Gainesville Daily Register (Gainesville, Tex.), Vol. 98, No. 111, Ed. 1 Friday, January 8, 1988 Page: 4 of 14
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'Happy Buddah' spends last days bringing hope to refugees
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$3
Hamrics
//END,
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SALE STARTS TUESDAY JANUARY 5th
TERRIFIC SAVINGS ON FALL AND WINTER
FASHIONS
2500t050Vooff
MEN’S
BOYS’
VISA’ I
205 North Main
203 North Main
K
YEAR END CLEARANCE
YEAR END CLEARANCE
YEAR END CLEARANCE
The
Charm
Shop
Blouses
Sweaters
Skirts
Jackets
Pants
Dresses
Jewelry
Lingerie
a(c
Heart of gold
In the slums of Little Asia in east Dallas, Walt
Collins has given the refugees hope where once
there was none. Collins has been helping the
Rargain Table
$2 to $5
Special Savings
$10-$15-$25
Rack
2
h • $
Closec Monday
To Prepare
For Our Sal.
Open Until 8:00 p. m.
January 5th
Regular Hours: 9:00-5:30
Muenster
Doctors told Collins recently he Has a chance to live
longer than first thought if radiation treatments can
confine the cancer.
Still, the Happy Buddha’s appearances in Little Asia
are becoming less frequent. New volunteers from the
Sunday school class are showing up at the storefront.
“Is this where the old man came?” one man asked,
pulling off his cap and looking around. “Tell me what
you want me to do. ”
On one of the last trips Collins made to the apart-
ments, Frun Tea rode along, just as he had countless
times before. But this time, he tried to remember
everything about it. They delivered canned goods,
clothes and two kinds of bread to an apartment com-
plex.
They unloaded and carried their boxes into the
courtyard, and Collins began knocking on doors. Tea
noticed the old man looked sad and worried, and he
lingered with everyone he called on. He held their
hands, and he touched them.
On the sidewalk out front, Walt Collins reached for
his partner’s hand and they shook a long time. Tea told
his friend, in words he knew the old man didn’t under-
stand. “All Cambodian people are praying for you. The
Cambodian community doesn’t know what it will do
without you.”
Then Tea added: “Som oy lok ayuk yeng. ” It means:
“Please, long life to you. ”
u...
$3% :
Shop
r>
i2sd
I
COATS and JACKETS— %2 to 'A off
FLEECEWEAR—25% off
ATHLETIC SHOES— % price
SHOP OUR HUGE $2 BARGAIN TABLE
HAMRICS
Men and Boys Wear
«The Place To Go For Brands You Know”
, andleft."
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1
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4—Gainesville, Tex. DAILY REGISTER Fri., Jan. 8,1988
“%,2
4
A
B Hose
All Sale Items Final
a arm
TALL and BIG SHIRTS and SWEATERS—'/2 to 'A off
SUITS and SPORTCOATS—14 to 14off
Dress and Casual PANTS AND JEANS—50% to 25% savings
SWEATERS and SHIRTS—save 1 to 1
HAMRIC’S MEN’S AND BOYS’ WEAR
Year-end Clearance Sale
SUITS and SPORTCOATS—Save 50% to 25%
Dress and Casual SLACKS— to % off
COATS and JACKETS-—reduced 25% to 50%
Sport and Dress SHIRTS—save 50% to 25%
SWEATERS—vests-pullovers-cardigans-% to % off
Dress and Sport SHOES—save V to %4
FLEECEWEAR—25% off
Flannel SHIRTS—% price
Missie and Petite 4-14
Sizes 4 to 20 12 1/2-201/2
i I!
88888888888 388
2
A 1
1
By JIM BRADY
Fort Worth Star-Telegram
DALLAS — Out of nowhere the old, round man ap-
peared in the doorway to their tiny apartment on Live
Oak Street, looking down where they huddled on ratty
mattresses squeezed together on the floor. Just before
he vanished, they saw him begin to cry.
Again they saw him, with children clamoring all
around at the police storefront, as he heaped boxes of
doughnuts and bread and rice onto the counter, free for
everyone. This time he was laughing out loud, and in his
eyes, they could see themselves.
They were refugees who had escaped Cambodia,
Laos and Vietnam, parts of families and lone sur-
vivors, forming a community in the one square mile of
crumbling garden apartments and tenement halls in
East Dallas known as Little Asia. They were lost but
together, trying to find new lives in a bewildering new
world.
The children there didn’t know where the old man
came from, but he would bring them toys and clothes
and listened to their stories. He liked to tease them, to
get right down and play with them. They began calling
him Grandpa.
Some of the elders in the community studied this
fellow, the way he filled out his orange suit like an aged
monk, his head growing bald and his jolly smile echoed
softly in the folds of his chin. To them, he was the Happy
Buddha.
The mysterious old man seemed to come and go like
an apparition, but he was real — retired Air Force Sgt.
Walt Collins, a grizzled, gruff, impatiently practical
man, 66, who drove his pickup from his comfortable
middle-class neighborhood on the edge of East Dallas
into Little Asia to see what he could do to help.
Now Collins needs help. He’s dying from lung cancer.
The gifts he took to Little Asia, he simply wanted to
give and be done with it. And he just happened to like
those bright over alls; they were on their third zipper. * f
“Now, I hate committees arid boards of directors and center, with the idea that police could win the con-
governors," Collins said. “Some food in people’s fidence of a fearful populace by helping the refugees
mouths and softie clothes on their back, is all I care survive: He sought, hired and guided through the police
about. I just want to do my thing, whatever my con- academy one English-speaking refugee from each of
tribution can be, and get away. ” the three main populations — Cambodian, Laotian and
It didn’t turn but quite so simply. Collins had an effect Vietnamese.
on people. For many the storefront instantly became their
Stirred by his example, a weary Cambodian soldier bridge into America, and every day the officers
found a new spark in himself to help his displaced greeted a stream of faces. People wanted to know how
people. Children who had survived by fighting over to figure out bus routes and fill out job applications, and
scraps gained a sense of giving themselves, long after what to do with traffic tickets and eviction notices,
the toys Collins brought had been pushed aside and Children came for help with homework. But by far, the
forgotten. The police officers and health care workers biggest demand was for the most basic help—food and
who chipped away each day at the overwhelming mis- clothes — and for that, the officers depended on what
ery in the slums counted on the old man, their mentor, people would give them.
for streetside pep talks. At first Collins would amble in just like other spor-
As much as Collins disdained attention, he was adic donors, plunk down some food and clothes on the
honored for his work. Congressman John Bryant, D- counter, then turn around and leave. But unlike the
Dallas, cited Collins last January with a Congressional others, Cowart noticed, the old man came to drop
Citizenship Award, which recognizes outstanding ser- something off every day.
vice from private citizens to their community. And the Curious, Cowart asked him what his name was. If he
J.C. Penney Foundation selected him as a finalist in its wouldn’t mind hanging around, he could help answer
1987 national “Golden Rule” award for outstanding phones. Collins didn’t mind.
service to others. He put the $6,000 Penney award into a “After that, they asked me, ‘Hey can you come an-
scholarship fund for refugees. swer the phones tomorrow?’ ’’Collins said. “Pretty
In a little less than two years, Collins, who said he soon, it just got to be the regular routine.”
never wanted to get emotionally attached, ended up One day, with Christmas closing in, phones ringing
being worshipped by a community that trusted few and swarms of people vying for attention around each
outsiders. And without a common language, the people officer’s desk, Cowart looked around for the old man.
managed to discover secrets about their Grandpa, the ,, "I thoughthe was gone, but he had knelt down by the behind and grabbed me around the leg, and he said,
Happy Buddha. Along with the sacks of rice and infant Christmas trees, ” Cowart said. “He wassimplyplay - ‘You know me! You buy me shoes! ” ‘i
formula, he had been giving them his own last days. ing with the little kids.” - - -sni About six months after he first came to the
“lie has a philosophy,” said Cpl. Ron Cowart, who Collins stepped out and zoomed off in his pickup storefront, a woman stopped by and quietly asked in
runs the police storefront, a community center and truck. When he came back, he wheeled in a bicycle. He Cambodian if there were any diapers there. Collins
refugee aid station where Collins assigned himself, asked one of the boys how he got to school. The child looked over the counter. Her baby was wearing a brown
“He doesn’t push things on people. He doesn’t talk said he walked. Collins laughed and tilted the bicycle grocery bag.
about his religion. But he tries to teach that you have to towardhim. “Well, why don’tyou ride a bike?” The old man sped off in his truck. He returned with
care about each other. ” Time after time Cowart saw the old man pull out his diapers and feeding formula.
Collins had been enjoying a comfortable retirement wallet during hushed conversations and hand bills to Nothing prepared him for what he saw when he be-
when one day in the early winter of 1985 his wife, Doris, children, widows, jobless refugees. Sometimes, people gan venturing out into the slums. He wanted to deliver
read him a small notice in the newspaper about police can take advantage of someone who means well, Cow- his loads where the people lived, and he asked the three
opening an office to help the thousands of Southeast art knew. He decided to broach the subject. refugee officers — Thao Dam, Pov Thai and Leek Ke-
Asian refugees who were victims of poverty and crime. “Wait, it’s-nice of you, but I hate to see you spend all ovilay—to take him around and introduce him.
They needed donations. He took three bags of rice from your money," Cowart said. They led the old man in the jumpsuit up broken stairs
the pantry and got into his truck. “Son,” Collins interjected, “you just mind your own and knocked on doors near boarded windows. In the
“I went down there that first time, and I came back business.” first building they visited, 15 people were living in a
and told Doris a couple of old people could make a Walt Collins had discovered a new job. He was out of single one-bedroom apartment, sharing mattresses
difference down in that place, ‘cause these people were the house every morning by 9 and came home in the and blankets crammed over the floors.
hurting, ” Collins said. evening rush hour. On Saturday mornings he and his “While showing him to the people, we showed him the
“She said, ‘Well, let’s don’t talk about it, let’s do wife looked over merchandise at yard sales, returning living conditions,’’said Thai. “Walt just cried.”
something about it. ’ So she gathered up a whole bunch at the end of long, hot days to persuade weary sellers to Collins began taking his loads to people who had
of clothes like you always have around your own house, donate the leftovers. Doris Collins struck a deal for never been visited by an American not in a uniform.
And I took them down there, along with some more discount prices at the local wash house so they could They were charmed by the curious character in the
rice. And in the meantime she started getting clothes clean the clothes they got from yard sales. Together, orange suit.
from ladies that she knew — coats, shoes, stuff like they loaded Walt Collins’pickup for his favorite part of Frun Tea, a 59-year-old soldier who had escaped
that. Then I hit on this idea of going around to yard the job—delivering the goods. from Cambodia, had been feeling discouraged. But
sales.” Children swarmed over Collins whenever he showed simply watching Collins impressed him.
Collins’ destination in Little Asia, the place that be- up in Little Asia. He tried to make sure he had some “If that old man can help my people, I can, too,” Tea
came his base of .operations, was the East Dallas police candy for them, and they learned they could always said. They didn’t speak the same language, but soon
storefront. Cowart had just opened it as an outreach . count on him for entertainment. they were partners, making runs in Collins’truck and
sorting clothes together in the back of the storefront.
Collins got other volunteers—and more donations —
when he recounted his tales in Sunday school at Casa
View Baptist Church. One of the best was Ralph
Walters.
“He got right into it with me, and man, we were a
team, a couple of old gray-headed coots running
around,” Collins said. “We’d drive all around there,
man. They’d yell, ‘Hey, Papa, Papa!’ We’d stop and
talk, and they’d all come running out. ”
One winter day, he was laying out clothes and grate-
ful families were peeling away with warm new gar-
ments. When the old man turned to leave, he
discovered one of the men had mistaken Collins’ own
$90 overcoat for a donation.
“He just picked that dude up and took off, and I don’t
blame him a bit, ” Collins said. “It was cold that day. ”
Some days all the donated clothes fit just right. Some
days there wasn’t any food the refugees could use, or
the people Collins was looking for were stuck across
town at the hospital clinic. One of the worst was Jan. 12,
the day Ralph Walters died of a heart attack.
His absence saddened his partner, and Collins had
been getting sick himself. All last spring, he was in and
out of the hospital with pneumonia. He had some tests
done. On May 1, the doctors told Collins he had lung
cancer.
The tumor on his left lung was about the size of a
walnut. When surgeons tried to operate on the other
lung to see whether Collins could rely on it alone, it
collapsed. His only medical option was radiation and
chemotherapy.
api cL-1 The old man kept his smile when he would return to
P Little Asia. He even looked more the part of the Happy
Southeast Asian refugees since early in the win- Buddha. The chemotherapy made his hair disappear,
ter of1985. Lung cancer now threatens to bring an' absence sentout lingmore time in the hospital. His first
end to his mission of mercy. SThey couldn’thardrybelieve it, I don't think,” Col-
. - lins said. “They were beginning to think I was inde-
Me and my friends just started calling him structible. I was always there.”
Grandpa, said Chrep Keo, 13. “He just smiled about The refugees who knew him asked about his absence
that • . when they stepped into the storefront. When they were
Savoeun Bunn, 13, made herself one of his regular told, three Cambodian women pressed their fingers
associates. She rode in his truck to pick up clothes, and together in a lotus fan, bowed their heads and held their
he drove her home. Last Christmas, she and some hands high. It is a traditional gesture reserved for
friends were invited to the Collinses’house with some priests and princes. < ii
of the storefront officers. Children who had rarely left the neighborhood
Dons cooked them breakfast and brought them cook- wanted to visit their Grandpa right away. They brought
ies. Savoeun looked at the hinged pictures on the tele- egg rolls and flowers to the storefront and drew get-
vision. Walt, who grew up in the Joe Bailey community well pictures. They asked the officers to take them to
five miles south of Decatur, was stationed at Carswell the hospital, and they piled into a van
Air Force Base a few years after World War II and met “He cried when we came to see him,” said Thao
his wife in Fort Worth. Savoeun looked at the handsome Dam, the Vietnamese refugee who became a police
couple, and found a familiar impish grin. officer, “He was so happy, so proud, he invited in the
“He looks cute when he was young,” she said. “I doctors and nurses."
never had a grandfather. I like him like a grand- In a bedside ceremony, Deputy Police Chief Lowell
father." , . , Canaday, accompanied by Phoung Dinh, a Vietnamese
Although Collins loved the children, he tried to keep a leader, presented Collins with a police award rarely
certain distance. The more he knew, the more he given to citizens. A visiting investigator from Taiwan,
wanted to help, and the needs of the refugees could be who silently watched Collins work, reached up and
overwhelming. But the children made forgetting hard hung a good luck fti on the intravenous feed above the
todo. . old man’s bed.
Collins once bought shoes for a boy who had been so Two of the girls Who had been his shadows at the
embarrassed by the only shabby pair he had that he storefront came to the hospital in July. “They leaned
wouldn t go to school. Months later Collins was stand- close to me, one of them put her arm around me and
ing outside an apartment building in Little Asia during said, ‘Grandpa, are you going to die? ’ ” Collins said. “I
a neighborhood cleanup. said ‘Yeah, everbody’s going to die sometime. And I’m
“AH of a sudden, something ran up and hit me from not going to die right away, I don’t think.’ She cried a
little bit; then they put their arms around each other t
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Williams, Eric. Gainesville Daily Register (Gainesville, Tex.), Vol. 98, No. 111, Ed. 1 Friday, January 8, 1988, newspaper, January 8, 1988; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1569627/m1/4/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Cooke County Library.