Inside Nook n’ Crannie, a second-hand store tucked within an array of restaurants, boutiques and real estate agencies on Vernon Boulevard, you’ll find retro chandeliers and antique French cabinets; vintage radios and bronze sculpture, all of which had seemingly had its day, discarded in pieces on street corners or left to collect dust and mold in old estates.
“We take everything – the good and the bad – and we just process it all, recycle it,” explained David Tepper, a tall, blond 35-year-old, who was referring to the wares in his Long Island City and Astoria shops, but could have just as well been alluding to the formerly homeless, ex-alcoholics and ex-drug addicts whose determination and handiwork gives Nook n’ Crannie’s merchandise a second lot in life.
The sweat and natural talent of men like Mark Proper doesn’t just put old china or bedroom sets back into circulation, of course. The proceeds of their labor help keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies – trivialities surely taken for granted by many Nook n’ Crannie customers, yet simply beyond the reach of many of the shops’ employees before they met Tepper.
As executive director of Betel of America, the stateside arm of Christian non-profit Betel International, Tepper, an ordained minister, oversees a fulltime, peer-driven residential program aimed at helping the fallen get back on their feet.
“A lot of them have severe lengthy homeless problems, addiction problems, many have wrecked marriages, been in prison for multiple years,” said Tepper, the son of Betel’s founder, who has run its only American residence, in Astoria, for three years. “A lot of the guys have faced a variety of setbacks in life – maybe a DWI, a DUI, lost jobs, lost valuable relationships in life.”
In fact, Proper, 29, whose warm smile belies his difficult past, is the first to admit he is a different person now than when he arrived at Betel 14 months ago.
A former alcoholic with tattoos representing one friend who was killed and another behind bars, Proper, sitting on a couch recently in the common room of Betel’s 4th Street residence, held out a steady hand to show that his tremors have ceased.
However, two years ago, after spending six months on the streets of Virginia – and stealing so he’d end up in jail with a warm place to spend a winter night – Proper’s addiction landed him in the hospital, with an IV implanted in his arm and “terminal” written on his charts.
“This was the same person who had toured Japan playing baseball, who was into surfing and riding dirt bikes,” recalled Proper, who now, fittingly, is Nook n’ Crannie’s head of restoration. “My life had to change,” he admitted. “My way wasn’t working anymore.”
A wall in Betel’s common room bears a sign that says, “Expect a miracle.” And it’s just the type of place for miraculous change to take place – if, Tepper emphasized, those who walk through its doors are willing to learn from their past mistakes.
The main admission requirement, Tepper said, is the desire to change the course of your life. Yet, less than a quarter of the men who enter the program stay for the recommended year, with a “huge chunk” leaving after only two weeks to a month, according to Tepper.
Nevertheless, for those who stick with it, Betel becomes much more than just a place to sober up. Its program empowers participants – currently only men, though Tepper hopes to soon establish a female residence – transforming them over the course of the first six months from drug and alcohol abusers into “responsibles” who guide newcomers along the recovery process.
The peer-driven approach not only keeps costs down – the program is free to participants, who receive a weekly stipend of $20 after 12 months – but effectively utilizes empathy and trust to create bonds between people of diverse nationalities and backgrounds.
Veteran residents not only shadow new arrivals for the first 15 days – and venture out with them in twos thereafter – but teach them the skills that help keep Betel running.
Among the old hands, Bob Vutler is the patriarch. Fifteen years after trading in a Forest Park bench and his alcohol dependence for one of Betel’s 26 dorm-style bunks and its substance-free lifestyle, Vutler, originally from Brooklyn, is still a resident.
Soft-spoken and gray-haired, Vutler runs Betel’s kitchen and recently gave a testimonial in front of 1,500 people at Betel International’s Madrid headquarters.
His conversion, he said, is nothing short of a miracle. Moreover, he has no plans to leave Betel anytime soon, as there are always new addicts who need help.
“I would like, in the future, to find someone, to share someone’s life,” Vutler confessed with sad, penetrating eyes. However, he went on, eyebrows raised, “While I’m here I know I can be a help to people, be an example. Maybe they won’t go through the same thing.”
The road to redemption can be a slow one, though, as Vutler’s story shows. Much like the process of restoring a Victorian-era chest, the renewal of a human being takes a bit of varnish and a lot of time and care.
“We like to find value in things that appear to have no value, maybe to a casual observer, at first glance,” Tepper said, employing the double entendre that is native to his line of work.
Oftentimes, when Betel residents begin restoring an art deco cabinet that is missing a leg or a bronze sculpture that long ago lost its sheen, they don’t see the point, Tepper explained. “But after a bit of experience they can gather what the piece can be like if it’s fixed – and hopefully that can be like a metaphor for their own lives,” he said.
For more information or to donate, visit betel.org
