A life spent giving

WASILLA — Donell Polk knows what it’s like to be a homeless teen. He knows what it’s like to join and leave a gang. He knows what it’s like to see his friends freeze to death, drunk on the streets of Anchorage.

And he knows what it’s like to turn his life around and be a giver instead of a taker.

Polk isn’t the only Wasilla High School staff member to mentor students at the school, but according to WHS students, the school’s safety coordinator has taken this bond a step farther.

At first glance, Polk is an eloquent, polished and confident man who loves his job. But when students hear him recount his life story and when they see the good man he has become despite the odds, they are often struck with a mixture of shock and awe.

Polk grew up in the Acorn Housing Complex in the projects of Oakland, Calif. His mother’s nice home was taken and demolished for the creation of the Martin Luther King Park and, unable to afford another home, Polk’s mother and his 11 siblings moved into the projects. He began learning from his gang-member neighbors at the tender age of 8. As a teen, Polk began to fully involve himself in the gang life.

“I always respected my mother, always respected adults, but for people my age, if you had something I wanted, I would take it,” Polk said. “If you didn’t wear the colors, if you weren’t the right person, you paid the penalty.”

Caught up in drugs, theft and violence, a young Polk felt invincible. “I feared no one. Down in the projects, if you show fear, you die. You don’t back down from nobody.”

His mother’s only wish was that her children would graduate from high school. After accomplishing this goal despite his gang involvement, Polk joined the military. But after attending one year of community college, Polk went back to the lifestyle he had in high school.

As an alternative, Polk’s uncle presented him with a ticket to Anchorage. Polk could leave his life behind and start fresh. However, there was a catch: it was one-way. If he wanted to return to his life in California, he would have to earn his own ticket back.

In 1976, Polk came to live with his aunt in Fairview. It didn’t take long for him to realize the same illegal activities were happening in Anchorage as in Oakland. Polk soon became immersed in the drugs, alcohol, partying and violence that were prevalent on the streets of Anchorage after-hours. Soon he was homeless on the streets of Anchorage.

Polk sought assistance from the Brother Francis Shelter soon after becoming homeless. But he kept his situation a secret from his family.

“I was too proud to let them know that I was homeless,” he said. “I got up every morning at the shelter and got myself clean. … When I went to my aunt’s house, they saw that I was dressed nicely. … They didn’t know. At night, I would go back to the streets and get drunk.”

One day, Polk was waiting in line at the shelter while still drunk. A man standing in front of him turned around and called him a derogatory name. In his anger, Polk hit the man. He was arrested and spent Thanksgiving in jail. The next day when he was released, Polk returned to the shelter. But to his surprise, he was not allowed to receive services.

“Brother Bob [Hurley] told me, ‘You are a taker. You’ve been taking. You’ve been rude. You’ve been disrespectful.’ I ended up across from Bean’s Café, and that’s where I met Stan and Adam [Price]. They took me down to Ship Creek and helped me build a tent.”

Tears form in Polk’s eyes as he remembers his friends. “If it wasn’t for Stan, Adam and Rose Price, I would probably be dead.”

He stayed in his tent at Ship Creek for about a year before returning to the shelter where he was given a second chance and offered a volunteer position. He started in the clothing room, passing out clothes to his homeless brethren. Instead of fighting and arguing with them, he was now giving them clothing. Polk was taking the first baby steps on his journey toward learning to give.

In 1987, Polk was promoted to a monitor position at the shelter. He was now being paid to ensure the safety of all the people who stayed at the shelter overnight.

“I was taking care of people. I liked it! I was clean, I was sober and I was helping others,” he said. “After a year or so, Brother Bob gave me a promotion. I got an apartment. I got a car, I started to take care of myself. It had been about four years and I felt great. I wanted to figure out ways to help more than I was.”

That’s when Polk began to invite those struggling with drugs or alcohol to go on fishing trips.

“We would go down to Kenai for the weekend and I knew that at least for that weekend they were sober,” he said. “They would go back and most times they would fall off the wagon, but for that weekend they had been sober. They taught me that this was fun; giving back. I made a lot of friends.”

Polk remembers a letter that changed his life once more.

“I lived in a double-wide trailer. I came home and there was a piece of paper rolled up at my door,” he said. “I thought it was a late bill, maybe the water was off, but I opened it and it said, ‘Congratulations, Mr. Polk. You are now Shelter Manager.’”

Now he was supervising 15 monitors at the shelter, running payroll and he had the opportunity to work with Archbishop Hurley and Brother Bob Hurley every day.

“Brother Bob,” as Polk affectionately calls him, said something before his retirement that has stayed with Polk to this day.

“He said to me, ‘Donell, you have learned to give.’”

Polk had now moved beyond the lifestyle he was mired in only a few years prior, but each day was still a struggle.

“I fight every day to stay sober. I now have a wife, three grandbabies to care for and I fight every day to do that,” he said. “I fall off the wagon sometimes, but I always get back on. I know now that I don’t have to take anything from anybody.”

In the early ’90s, Polk began to see gang life on the streets of Anchorage. “I would talk to the police academy and no one would believe it. No one could see what was happening.”

Polk wanted to protect his children from the lifestyle he had lived in his youth and moved his family to the Valley. Upon arrival, Polk began to work at Wal-Mart.

“I worked for Wal-Mart for four years. It wasn’t what I wanted — it wasn’t me. I wanted to give,” he said.

Polk learned of a children’s shelter in the Valley and met Deborah Fields.

“She turned my life around again,” Polk said. “She hired me to work with kids at the shelter. I hadn’t ever worked with kids, but I wanted to give. After I got hired, John Stein gave me this opportunity to work at the Dorothy Saxton facility. It changed my life.”

Polk worked his way through promotions at the Dorothy Saxton Youth Shelter for the next 10 years, much like he had at the Brother Francis Shelter.

“I still work there, part time and on-call, but I mostly stepped down when I was given a bigger mission,” Polk grinned. “I got a call from Mr. (Mark) Okeson and Mr. (Dwight) Probasco asking me to come to Wasilla High. They had a job opening. I couldn’t believe it, there was no way I could work in a school. I didn’t really apply at first, but I got another call from Okeson asking why I hadn’t applied. I finally did and went in for the interview. I felt really positive coming out of there, and then I found out I got the job!”

Polk’s eyes twinkle with energy remembering his meeting with the school’s assistant principal and principal.

“I went from working with 300 adults in a shelter in Anchorage to working with 12-15 kids in a shelter in the Valley,” he said. “Now, Probasco and Okeson have given me the opportunity to reach out to over 1,000 kids at Wasilla High School, to try to make them see that there is more to life than drugs.”

No matter where life takes him, Polk’s driving force will always be the homeless. Working with kids in the Valley has opened his eyes to the growing crisis of teen homelessness.

“There are so many homeless kids in the Valley. We can only guess how many are on the street, and there are more than we think,” he said. “A lot of them are couch-surfers. I know there are a high number of kids at Wasilla High who aren’t comfortable in their homes for some reason, so they stay on friends’ couches. But we only have one shelter here in the Valley, with only four kids in it. We need a shelter for all of the homeless in the Valley. We need to know how many there really are.”

Throughout his interview, Polk maintains an air of extreme gratitude.

“There have been four men over the past 25 years who changed my life, who taught me that I don’t have to lie, cheat or steal from others to make it,” he said. “Those men are: Archbishop Hurley, Brother Bob [Hurley], John Stein and Mr. Probasco. Whoever thought that with only a high school education I can teach high school kids? I teach these kids to treat their teachers like their own mothers. If it was their mother teaching in the classroom, how would they feel if people were disrespecting them? This has given me another doorway to give back — to over 1,000 kids.”

Polk’s mother is 87 now and suffers from Alzheimer’s disease.

“I remember a short, black, chubby, puffy woman, and when I talk to my sister, she’s this frail small woman who weighs maybe 80, 90 pounds,” he said. “There were 12 of us kids, I was the second oldest. Some of them died, at birth or from gang-related violence, but my mother was strong. All she wanted was for her children to get a high school education.

“I would have never thought I was capable of working at a high school. I applied at the school district 15 years ago for a custodial position. I had a man tell me that I was ‘over-dressed for the job.’ He is still here in the school district, and I see him now and he says, ‘Donell, welcome to our family.’ When he said I was over-qualified for the job, he was right. Now, I’m here.”

An emotional Polk beams as he speaks.

“God works in so many mysterious ways. He has made room for me to teach me to grow, how to become a giver instead of a taker. Wasilla has given me that same chance to keep giving and then take that paycheck — just kidding.”

Passing the torch

Probasco, the school’s principal, will be retiring from his longtime position at the end of the year. And Polk is one among countless members of the school and community with only good things to say about him.

“He gave me this chance,” Polk said. “There have been so many positive things in the community from Probasco. It will be a great loss to the school when he leaves, but where there’s an ending, there’s always a new beginning.”

Polk has made it his mission to live as an example to students by telling the truth.

“I learned at the shelter that you can lie to a kid and you will never get that kid to believe in you,” he said. “Kids know when you’re lying. They feel it. Kids are good manipulators, because they’ve been manipulated their whole lives. They learn it from their parents, from adults. Why chastise a kid for following your example?”

Polk is known for his up-front attitude with the youth he works with.

“We as adults need to be honest with kids. I tell my story to kids in these classrooms because I don’t want to lie,” he said. “I haven’t made anything up. Lying to a kid just makes that kid know he can’t trust you. Through being open with that kid, he or she can come to you with anything. I’ve told my story to kids in the shelter, to kids in the school.

“If I can change some of these kids’ lives so they don’t end up dead, through violence, drugs and partying, then my job is done. These kids don’t know what a drive-by is, what gang life is. They’ve seen it on TV, but they haven’t lived it. I have. I hope to make them think twice before getting involved in that stuff.”

Polk offers his story as a cautionary tale to Valley kids, as well as an inspiration to those in dark places. Through it all, the one thing he hopes people learn from his story is respect.

“Life is hard,” Polk said. “A kid is in control of his own life, he’s the one who needs to change. Don’t go to school and blame your teachers for not getting an education. Let’s not blame the parents. Let’s blame ourselves. You’ve been given a tool to learn, you’ve been given a blessing from these teachers. They’re giving back every day. As I gave back in the shelter, these teachers are giving back in the classroom. Don’t blame them if you go into a classroom and don’t learn anything. Blame yourself for not paying attention. That’s one reason why I tell this story. Teachers can’t give if you don’t want to listen. They can’t give to the other kids with you disrupting the classroom. Treat the teachers like you would treat your own mother. You don’t let others disrespect your mother.

“As young adults, we struggle every day. But together we grow stronger. Brother Bob’s favorite saying is, ‘If you hold your head down, you’re gonna step in the crap every time. Hold your head up, walk proud and walk with success in your mind, and you will see it and step over the crap. Know who you are.’”

Polk’s dreams extend far beyond the walls of Wasilla High School. He hopes the community can come together and fight homelessness.

“We’ve got to put out the net and catch them before they’re gone. With the homeless, you only have one chance,” he said. “If you don’t catch them in time, they’re gone. I’ve lost so many friends facedown in Ship Creek or frozen on a sidewalk downtown or drunk driving. My vision is to be involved in a shelter and teach kids what life is, how to give back. I got to do that at the Dorothy Saxton Youth Shelter. I get to do some of that here at Wasilla High.”

To those who aren’t sure of what they can do to help, Polk has suggestions.

“Working together. The agencies need to work together instead of working apart,” he said. “We all need to help pull that net in. It’s like a fisherman saying, ‘I got a huge crop of fish this year!’ And the little guy saying, ‘I only got two.’ Why not put the nets together? We save more lives, we make more progress.”

Rachel Clark is a senior at Wasilla High School.