Hoarder receives hope for the holidays

The 14-day notice was ominous.

Gary Jackson, a man whose full white beard and kind blue eyes often inspire comparisons to Santa Claus, was going to be evicted.

For nearly 20 years, Jackson has played the part of the jolly old elf, ringing the Salvation Army bell up to eight hours a day during the holiday season and using his robust "ho, ho, ho" to collect change from passers-by.

But at home, away from the bustle of busy shoppers, Jackson's collecting has manifested in a different way.

Jackson is an extreme hoarder, a condition that earlier this year put him on the brink of homelessness.

He has succumbed to the disorder for decades, packing his East Nashville apartment with keyboards and clock radios. Movie posters and multiple TVs. Bouquets of silk flowers. Dozens of duffel bags. A rainbowed array of belts and suspenders.

"My brain has the tendency to not throw things away," Jackson says, "to want to fix things, to want to give things away.

"The real Santa Claus stereotype."

But despite all his possessions, Jackson, until recently, didn't have what he truly needs.

Only now, with the help of the Legal Aid Society of Middle Tennessee, has he started to understand his disorder and find hope in dealing with his hoarding.

Has little, owns much

When I first met Jackson, he was sitting on the landing outside his second-floor apartment sorting through a trio of bags crammed with food wrappers and clothing as he prepared for work.

A 63-year-old veteran who served in Korea during the Vietnam era, Jackson lives alone in subsidized housing. He's commonly found riding his bike around town or eating meals at local churches.

He doesn't have insurance. He receives no assistance other than food stamps. He works only one month a year, ringing the Salvation Army Bell six days a week for $1,500.

For having almost nothing, he owns much.

Inside his apartment, narrow pathways wind through the stacks of items, some that rise higher than Jackson's head. As he weaves past a collection of tool boxes, he talks about his mother and sister, both who displayed the same hoarding tendencies as himself.

But he doesn't see himself as mentally ill; it's just a different way of thinking, he says. He sees things as useful to someone else or repairable.

Jackson tried — in his limited way — to comply with his landlord's request to clean up.

But even after his attempts — which included bicycle rides transporting bags and boxes down five blocks to the church thrift store — the dangers posed by blocked entryways and piles of debris were still too much.

So, the 14-day eviction notice was posted.

"I have no place to go," Jackson said on the four-page handwritten letter he submitted to the Legal Aid in a request for help.

Jackson's is one of thousands of cases Legal Aid takes on to help low-income people keep affordable housing, but his story "touched a nerve," says paralegal Janet Rosenberg.

"He's fallen under the radar because he's not been a problem to anyone," she says.

Still, he needed a solution.

So Rosenberg called in a professional organizer. Then she asked everyone she knew to donate money for the professional cleaning services needed to de-clutter his home. In a matter of days, Legal Aid helped raise more than $3,000.

In all, 15 loads filled a pickup truck with the help of Edgehill Baptist Church. But lightening the clutter left his heart heavy.

"I got rid of stuff I wanted to hang on to," Jackson says, sitting at the bus stop down the road from his apartment waiting to catch a ride to the Salvation Army church off Nolensville Road.

In the 8 a.m. chill of an overcast day, that loss resonates. This isn't the life he anticipated, he says. He wanted to be a marriage and family therapist, and, he jokes, to find a Mrs. Claus.

"But time goes, and I'm standing still."

And, as the bus nears, so it goes. It takes him more than two hours by public transportation and then Salvation Army van to get from his apartment to the Franklin Wal-Mart, where he spends Thanksgiving to Christmas.

But once in front of the store, his Santa persona takes hold.

Santa-inspired smiles

In the glass of the sliding doors, Jackson combs his white beard, giving it a fuller appearance. He dons a tall black hat and slips his Salvation Army apron over his red sweatshirt, which has a decoration of Father Christmas carrying a sack of toys.

He certainly catches people's attention.

"Excuse me," one stranger says as she approaches from the parking lot. "I want to take my picture with you and show my kids the true spirit of Christmas."

Of course, he responds, directing the woman to the Salvation Army sign underneath which his red collection kettle hangs.

The days here are long, but when he returns home soon it will be to a little more help than before. Legal Aid is in the process of securing Jackson additional benefits and, once he has insurance, Rosenberg plans to set Jackson up with counseling to help work though his hoarding.

But here, giving out candy canes to little kids who look at him wide-eyed wondering if he is the real Santa Claus, there is only a man who collects donations and inspires smiles.

Before I leave, there's one thing I feel I need to do — drop something into that red kettle.

As I pull some change from my jacket pocket, some clinks onto the sidewalk below.

Two dimes. Two pennies. 22.

It didn't have much significance to me, but Jackson, a man who spends his whole day amassing change, saw something in it.

For some, he says, the number 22 in the Bible represents light — a lamp by which we live.

That life can include disorder and chaos.

But, especially this time of year, there may be a bright star to follow ahead.

Reach Jessica Bliss at 615-259-8253 and on Twitter @jlbliss.

HOW TO GET HELP

If you have a hoarding disorder or know someone who does, here are some places to turn:

• Vanderbilt Medical Center outpatient psychiatry: helen.hatfield@vanderbilt.edu or 615-936-3555.

• International OCD Foundation's Hoarding Center: Online resources, including a treatment provider search and suggestions of what questions to ask a therapist. http://hoarding.iocdf.org.

• NAPONashville.com: Nashville Association of Professional Organizers offers contact information for local organizers who may be able to help a hoarder begin the cleaning process. www.naponashville.com/

Are you a hoarder or just a collector?

Hoarding is a clearly defined clinical disorder. Other variances, such as clutter keepers, collectors and pack rats, can differ in degree and definition. Here is a general look at how each may be defined:

Clutter keeper: A space filled with miscellaneous things in disarray is considered clutter. Clutter is often viewed as a low scale of mess, but the term can be subjective.

Collector: A person who assembles or accumulates like objects as a hobby or entertainment. Unlike hoarders, who keep almost everything, a collector usually accrues only objects of a certain type, such as coins or stuffed animals. The value of these things may be sentimental, but it often has monetary worth, as well. The collection does not often dominate the home or the collector's life. People who have collections have them organized and take pride in displaying them, while hoarders often are ashamed and keep people out of their homes.

Pack rat: Like a hoarder, a pack rat is often a person who saves sometimes-useless items, attaches sentimental value to them and probably will put up a fight if asked to get rid of them. Unlike a hoarder, however, a pack rat can often be persuaded to condense the stuff into something smaller and more organized without therapy. The term pack rat is a cultural colloquialism.

Hoarder: Compulsive hoarding is recognized as a mental disorder and is defined as "persistent difficulty discarding or parting with possessions, regardless of the value others may attribute to these possessions." Hoarders often have immense difficulty throwing away anything ranging from an old paper cup to an out-of-date newspaper for fear that they might need the items later. The things they have collected typically tower from floor to ceiling in their homes, leaving little space to maneuver, sit or sleep. Hoarders often cannot rehabilitate their tendencies without therapy and professional help.

DONATE TO LEGAL AID

Legal Aid Society is a nonprofit that provides free legal services to people with low income. It does not take criminal cases. There are eight offices that serve 48 Tennessee counties.

To donate, call Janet Rosenberg at 615-780-7130 or go to https://app.etapestry.com/hosted/LegalAidMiddleTNCumberland/donate.htm.