Even hepatitis C can't stop Steve Kersker, who lends his voice to yet another cause.
By JON WILSON
Published June 8, 2003
ST. PETERSBURG - Sixteen months ago, Steve Kersker disclosed that he had hepatitis C, a serious disease that can kill if not treated.
"You go, "I'm going to die. I'll be dead in a couple of weeks,"' said Kersker, 52, widely known as an advocate for the homeless, the mentally ill and now, people coping with the ailment that so frightened him.
Kersker's first, panicky prediction missed by a mile.
Quite chipper, the irrepressible agitator, rally organizer and e-mail champion continues to carry his causes' battle flags into wider arenas.
A few days ago, he attended a reception at Gov. Jeb Bush's Tallahassee mansion. Earlier, Kersker had marshaled a demonstration outside the manse - to express appreciation for the administration.
The positive spin took officials by surprise. Kersker was able to chat up the governor about getting an appointment to discuss hepatitis C. Arrangements are in the pipeline, Kersker said.
He also has been to U.S. Rep. C.W. Bill Young's office. He praises the congressman for helping to put hepatitis "on the map."
He doesn't mind waiting to see officials or their aides. Sometimes he'll sit on the floor, assuming yoga's cross-legged lotus position.
"It makes people say, "Okay, this might be an unusual person to talk to,"' Kersker said.
But being on the go takes a toll, Kersker admits. Chemotherapy and cirrhosis drag down his stamina, he said. Thirty years ago, the muscular former football star could bench press 455 pounds. Now he works with half that weight.
He is cutting his schedule, dumping some conferences he had planned to attend. He'll also reduce his e-mail activity, which he said amounts to thousands of messages sent daily through bulk accounts. He tries to respond to many.
"I will seek a better pace," he said, while concentrating on immediate goals.
They include seeking state-supported hepatitis treatment, a cause he hopes will move along after he talks with Bush.
On the federal level, he would like congressional hearings to raise awareness of hepatitis, which he sees as a first step to win money for treatment.
He also hopes to coordinate an appreciation rally for the staff at the VA Medical Center at Bay Pines.
Kersker has battled mental illness for years. He abused drugs until about 1987. He spent time in a mental hospital. He credits religion and the Boley drug treatment program for helping give him a new life. He says he is married to God.
When he learned he had hepatitis, he wanted a new liver - right away. Veterans Affairs officials told him he first had to have treatment. He didn't like the thought of waiting. Eventually, he changed his views.
"You find out there are treatments that work. You live. You have to adapt, so you do. Then you find out you can have a new life. It worked out much better than I thought, and it does for everyone else, too."
One of the themes he thrives on is that regardless of ailments, he has a rewarding life.
He recommends going to support groups.
"I did and found all these other people still alive. You learn how to deal with the illness by watching all these other people and how they live with it."
Kersker leads such a group in Tampa.
While reducing his schedule in some areas to concentrate on hepatitis issues, Kersker said he won't give up the work he is known for in St. Petersburg, which includes duty with a homeless task force, coordinating and helping serve meals at St. Vincent de Paul's food center, and working with drop-in centers. He is director of the Florida Drop-In Center Association.
Kersker plunged into his advocacy role 13 years ago, focusing on local issues but sometimes venturing to higher government levels.
The lessons he learned were hard, and sometimes funny.
He said a recent conversation with Lt. Gov. Toni Jennings recalled an episode years ago in which Kersker was ready to picket a state Senate hearing Jennings was attending.
Kersker and a friend were walking to the venue, carrying posters under their arms. Security people took them to a room for questioning. They wondered what the posters said.
Kersker held them up. They were blank.
"We were so excited about this hearing that we forgot to write on them," Kersker recalled.
The security force let them attend the hearing, where legislators enjoyed a chortle.
"I've grown as an activist," Kersker said.
Where once he might have had a pit bull persona, he prefers to be thought of as a beagle, which he said is how an acquaintance described him.
"A beagle bites and doesn't leave teeth marks," he said.
