We can fix this
In late 2012, Mr. Sims took a cab one Saturday to the AVLF’s free law clinic, seeking help for his bed-bug problem. His situation was so dire, Deputy Director Michael Lucas immediately thought of Jane.

She had a reputation for being an excellent lawyer, and he knew a bed-bug case wouldn’t make her flinch. Plus, she was the kind of attorney who not only provided legal assistance but would make home visits to ensure her clients’ basic needs were met.

The legal course for a bed-bug case often requires taking action against the landlord to cover the costs of moving a tenant into a new apartment. The cases are usually resolved within a matter of weeks.

Mr. Sims’ problems, however, were greater than just bed-bugs, and it would put Jane’s level of commitment to the test.

That first day at Mr. Sims bug-infested apartment, Jane carefully took notes as he listed his woes. In addition to the bugs, he had diabetes, which he was not equipped to monitor. He had been given a glucose testing kit, but he didn’t know how to use it; it was still in the box. His ID card had expired, and he had misplaced his birth certificate. He was getting harassing debt collection calls over a $30 clock he’d bought years ago. Getting by on a monthly Social Security check of $900, he didn’t have a bank account and paid his bills in cash or with money orders obtained from a nearby gas station.

Mr. Sims needed a lot more than a new place to live.

“I just thought, we can fix these things,” said Jane. “They are all fixable.”

Alone and in need
Mr. Sims was born in 1925 on a cotton farm in Valdosta to a single mom. He never met his father. He stopped going to school when he was 7 to work on the farm.

In the 1950s, he moved to East Point and worked in a bakery for nearly 18 years, missing only one day of work. When he was 50, he married his wife Carol, who was 26 years younger.

A die-hard Atlanta Braves fan, Mr. Sims turned Carol into one, too, and together they watched every game on TV. They also sewed pillows together and sold them at yard sales for extra cash. Carol suffered from diabetes so severely, she had both her legs amputated. Mr. Sims became her caretaker. When she was hospitalized for months at a time, he never left her side, even sleeping in a recliner next to her bed. She died in 1994. She was only 43.
Soon after, Mr. Sims suffered a minor stroke, which triggered severe stuttering. His face quivers as he strains to say just a couple words at a time.

Mr. Sims had no living blood relatives. The only family left was Carol’s sister, who lived about an hour away in Griffin and called Mr. Sims every night at 8:30 p.m. to check on him. His few friends included a kind nurse who helped from time-to-time, a friendly cabbie he paid (at a deeply discounted rate) to get around town and a fellow tenant, whom he met occasionally for barbecue. Before he met Jane, the only regular face-to-face contact he had with another human being was a home health aide, covered by Medicaid, who gave him his twice weekly bath.

Jane reached out to Mr. Sims’ landlord and learned he had taken measures to try to eliminate the bugs, including buying Mr. Sims a new recliner and mattress. But she knew eradicating the bed bugs would require Mr. Sims to move out for at least a couple weeks.

Even without the bed bugs, Jane wanted to find Mr. Sims a nicer place to live. She called several places in East Point, but one after another either had waiting lists of a year or longer or did not accept Section 8 housing vouchers. But in a lucky coincidence, when Jane called one well-maintained apartment building for seniors, she learned Mr. Sims was already on the waiting list thanks to the nurse. A one-bedroom apartment with cream-colored walls and new appliances was opening up in just a couple months. Mr. Sims would be able to transfer his Section 8 voucher to help cover the costs. His portion would remain the same at $160 a month.

Gingerly, she broke the news to Mr. Sims that he would have to leave almost everything behind — his bed, chair, furniture and pots and pans.

Mr. Sims grew quiet.

I can help you. We will do this together, said Jane.

His eyes scanned the dreary apartment, then he sighed and looked at Jane.

OK...I...can...do...this, he said.

For three consecutive weekends, Jane and Mr. Sims sorted through his possessions. His most prized belongings — his marriage certificate, family photographs, old vinyl records and a rubber fish that sings “Don’t Worry Be Happy” — were put into a large plastic container to be stored outdoors over the winter to kill any remaining bugs.

Meanwhile, Jane put a callout on Facebook asking for donations of furniture, a microwave, clothing, plates, sheets, even a leather belt, socks and shoes to help give Mr. Sims a fresh start.

Photo: A lifelong Braves fan, Mr. Sims had never seen a game in person until Jane, along with her fiancee Kelli Moore and seven friends, took him to see one for his 90th birthday. Contributed by Jane Warring

‘He needs us’
Every other Saturday, Jane and her fiancée, Kelli Moore, take Mr. Sims grocery shopping. A man of habit, he scoots up and down the same aisles and pauses to slowly read the labels of the same foods he buys nearly every time: grits, eight loaves of white bread, canned vegetables, bananas, four gallons of milk, a package of chocolate-covered Twinkies.

Sometimes Jane and Kelli help Mr. Sims shop or flip through magazines and wait. Sometimes Jane rummages through the sales bins. Once she bought a bunch of plastic dinosaurs for a craft project.

One day in early February 2013, Mr. Sims deviated from his usual path to stop by the card aisle. He picked up a Valentine’s Day card and began to read it. He encouraged Jane to do the same, and then he placed two cards in his cart.

Before Jane left that day, he gave her one of the cards with a big red heart on the front. “From Leon to You,” he wrote. He handed her the second card to give to her mother on his behalf. “From Leon to Mom,” it said.

Neither remembers exactly when it started, but one day after going grocery shopping, Mr. Sims extended his arms to hug Jane.

Give me some sugar, he said.

A goodbye embrace is now part of their regular routine.
Jane admits there are times when helping Mr. Sims puts stress on her home life.

One recent Sunday, Jane arrived at Mr. Sims’ apartment feeling distracted and tense.

She’d had a long week at work and was on the go all weekend with errands and preparing for an out-of-town deposition. She had planned to visit Mr. Sims and take him shopping Saturday so she and Kelli could have some alone time Sunday before Jane left town, but it didn’t work out.

“There were definitely some groans as we realized time had gotten away from us that weekend and we hadn’t made any time for ourselves,” Jane said.

Maybe we could ask a friend to take Mr. Sims shopping, Jane suggested to Kelli.

It’s OK, said Kelli. We’ll be together, which is what matters today, and he needs us.

When they arrived at Mr. Sims’ door, he was ready to go and eagerly slipping out of his brown slippers and into his black sneakers.

Despite her frustration, she was glad they’d come.

For Mr. Sims’ 90th birthday, Jane and some friends wanted to do something special to mark the occasion, so they surprised him with tickets to see his beloved Braves in action.

When someone mentioned to a Braves employee they were celebrating Mr. Sims’ 90th birthday, the whole group was moved to prime seats behind third base.

When’s the last time you saw a game in person, Jane asked Mr. Sims.

I never have, he answered as he nibbled on a hot dog.

The Braves were not at their best that night. Down 0-7 in the bottom of the 7th inning against the Miami Marlins, fans started peeling away early.

I don’t know, Mr. Sims, do you think we can turn this around? asked Jane.

Mr. Sims laughed.

I still like watching, he said, grinning.

While the stadium emptied out early, Mr. Sims and his friends stayed until the very last pitch.