The Kindess of Strangers

SOUTH FLORIDA, U.S.A.

Kindness of stranger reunites Georgia family in S. Fla.

BY NICHOLAS SPANGLER

Posted on Mon, Apr. 24, 2006

Momma said she was going to leave and one day she did. She walked out of the house in Rome, Ga., saying nothing in particular to anyone, carrying nothing, and vanished. She left five children, ranging in age from 10 to 23.

Weeks went by, then months. A private investigator traced her as far as the airport in Chattanooga, Tenn., but she never bought a ticket. The family printed fliers and posted them all over the South. There was a flurry of hopeful phone calls from New Orleans, Jacksonville, Atlanta and Washington that came to nothing. Every so often, the phone rang but there was only silence on the other end. The daughters wondered if it was her: ``Momma, if this is you, say something! Please say something!'' But there was no answer. The line went dead.

For seven years, Janice Wood was lost to everyone who had ever known her -- until, two weeks ago, a stranger named Philicia Moore reached out and pulled her back.

It was near midnight when Philicia turned her big silver Hyundai onto 41st Street in Miami Beach, bound for Burger King. But when she saw Janice sitting at the Pine Tree Drive corner, she decided to stop. Janice was wearing a flowing gown and a scarf tied around her head like a Bedouin kaffiyeh. She had a shopping cart full of books and clothes and children's drinking straws in multiple colors.

You've seen her -- or someone like her -- before. There were, at last count, 218 homeless people in Miami Beach, said Maria Ruiz, division director for the city's Office of Community Services. Most have been on the streets for more than a year, and most of the people in this category -- the so-called chronic homeless -- are mentally ill or drug-addicted. You roll up your window when you see them. Philicia rolled hers down.

''Excuse me,'' she said. ``I was wondering if you wanted something to eat?''

Janice looked around -- a little startled, as if she weren't used to being spoken to. But she was hungry.

Philicia drove to Burger King and returned with Whopper Juniors, apple pies and iced tea. She invited Janice into her car to eat. There was nothing very strange about this for Philicia. She chats with everyone, gives a couple dollars to anyone who asks, believes fervently in astrology and had just met a fellow Sagittarius.

But it must have been strange for Janice. Life in Miami Beach had taught her not to expect much. ''Here, everything I went after, people would turn me down,'' she said. ``I guess 'cause it's a place with a lot of people moving through. But Philicia -- there was something different about her.''

And Janice must have noticed, as soon as she got in the car, that Philicia was a dwarf: four-feet, four-inches tall, driving with special attachments on the gas pedal and brake. She's an actress, and for a while she had a good thing going on the talk shows. Sally Jessy Raphael had her on a show devoted to ''Little People Looking for Love;'' Maury Povich invited her and her first husband, who stood well above six feet, to discuss relationship problems stemming from size differences.

Janice ate her food slowly and delicately -- ladylike, Philicia thought -- and answered Philicia's questions.

Janice said she was 49. She had five children back in Rome. She'd come to Miami by Greyhound a while, maybe years ago. She used to stay around 72nd Street on Miami Beach. Now she stayed around Indian Creek. She bathed and washed her clothes in the water. Sometimes she turned in cans to make money; sometimes she ate at churches. She'd been jailed for stealing. Sometimes she'd hang out at the McDonald's on 71st, or outside the Publix on 68th. But mostly she slept during the day and came out at night: fewer people, less heat, less trouble.

''I'm tired of being out here,'' Janice said.

''Well, if you could ever see your kids again, would you want to?'' Philicia asked.

``Yeah. But if I ever see my family again, it will be unexpected.''

It was now past 1 a.m. Philicia gave Janice $20 and her phone number.

Philicia went home, to North Miami Beach, but she couldn't go to sleep. What did that mean, unexpected?

Philicia does not believe in coincidences. Something unexpected was going to happen, all right. She dialed information and asked for all the listings for ''Wood'' in Rome.

''Janice! Oh my god, you found Janice!'' said the woman who answered the second number she dialed. She turned out to be Sheena, Janice's cousin. Information was exchanged, and photographs were e-mailed: It really was Janice.

But the Wood family had problems. They often didn't get along and sometimes went stretches without speaking to each other. Corey, one of Janice's sons, had been sentenced to prison for murder after his mother left.

Getting down to Miami was going to be expensive, and the Woods didn't have much money. If they got down here, could they find Janice? Would she come back with them?

They rented a minivan and drove 16 hours down, arriving sweaty, tired and nervous last Wednesday: daughters Tamaera and Tiffany, son Tavaris, sister Patricia and niece Tarika. Another son, Thomas, didn't make the trip; neither did Corey, serving life in prison plus five years.

They met Philicia in the same Burger King parking lot where Philicia had befriended Janice. Hugs were exchanged.

Life with Janice hadn't always been easy, her children said. She moved around a lot, staying in some of the poorest neighborhoods in Rome.

Tamaera, 30, thought her mother might have become mentally ill. ''There were some signs of schizophrenia,'' she said. ''She thought there were people trying to get her. She was crossed three ways by three different people.'' She thought a practitioner of folk magic -- a ''rooted person'' -- had put a hex on her.

But there were good memories, too. Tamaera remembered Janice's cooking on Thanksgiving and Christmas, everybody stuffing themselves with collard greens, catfish and peach cobbler.

''Her house was immaculate,'' said Tiffany, 27. ``She'd mop the floor till it was fitting to be filed down.''

''She'd play basketball with me,'' said Tavaris, 17. ``She taught me how to play.''

For most of those seven years, they thought their mother must have been dead -- why else had she stayed away?

Nobody was mad now. The children just wanted to see their mother again. But, as they drove down street after street, their mood started to turn. Janice wasn't anywhere. Philicia said she hadn't seen her in days and that Janice had never called her.

''I hope she ain't left,'' Tamaera said. ``Or what if, you know, she don't want to be found?''

''I'm not no magician,'' Philicia said. ``I can't just make her appear. Patience is the only thing, right now.''

Hours passed and the search continued.

''She told me she was going to leave,'' said Tavaris. ''I didn't believe her.'' It might have been the second time he opened his mouth all day.

Philicia was driving south on Alton Road and turned onto 41st Street. In the back seat, Tavaris said he could

remember, seven years ago, walking over to his grandmother's house and asking if she'd seen his mother.

He finished saying that and then ``There!''

Janice was walking east on 41st Street. She was pushing her cart and there was a man walking with her.

Philicia pulled onto a side street. ''Oh God, Oh God, that my Momma,'' Tiffany said.

Philicia braked hard at the curb and the Woods spilled out of the car.

They yelled ''Momma!'' There was a moment's lag before she realized who they were.

The sisters were sobbing. They hugged their mother. Tavaris stood quiet and hugged them all. It was a Passover day, and bewildered Sephardic Jews stepped around them on the sidewalk.

Janice, too, looked bemused, as if she'd seen something pleasant but hard to comprehend.

''Say something, Momma, please,'' Tamaera said. ``Please say you'll come back. I'll take care of you. I'm sorry for all the bad stuff I did.''

''I didn't know where y'all lived at,'' was all Janice said. Then: ``Hush, hush.''

She said she'd been to church recently, and heard Corey, her son, talking to her. The other Woods said nothing about this.

They hugged their mother and Philicia and anyone else who was near. Philicia had everyone's phone numbers and addresses; everyone agreed they'd see each other again.

But now the Woods had a 16-hour drive ahead of them. Janice took a Bible and some mystery novels from her cart. Her friend, Wallace, said he'd take the rest to the dump.

He'd been standing off to the side through all this, smiling but quiet. He was losing a friend.

The Woods told him to stop by, if he ever made it up to Georgia, and when they pulled away he was just a strange man pushing a cart full of old clothes and silly straws down the street.