The Last Light: The Mayor of Seneca Tracks

Presenter: For The Last Light, KEPW producer Echo Sherman:

Echo Sherman (KEPW, The Last Light, producer): You’re listening to The Last Light on KEPW 97.3 FM, a space like no other on the airwaves, a sanctuary of remembrance, a circle of compassion, and a living archive of stories that matter.

If you have someone you want to honor—a loved one, a friend, or even a stranger whose story has touched your heart—I invite you to share the memory with us. Send us your stories, your tributes, your names, and your music requests to Echo@KEPW.org.

Some called him ‘The Mayor of Seneca Tracks:’ a brother, a father, a friend, and for many a guardian angel on the streets. His name is spoken with reverence by those who knew him. He was a protector, a peacekeeper, a craftsman of remembrance, and a friend who never let anyone feel invisible.

[00:01:12] Let’s start at the beginning. His life was not an easy one. He was one of five brothers and his sister, who reached out to us tonight, shared that their childhood was marked by hardship. There was abuse, she says, mental, physical, emotional. It was the kind of pain that can break people, but it also forged a powerful bond between him and his sister. We went through a lot of it together, she said. We always had each other’s backs. He was my best friend. He grew up fast as so many of us do when a home isn’t safe.

[00:01:45] But even as life threw him challenge after challenge, he found ways to love and to give. He became a father seven times over. His oldest is now 31, the next is 29, then 28, and then there are the younger ones, a 15-year-old, a 12-year-old and a seven-year-old daughter, each child a testament to the love he carried, the hope he kept alive, even when the world felt cold.

[00:02:12] But life as it does brought heartbreak too. In 2014 he lost his son Gavin. Gavin was just 13 days old, born at 26 weeks. His mother rushed to do an emergency C-section, fighting to give him a chance. He was so small, his sister remembers. He never really had a chance, but he was loved every second. He was here.

[00:02:36] That loss like so many others left a mark, a deep ache that never quite goes away. In 2009, he began a journey of recovery for 10 years. He fought to stay sober 10 years. Think about that. Ten years of choosing every day to fight for himself, for his family, for a better future.

[00:03:00] But recovery isn’t a straight line. And in 2019, life took another turn. He became homeless, a reality that too many in our community know all too well. His three youngest children entered foster care that year.

[00:03:15] His sister begged him: ‘Go back to Washington. Get sober, get your kids back.’ But he stayed. He stayed because, as she tells it, he was looking out for people here. He was protecting people on the streets. He was keeping the peace. You see, on the streets, he found a new kind of family along the Seneca tracks where so many find themselves when there’s nowhere else to go.

[00:03:41] He became known as the mayor. And that’s not a title you get by accident. It’s earned day after day, showing up, by caring, by making sure people are safe, by keeping the peace by standing up when others can’t.

[00:03:58] One woman told his sister, ‘When I became homeless, your brother looked out for me. He protected me. He made me feel safe.’

In a world where safety is a luxury, he offered it freely. He was the one who stepped in when things got too tense, the one who made sure everyone had what they needed and who kept people in line, not with fear, but with respect.

[00:04:21] He didn’t just protect the living, he honored the dead. He started a Facebook page called Gone But Not Forgotten, a digital memorial for those who died on the streets. He made crosses for every homeless person who passed, ensuring that no one slipped away without recognition, without love, without someone remembering their name. It was his way of saying, ‘You mattered. You were here. You are not forgotten.’

[00:04:49] His sister says, ‘He was the one I looked up to. Any time I had problems, I called him. I raised his older kids for a while when they were younger. We’ve always had each other’s backs.’

[00:05:01] In a family battered by hardship, they found strength in each other. But his own health was failing. His heart, battered by years of struggle, was down to just 10% function. He had to stay away from the drugs, his sister says, but I was told right before he passed away that the only way he could get attention from his girlfriend was by doing fentanyl with her.

[00:05:22] It’s a heartbreaking reality. Sometimes the need for connection, for love, for belonging, pulls us back into the darkness we fought so hard to escape.

[00:05:34] The truth of his passing is still unclear. His ashes have only just come home. The death certificate says pending autopsy. The toxology results will take months. Was it heart failure? Natural causes? An overdose? We don’t know yet. But what we do know is that he was loved, that he was trying, that he was fighting every day for himself and others.

[00:06:01] His sister received his ashes yesterday. She holds on to the memory, the laughter, the late-night talks, the way he always answered the phone when she needed him. He was my best friend, she says again. We survived together.

[00:06:17] Tonight, as we remember him, I want to speak directly to those who knew him, to his children, those who are grown, those who are still young, those who are gone. Your father was a man who loved fiercely. He fought for you, even when he couldn’t be there. He carried you in his heart every day.

[00:06:40] To those who walked the streets with him, who called him ‘Mayor,’ who found safety in his presence, thank you for seeing him. Thank you for honoring him. Thank you for sharing his story with us tonight.

[00:06:56] To his sister who shared these memories, thank you. Thank you for your courage, for your honesty, for your love. You remind us that even in the darkest times, there is light, there is connection, and there is hope.

[00:07:12] Presenter: Here’s the producer of The Last Light, Echo Sherman:

[00:07:15] Echo Sherman (KEPW, The Last Light, producer): If you have someone you’d like us to honor, someone the world forgot or misunderstood, write to us at echo@kepw.org.

[00:07:26] Presenter: You can hear Echo Wednesdays at six on Underground Echo, right here on KEPW 97.3, Eugene’s PeaceWorks Community Radio.