Gates of Love Open at St. Peter's Church

Born and raised in Northwest Washington and the only child in an immigrant Greek Orthodox family, Lascaris said he was drafted into the Army and served in Vietnam.

When he returned home, he worked briefly as a bike messenger for a printing company, the result of an ultimatum that his family issued because he was unemployed and living with his mother. She fell ill with multiple sclerosis and died in 1977.

Before she died, Lascaris had struggled to hold down a job. Worried about the effects of the war, family members suggested that he go to a veterans hospital "to get myself checked out." Lascaris said he stayed for about a year, and then went to live in one of the city's single-room-occupancy hotels, which were prevalent at the time. When his savings ran out, he said, he "hit the streets," leading to what he describes as a grand adventure.

He made friends -- "walking buddies, as he called the people he hung out with during the day. He frequented free movies and museums on the Mall. He had plenty of offers of money from strangers, but he turned them down. "I lived off the richness of the tourists and the visitors of the nation's capital," he said. "You'd be surprised at the things that people throw away."

Including telescopes. Nancy Hartnagel, a St. Peter's parishioner since 1976, said Lascaris brought his expertise on the night sky to church members by holding "astronomy parties" behind the rectory. He brought telescopes he had salvaged or found and pointed out the moons around Jupiter and Saturn's rings to wide-eyed Boy Scouts and their parents.

Lascaris also inspired the church's bagged lunch program 20 years ago. Hartnagel remembered seeing Lascaris at the Sunday social hour and getting to know him over time. He told her that the homeless needed meals on the weekends because the main soup kitchens were closed.

Hartnagel and Lascaris met with other church members, and they recruited four other churches on Capitol Hill to the program. Parishioners at the churches bring bagged lunches on Sundays, and volunteers distribute them to homeless people in a park on Capitol Hill.

Lascaris was glad for the kindness of the St. Peter's parishioners over the years, but his independent spirit -- and stubbornness, some would say -- prevented him from accepting more charity. But when word spread of the assault, the church could finally take action.

A plea went out for clothing donations, in case he needed items to wear, and church members tapped their connections to see about getting Lascaris into social services programs. "I don't think it would be a stretch to say he's beloved by the parish," Hartnagel said.

Lascaris said that even before the attack, he had decided it might be time for a change. He now has a caseworker who is encouraging him to get a District identification card and to apply for veterans benefits. There's talk by the caseworker of getting him into housing.

But Lascaris said he thinks it could be isolating to be in a place by himself. Plus, the thought of all that paperwork unnerves him.

"I've been free of all structural and social entrapment for 30 years," he said. "I have some deciding to do."