Slain Bridgeport Handyman Left Behind A Legacy Of Giving

CHICAGO — A stray bullet crashed through the window of a 1985 Lincoln Continental near 31st and Halsted on Tuesday night, taking the life of a modest Bridgeport handyman who loved helping neighborhood folks.

Alva Besst salvaged plywood to patch a busted church window. He turned wrenches to repair a pal's clothes dryer. And more times than anyone could count, Besst delivered food to hungry neighbors in the brown Lincoln he inherited from his late sister.

But mostly, he donated his time, whenever someone needed it.

Sometimes, they didn't even have to ask.

"Al was always trying to find people to help them. He kept an eye out for the homeless folks who live under the viaduct at Loomis Street," Besst's friend Andrew Mack said. "He didn't have a lot of money, but he had a real good heart. He loved working and had a real compassion for people who were low-income."

After all, Besst, 68, was one of them. Bridgeport born and raised.

Since the 1980s, Besst lived on Hillock Avenue in the section of Bridgeport that locals call "The Landing," tucked between the Chicago River's south branch and Archer Avenue near the homeless encampment.

The youngest son of a truck driver and a stay-at-home mom, Besst graduated from Holy Name Cathedral High School. He learned how to fix things at Washburne Trade School, and for the rest of his life he made a living — and an impact on people he met — doing just that.

"Uncle could fix anything," Besst's niece Linda O'Dette said. "And he was always fixing something for somebody. He was a fixer, a handyman, however you want to phrase it. He tried to help anybody, anyway he could. He was a damn good guy who went away too soon."

Like a lot of neighborhood folks, Mack met Besst while volunteering at God's Closet, a community thrift and kitchen run by First Lutheran Church of the Trinity parishioners that became something of an extended family.

Besst didn't have an easy life. He was hit by a bus and seriously injured as a young man. He helped care for his late sister. He made ends meet clearing out dilapidated houses and moonlighting as an alley scrap-metal hawk, friends and family said.

"He had a lot of setbacks and struggles in life, but he was an optimistic person, I think," Mack said. "He was always looking for ways to help the community. People who needed clothes. People who needed food. He was worried about these people all the time, and he did all that he could to make the world a better place for people who don't have all the advantages that a lot of us do."

Besst found a collection of kindred spirits at God's Closet.

"At our church, we feed you no matter how you hunger. Imagine the kind of community we grew — the mentally ill, people without homes and the working poor. All these misfits that don't fit in, fit in there. And Al was there," Besst's friend Erika Hobbs said. "He believed in the ethic and ethos and giving back, probably because someone gave to him. It's what we believe, and that's how he lived."

Besst also had strong opinions about, well, a lot of things. And he wasn't shy about sharing his thoughts to your face. Outwardly, Besst exuded a crotchety nature known to be indigenous to some of his Bridgeport contemporaries. But, once you got to know him, those traits did not define him, his friends said.

"He was one of those cranky old men who was actually was very kind and sensitive. He had a weird relationship with his girlfriend Irene where you could never be sure if they liked each other," said Besst's pal, Renee Paquin. "When she passed away, you could tell how much he loved her. I had never seen someone more heartbroken."

For years, Besst was a fixture at God's Closet. But for the longest time, he resisted joining the Lutheran congregation. He was raised Catholic, after all.

"After his girlfriend Irene died, Al kind of dug into the community. He didn't have many other people in his life," Paquin said. "He decided we were his people and became part of the whole scene."

Besst joined the church, served on the board and, on Sundays, volunteered as an usher and to help with communion, acts of service and responsibility he relished.

Pastor Nic Peñaranda told me of the first time she met Besst. He introduced himself the "pastor's assistant."

"It was very charming. He was very eager to learn and always wanted to do things right," she said. "He told me, 'I don't have much, but I'm handy. I can drive.' He always wanted to give us his time."

Family and friends said they weren't sure where Besst was headed Tuesday night. But it's a safe bet, Paquin said, he was in the process of doing someone a favor. "He was a guy who was constantly doing things for people," she said.

After news circulated that Besst was shot and killed as he drove near a pocket of low-income housing apartments, his friends noticed that some folks had started to cheer for a social media call to "get rid of the projects" in his name.

Pastor Peñaranda said she doesn't think that's a call to action Besst would get behind.

"What happened is unfortunate. It's disgusting. It's indignant what happened to Al. He didn't deserve that. But that's not a reflection of that particular part of our community. I truly believe that crime and violence are all symptoms of the lack of resources that we're getting. And I don't think Al would say shut down the projects because of this," she said.

"Al would say, 'Someone should knock some sense into who ever did this.' He would be angry and frustrated … but those are our community members, regardless. … People who live there attend our church and benefit from our services. On Election Day, Al came with us dropping off boxes of food to people who live there."

The tragedy of Besst's death shouldn't overshadow the legacy of how he showed people love, Mack said.

"Al was a peaceful guy who abhorred all the violence we see in Chicago, and he wanted to find ways to stop that just like the rest of us by being an active community member," he said.

"Getting to know people is one of the ways to combat violence, not by pushing people away but by bringing them in."

First Lutheran Church of the Trinity has launched a GoFundMe page to raise money for Alva Besst's funeral expenses.