Wolsak and Wynn Publishers
Margaret Jacobson was the oldest and only girl of four in a Canadian Pentecostal missionary family ministering in Barbados and Antigua during the forties and fifties. Margaret loved fashion, art, baking and playing ‘jacks’ with her three younger brothers while adhering to her parents’ strict Christian upbringing – a regular teenager. And then, around the time of the family’s return to Canada, the darkness of mental illness began to cloud Margaret’s mind, leading her to life and ultimately death, at age 51, on the streets of Hamilton.
But, dear reader, don’t turn away, for this is a book we all need to read.
Margaret’s tale has no ‘storybook’ ending. Still, despite the brutal reality of her life, you cheer on her indomitable spirit and delight in the humour and humanity that shines through her mental illness. This book also compels us to view those grubby huddled figures sleeping in a doorway with fresh – and dare I say it – more understanding eyes; men and women fallen on hard times but with their own life stories, just like the rest of us.
Through this skilful telling of Her Name was Margaret, the author also forces wide open a much-needed window on what today has become the taboo of homelessness.
So, how did this woman’s life go so wrong? Can her well-intentioned but censorious family be blamed? How come the ‘system’ failed her at every turn, despite countless efforts by doctors, health care workers, and those who reached out a helping hand again and again? Was her descent into homelessness the inevitable result of Canada’s policy of closing psychiatric hospitals, thus leaving vulnerable people in the lurch?
Davy leads us by the hand through Margaret’s tumultuous journey from a childhood in the Caribbean to her first meeting with Margaret in a Hamilton shelter one cold winter’s night and finally to the 20th anniversary of Margaret’s death in a memorial service in Woodland Cemetery.
The mystery of how Margaret ended up on the streets lay buried among countless medical files, reports, her diary and her family’s cooperation. Davy plumbed these complex clues to tell not just Margaret’s story but introduce us to the frustrations of the medical and healthcare community as they do their best to combat the growing scourge of homelessness in our so-fortunate country. We also understand the complex and very understandable reasons why a night on a park bench is preferable to a crowded shelter. And thanks to Davy’s impeccable research and journalistic rigour, we are introduced to cities and countries where a way out of the dark stain of homelessness has been tried and is succeeding; there is a solution if only we as a society will commit to it.
There are surely countless books, theses and reports about homelessness, its scourge and what to do about it. Her Name was Margaret puts a face – careworn and prematurely aged, to be sure – to this complicated problem in our and others’ societies and, in so doing, not only captures our attention but provides us with fresh insight.
Disclaimer: I have known the author for many years as a friend and colleague in the Hamilton Spectator newsroom. Denise is smart, savvy and always compassionate. Our good fortune is that this lifelong journalist combines those traits with her desire to shine a light on those slipping through the cracks of our society and present their stories in clear prose for the rest of us to ‘get.’
