Lester Davis isn’t shy about telling the story of his 20-year addiction to crack cocaine, nor is he reluctant to give thanks to the people who helped him find love and redemption and a deeper, truer sense of connection with God. He spends much of his time these days working with men who struggle to conquer their addictions.
Journal reporter Annette Fuller wrote a terrific profile of Lester, tracing the tale of his long fall and slow, steady rise.
I was lucky enough to meet Lester for a little while at his mother’s former home on Rich Avenue. The house he and his brother turned into a drug haven, the house from which his sister eventually had him evicted. He was in a hurry; he’d gone right from his chef duties at the Marriott to a mentoring session at the Samaritan Ministries, and he’d promised to pick up his son from work. But he took time to show us bullet holes in the siding, indelible marks of a life lived on constant edge, and to exclaim over his mother’s rosebush, still thriving at the foot of the front steps.