Aug. 15—For years, Brett Staples would be waiting nearly every Saturday when Betti Curran showed up at Deering Oaks park with food and clothes for people in Portland's homeless community.
But when she pulled up this past weekend, the absence of the personable guy with a constant smile was devastating.
"I imagined seeing him walking across the park like I've seen so many times before," said Curran, who is from Topsham. "It just doesn't seem possible that I won't see him again."
Staples, who had been homeless for years before moving into an apartment near Morrill's Corner, died Aug. 6 after he was hit by an Amtrak train while walking on the nearby tracks. He was 34.
A police officer knocked on his parents' door in Jay that night to tell them the news. They were told Brett was walking with two friends when they were spotted by a train engineer who laid on the horn and tried to slow the train down. But they still don't know why their son couldn't get off the tracks in time, his father, Bob Staples said.
He and his wife had watched for years as their son struggled with schizophrenia, substance use and homelessness, fearing that something tragic would happen.
Brett's death also came as a blow to people who knew him in Portland, said Joel Landry, director of Huston Commons, a housing first building run by the nonprofit Preble Street. The building is designed for people who are chronically homeless and offers around-the-clock support.
"He was a very kind soul. A good neighbor to everyone," Landry said. "He was just a really wonderful young man who was always smiling and always happy."
In the days since his death, neighbors and staff have been offered counseling and gathered to honor his life.
It's a routine that is far too familiar for the Huston Commons community, which has lost 26 people in the seven years since it opened, Landry said. The same day that Brett died, another person from the Portland homeless community was killed in a hit-and-run crash in Falmouth, he said.
After someone dies, their name and picture are painted on a memorial wall at the apartment building to make sure they are not forgotten.
"They don't always have traditional wakes or funerals like other people do. There's no obituary in the newspaper," Landry said. "People just disappear. We don't want that to happen."
STRUGGLE FOR STABILITY
Brett Staples grew up in Jay, the youngest of Bob and Shannon Staples' three sons. He was always "very, very smart," his father said, and loved playing basketball and soccer. He started wrestling during his sophom*ore year at Dirigo High School and quickly found success. He placed second in the state tournament in his weight class that year and third the following year. As a senior, he won.
But Brett, who would later be diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, was already struggling and left school without graduating. Bob Staples said the family tried to get help for their son, but he resisted working with multiple counselors.
He earned his GED through Job Corps, a nationwide career training program run by the Federal Labor Department, then headed to Alaska, where he worked several different jobs before joining a salmon fishing company. Eventually, he took a job fishing for cod in the Bering Sea, his father said.
"He didn't shy away from hard work at that point in his life," Bob Staples said.
His son seemed to love that job. The boat captain took Brett under his wing and pushed him to take classes in Seattle to get his license. But he soon ended up back in Maine, his father said.
Brett's mental health "spiraled" into substance use and he'd go months at a time without contacting his family, he said. He sometimes stopped taking his medication.
The family and others who knew Brett tried to get him into treatment, but he wasn't always willing, his father said. And when he was, help wasn't always available, a situation his parents still find frustrating and infuriating.
"Unfortunately, there's a lot of people who are seen as throwaways," Bob Staples said.
He said it feels like the government has its priorities wrong — that it has forgotten about its own people and doesn't have the right resources for all of the people who need mental health and substance use treatment.
"I just wish that we as a society would recognize that mental illness is an illness. It's not like a broken bone you can set, it's not like a sickness that you can prescribe antibiotics for," he said. "It's not something that people can control themselves and we've stigmatized it so much throughout the years that we've got to recognize this and be more supportive."
Though help wasn't always available, Bob Staples said he and his wife are grateful for the people who knew their son and supported him.
"The different groups and organizations that work with the homeless and mentally ill, they tried really, really hard and did all that they could," he said.
'INCREDIBLY GRATEFUL'
During his time on the streets of Portland, Brett Staples often hung around with friends near the ferry terminal and sometimes lived in encampments.
A couple of years ago, his parents outfitted him with everything they thought he needed to stay safe and warm during a winter outside. But somehow, on one of the coldest days of the year, he walked around without his boots. His father suspects Brett gave them away to someone he thought needed them more.
Brett lost half of one foot and all of his toes on the other because of frostbite, his father said. He was in and out of the hospital and spent time at a recuperative care program run by Preble Street. From there, he moved into Huston Commons about a year and a half ago.
"He was incredibly grateful. He thanked us almost every day," said Landry, the Huston Commons director.
Curran, who first met Brett Staples about four years ago through her work in the homeless community, stayed in touch with him throughout his hospital stays and after he moved into his apartment. He also became close to her daughter and grandson, who often go to Deering Oaks with her on the weekend.
During those visits, he liked to tell stories about his fishing adventures in Alaska and play ball with Curran's grandson.
"He had the best smile," Curran said. "You just couldn't get past the smile and the blue eyes."
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