, aged 15, addressed to his father who is in prison:
A Letter to My Dad
I just thought you should know what I am doing now.
I am a strong person who spends his time
looking for ways to become successful.
I just thought you should know how I'm feeling.
I am pissed because you couldn't be here and watch me grow.
It puts tears in my eyes knowing my father wasn't there.
I just thought you should know what I've been through
without seeing you. Since the last time I saw you I have
grown so much it would blow you away.
The moment I knew I could survive without you is important to me.
What I don't miss is you and your old life. At least
you don't have to worry about your son going down that path.
I just thought you should know
that I wish you could see my success.
Gold, 60, is from the East Coast. At Yale in the early 1970s he found himself in the English program with Robert Penn Warren and other heavyweight teachers.
"I was young for my age," Gold recalled. "I had been a protected, middle-class guy. There was a lot I didn't know, including what I liked."
What he liked included poetry: "Poetry started me on the road to self-examination and openness."
Gold went on to teach kids under psychiatric care on the West Coast. He learned one thing early: "Kids have powerful reasons not to trust. Show them respect for their voices. That's where it all begins."
Not all traumatized youth will heal, Gold noted, but some will go on, stronger for having worked their ways through hell.
"The population denigrates their behavior," Gold continued, "but they have a lot to offer. When you have someone who's been through this - these are people who become therapists. Some become those who work to heal suffering and work for justice."
Is this too depressing a visit while Bumbershooting in the sun? Sure, of course.
But in a strange way, it's also not. Gold will be there to remind us, in his quiet, understated way, art changes lives. And yes, one person can make a difference, something cynics would rather not hear.
If you're headed to Bumbershoot, stop by and say hello to Richard Gold. Buy a book. Make a donation. Ask about how to become a volunteer. Or just shake his hand.
Mike Dillon may be reached via editor@sdistrictjournal.com.[[In-content Ad]]