It wasn’t much

It wasn’t much, but quirky street character shared what he had

William Kaempffer
New Haven Register
11/09/2006

-NEW HAVEN — By conventional standards, Real "Frenchy" Nadeau lived a sad life and died a poor man.
He was homeless for much of the last two decades and had embraced his alcoholism. He spent his days and evenings pushing a shopping cart around downtown, collecting bottles and cans for the 5-cent deposits.

He liked his vodka, usually to his detriment.

But for people who knew him, Frenchy’s value can’t be measured in material possessions. When you have nothing, they say, accomplishment can be measured even in the smallest increments.

"The only thing that helps me with his death is that he died at home with dignity," said Kimberly Hughes, clinical director at Liberty Community Services, which provides affordable housing for the homeless.

An outreach worker coaxed Frenchy, 49, off the streets last year and he then lived in a small efficiency on the third floor at Liberty Safe Haven on State Street.

"He was appreciative of everything that was given to him and wanted to give back. I think that’s the thing that stood out the most," Hughes said. "He will be greatly missed. He stood out. He definitely stood out."

Frenchy hardly was part of the invisible masses that can define the homeless. He was an institution downtown, patrolling its streets and alleys for more than 20 years. He spoke fluent French, his sister said, but there wasn’t much need for it on the street.

Nadeau was so recognizable that local artist Leslie Kuo included him in a set of 60 collectable cards featuring characters of New Haven.

"Everyone knew Frenchy. He was around for years," said George Koutroumanis, co-owner of Yorkside Pizza, 288 York St. "His growl was bigger than his bite. He’s been around 15 years that I remember, pushing the cart, picking up the cans, bottles, trying to make ends meet."

Frenchy died last Wednesday in his room. After so many years on the street, Hughes and other workers took comfort that he died with a roof over his head instead of under a bridge or on a park bench. While the medical examiner said the cause of death is still pending, the belief around the Police Department and Liberty Safe Haven is that his body, beaten down by a hard life, finally gave up.

A memorial service held Wednesday at Liberty Safe Haven drew about 60 friends — some homeless, others merchants, professionals and advocates — to pay tribute and share stories.

Sgt. Marty Tchakirides, the downtown district manager and 11-year veteran, met Frenchy as a rookie. When Frenchy lived on the street, Tchakirides would sometimes seek him out to give him an old coat or pair of socks.

Last Wednesday, Tchakirides came in from home when he learned of Frenchy’s death.

"I felt I needed to see him, because I liked him," Tchakirides said. "I wanted to see him off. I didn’t want just strangers there."

Nadeau’s family is French Canadian, but he grew up in Matawaska, Maine, a small paper mill town on the Canadian border. He and his siblings came to Connecticut because they heard the job market was better. His sister landed in Bristol. Frenchy ended up here and has been on the streets since, according to sister Doris Livotte.

He was married once and had a child, but drinking got in the way, she said. Frenchy was the third brother she lost to alcoholism.

Livotte last saw him on Christmas 2004. In May 2005, she came to tell him of her son’s death, but couldn’t find him. She tracked him to the Hospital of Saint Raphael, but discovered he had been discharged a short time earlier. One of his street friends, whom she knew only as Bodyguard, checked at the soup kitchen for her and said he’d heard Frenchy got a place but didn’t know where. She left without finding him.

Last week, Hughes tracked down Livotte from paperwork Nadeau filled out when he moved in.

According to Hughes, Frenchy had this uncommon quality: While he had nothing, he often would reach into his wallet and pull out $5 he made from his cans or odd jobs to contribute to a planned brunch. He would help with prep work and cleanup.

His friends on the street said he was equally generous with his bottle.

Like many homeless people, Frenchy never grew completely comfortable with life inside. The streets were his home. There’s a level of claustrophobia.

Yet, Frenchy was one of the first residents at Liberty Safe Haven, which opened in 2005. It has 33 efficiencies and residents pay 30 percent of their income, Hughes said. Sometimes 30 percent of nothing is nothing.

Everyone knew of Frenchy’s drinking, but the staff doesn’t try to fix residents, just to help them help themselves.

"All they have to do is come in with the clothes on their back and if they don’t have clothes, we provide them, " Hughes said. "Most of them come from out on the street, under bridges, in a tent city at one point, on the Green."