By Jill Nelson
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, January 27, 1990 ; Page B01
They buried homeless activist Big John Young last night, all 400 pounds of him. They brought him to his funeral in the battered van in which he roamed the city every night for two years, picking up homeless people and taking them to shelters.
And when the pallbearers, all homeless activists like Big John, had difficulty getting his plain gray casket out of the van, it was hard not to think of the hundreds of people Big John had patiently coaxed into it from the cold.
Last night there was grief and loss and the confusion that death brings etched on the faces of the 200 people who attended the funeral at the Community for Creative Non-Violence. But there was also the serenity that comes from having been touched and changed by someone truly special.
"When I first came here and saw John at the desk," said Darryl Wallace, 39, who came to CCNV seeking shelter and found a calling, "I thought, if they gotta have somebody that big on the desk, this place must be hell. He made me feel welcome; he told me it was all right to be homeless. Before I knew John, the picture I had in my head was of dirty derelicts and bag ladies.
"Knowing Big John, working with him, broadened my humanity more than I could ever imagine. He taught me that there's always a bright side, somewhere, for someone, and I can help them get there."
John L. Young, 30, was from Chicago and came to Washington to work for a cable company that later went bankrupt. In 1984 he found himself jobless, homeless and at the CCNV.
"John immediately developed a sense that we were trying to help people, and he just lit up," said Harold Moss, a staff member at CCNV for 14 years. "It was a little difficult, because John was white and most of the people in the community are black, but John overcame those barriers."
Moss was with Big John at CCNV when he collapsed three weeks ago. It was Moss who called the ambulance that took Young to Capitol Hill Hospital, where he died last Saturday of multiple organ failure.
Up until he collapsed, Young spent his nights prowling the city, inspecting shelters, transporting the homeless, trying to make the city provide shelter for all those who needed it.
"He was the one who moved people around in this city," said Lois Williams, a lawyer with Howrey and Simon, who along with John Nields worked pro bono in the courts for homeless people. Last year, attorneys for the homeless filed a class action suit against the city, the mayor and others to get them to provide shelter to single, homeless people.
"He became a folk hero in our trial," said Williams. "He appeared as a witness, filed affidavits, and became our eyes and ears on the street. He was very, very important in our being able to prove the facts in making our case."
D.C. Superior Court Judge Harriett Taylor named Young to monitor the conditions in city shelters and be a liaison between homeless people and city government. Mayor Barry appointed him to serve on his Commission for the Homeless.
Lawyer Steve Easley got to know Big John, a man he described as "the perfect witness," during the 15 months he worked on the suit against the city, a case he calls "John Young's case." Last night, the tears flowed steadily down Easley's face.
"I'm just thinking about how sad I am that a guy who's been a brother to me, to the homeless people, is gone. We've lost one of our best friends," said Easley.
Last night, Big John Young was buried by the homeless community in which he lived, worked and loved. At the service, lawyers hugged unemployed laborers, worn parkas mingled with expensive trenchcoats, black faces talked with white.
Darryl Wallace stood and sang George Benson's "The Greatest Love of All" a cappella.
If I should fail
If I succeed
At least I'll live as I believe.
No matter what they take from me They can't take away my dignity Because the greatest love of all is happening to me
I found the greatest love of all inside of me