Maria Costelloe’s tone changed as she recalled what her friend Gerald Gleeson wanted to do with his Social Security checks. Gleeson, who has been unhoused in the Mission District for more than a decade, asked the friend who signed him up for benefits to give some of it away.
“As soon as he started to have money, he would say to her, ‘I want you to take some of that money, and when you go to the store, buy what you need for the streets.’ He was always wanting her to use his money to buy stuff for people on the street, not for him,” said Costelloe.
Costelloe was one of several neighbors in the Mission who befriended Gleeson, who died of heart failure on April 2. He was 61. Others included neighbors William Pietri, Steve Bauer and a nun who wished to remain anonymous.
When Costelloe met Gleeson more than 10 years ago, he was sitting at the intersection of 24th and Valencia streets, just a block down from her house. Costello, like Pietri and Bauer, remained friends even after the nun helped find Gleeson a room in a Tenderloin single-room-occupancy hotel.
Costelloe said Gleeson had experienced hardships from the very early years of his life: He told Costelloe his parents had abandoned him and his siblings at the Twin Peaks hotel when he was 8 years old. What followed were years of foster homes and, eventually, alcoholism.
Despite having a hard life, Gleeson was “a gentle giant,” she said, describing him as well-spoken and sweet. At times, he could be angry, she added, but he usually overcame those emotions with his kindness.
“He had lovely eyes, and he would just look at you and make you feel like he was present to you. He was gentle, giving, kind, and that just overtook all that anger that he had at times about how life had treated him,” said Costelloe. “He never felt sorry for himself, and I think he had a way of reminding me that life can be tough, but you don’t have to be tough. You can be gentle.”
Gleason was born at Saint Luke’s Hospital to a Native American woman named Geraldine — hence his name, Gerald — and to a father with Irish background. (Their shared Irish background was part of Costelloe and Gleason’s immediate connection.) Costelloe said Gleeson often felt angry and frustrated about the treatment of Native Americans in this country.
Gleeson often slept on Poplar Street, the alley that runs for two blocks between 24th and 26th streets. He could also be found at 24th and Valencia streets and 24th Street and San Jose Avenue. He developed a friendship with the owner of a liquor store near 24th and Valencia, picking up his beer of choice, Steel Reserve, and sometimes leaving his backpack there for safekeeping.
Pietri said that Gleeson had his ups and downs, but he admired Gleeson’s kindness, cheeriness and energy. It inspired others to help him, as well — including a neighbor who allowed Gleeson to use her address to receive mail.
“I definitely miss him. I am sad that we, as a society, couldn’t do better for him. He was incredibly resilient,” said Pietri. “But what could have we done with that resiliency and that charm and that interest in others, if he’d been better supported?”
Bauer met Gleeson in 1986, through Gleeson’s cousin, Mark, who was Bauer’s mailman. He said Gleeson looked up to his cousin, and was devastated when he died by suicide.
“That was kind of the main trauma,” said Bauer. “I think he had traumas before then, but he would walk the route while Mark was delivering mail every day. He really looked up to him and, when he committed suicide, Jerry just went off the deep end.”
Bauer said Gleeson would come to his carpentry shop to hang out, use the bathroom and talk. He tried to support “Jerry” any way he could, he said.
“He had a temper, which he never demonstrated to me, but he had demons. Drinking was always a problem with him, but he was a very sweet, sweet man,” said Bauer.
As for Costelloe, she recalls the last conversation she had with Gleeson, just a day before he died. It ended how their phone conversations always ended.
“It’s really lonely here,” he said from his SRO room in the Tenderloin. “I miss the Mission and my friends. I love you, Maria,” said Gleeson to Costelloe. “I love you too, Gerald,” responded Costelloe. “Now, go back to bed.”
A day later, Gleeson died.
I worked with Sr Salvina to help Gerald get off the streets and into hospice where you recovered quite nicely. Unfortunately, alcoholism was his only remedy for the loneliness felt deep in his soul. I know that he’s in peace now.
RIP Gerald. You’ll be missed.