The Wehking family, once of Illinois and now of California, had a memorial service last Easter. Parents Wes and Diane, their five surviving children, and their children gathered in a Roman Catholic church in San Diego to remember Mark, the firstborn of the six Wehking children.

His family had not seen or heard from him in 10 years. He had been receiving Social Security disability for his mental illness, but some years earlier, he had quit drawing on his account, and one of his sisters who had power of attorney over the account, had notified Social Security. The lack of activity could mean only one thing: He was dead. Private investigators had tried in vain to find him. These same investigators then tried to track down all the John Doe deaths in Illinois and the surrounding states to see if any of these unidentified men might have been Mark. No luck.

So it was decided to have a memorial service. The words and some old photos were put in a book: "We gather today as a family to celebrate the life of Mark Wehking, our son, our brother, our brother-in-law, and our uncle. Some of us knew him well. Some of us knew him not at all. But as time passes without seeing Mark, we all realize how little we really know the innermost secrets of those we love." At the time of the service, Mark's secret was this: He was living on the streets in St. Louis.

Mark was born in July 1957. He had a middle-class upbringing in Peoria Ill., where his father was a supervisor at the Caterpillar plant. Mark was an honor roll student and an exceptional athlete. In high school, he was a star on the basketball, baseball, and track and field teams. He was popular and easygoing. He was the first member of his family to attend college. He did fine in his first semester. The demons showed up early in his second semester.

That was the start of a long descent. Mark was 19. "It became a series of disturbing situations," said his brother, Mike. "We didn't understand what was happening. It was like a dream crumbling. He had always been so phenomenal at everything." He was soon homeless, but sporadically in touch. He was in and out of trouble, generally minor. Finally, contact stopped. That was about 1994.

About four years ago, Community Alternatives' ROADS Caseworker Don Shipp began working with Mark. Or trying to, anyway. Mark did not want help. Gradually, though, Shipp won Mark's faith. Mark would sometimes come to the agency's office on Chouteau Avenue after walking through a cold night. He'd soak his feet for hours. Shipp got him back on Social Security disability, and then last November, he got him a room at the Mark Twain hotel downtown. It was weeks before Mark spent a night in his room. Even now, he doesn't sleep in the bed.

Meanwhile, his family had moved to California. About a month ago, something akin to a miracle occurred. Wes and Diane have a cabin in the small town of Julian, Calif. Wes went to the cabin and turned on the answering machine. There were three messages. All were from a county jail. "This is a collect call from a county jail. Press one to accept." That is the way Wes remembered the calls. He erased the messages but told the rest of the family about them at Thanksgiving.

"It must be Mark!" everybody thought. It wasn't. Mark has not been locked up in more than a year.

But suddenly there was new hope. Collette's husband, Greg, called his mother in Peoria and asked her to check with the county jail there. No luck. Then Greg started writing e-mails, one to the Missouri Department of Corrections, and he soon received a reply that there had been some kind of bond hearing in St. Louis in 1999.

Collette looked up services for the homeless in St. Louis. She got about 40 names and started making calls. She spoke with Pamela Smith at the Department of Human Services, and Smith was kind and helpful. She suggested calling Tom Price at St. Patrick Center. Collette did. She introduced herself and said she was looking for her long-lost brother. "What's his name?" Price asked. Collette told him.

"I saw Mark yesterday," said Price. He referred Collette to Shipp. She passed the news to the rest of the family. Mike was the first to speak to Mark. "He was absolutely outstanding," Mike said. "We spoke for more than an hour. He had three or four loose associations and the rest was clear as a bell."

I spoke with Mark on Friday. He had had a couple of drinks, and he drifted into his own world as we talked. It was not easy keeping up with him. But yet, he was happy to be back in touch with his family. "They care," he said. Today, for the first time in many years, he expects to talk to everybody.

The ROADS Team meets Mark's family for the first time. Seated left to right: Julie Blanco, ACT Program Manager; Tom Price of St. Patrick's Center; Mark Wehking; Erica Stacy, Vincentian Intern/Volunteer.

Standing left to right: Collette Wehking; Carol Wehking; Don Shipp, ROADS' Case Manager Supervisor.

This story was included in the Summer 2006 issue of Community Alternatives Commentary.