A 'real live nobody'
He doesn't know where he's been and he doesn't know where he's going.
He has no name.
He doesn't know his birth date.
He has no home and no job.
He's been called a vagrant, a bum and John Doe.
He wishes he knew more to counter those accusations, but he can't remember anything.
He calls himself a "real live nobody."
So, he chose a name for himself - Benjaman Kyle - and he is attempting to start a new life. But without an identity, he has learned that's really hard to do.
"I try not to think too much about it because I find it really frustrating," Kyle said.
The only life he knows started shortly before 7 a.m. Aug. 31, 2004, when a former Burger King manager found Kyle lying next to a Dumpster behind the restaurant on U.S. 17 in Richmond Hill, according to a police report.
Kyle was naked and unresponsive. He was sunburned and covered in bites from fire ants, according to paramedics' reports.
The fast-food manager called police, who labeled the man with no name a "bum" and sent him off in an ambulance, the report stated.
Paramedics took Kyle to St. Joseph's Hospital.
Officers found no clothes, wallet or anything to identify the man. Police told Kyle they found no signs of a crime, but Kyle believes he was mugged.
According to the paramedics' reports, three depressions showed on the right side of Kyle's head, which could have come from blows delivered with a blunt object. The report also indicated Kyle was unconscious but breathing when he was found, and that he was sweaty. Prolonged exposure to the sun had left him blinded.
Paramedics also noted signs of possible neurological problems.
'BK Unknown'
Two weeks later, Kyle was transferred to Memorial Health University Medical Center. He was semiconscious, records show.
At that time, he could tell doctors he was thirsty, that his back hurt and that he couldn't see. But he could not tell them the one thing they wanted to hear: who he was.
"When I looked in the mirror, I could not believe how gray my hair was and how old I was," Kyle said. "There's a bunch of years missing, and I don't know what happened."
During his hospitalization, doctors, nurses and police officers offered their own names for him: Burger King Doe, BK Unknown and other variations on the burger establishment's name.
Doctors assumed the amnesia was temporary and a result of stress. They had no idea it would still be a problem three years later.
During the past three years, Kyle has gone in and out of different hospitals, long-term care facilities and shelters.
In November 2004, he was taken to the J.C. Lewis Health Center, where his story became legendary, he said. Nurses and other patients would quiz him in an attempt to ignite a memory.
They never succeeded, he said.
While at J.C. Lewis, Kyle's physical injuries healed. The fire-ant bites went away, and his back grew stronger. His blindness, which doctors diagnosed as bad cataracts, was repaired by donated surgery.
Kyle achieved such good health that he started to work at the medical center. He did building maintenance, changed beds and helped with patients.
He worked for a year and a half as a residence manager, but he was never paid, Kyle said.
The Rev. Micheal Elliott, president of Union Mission Inc., said Kyle's recompense was free shelter, free food and free medical assistance.
"Because we couldn't establish his identity, I could only pay him illegally without a Social Security number," Elliott said. "We found ourselves in a moral dilemma. We took care of this guy for more than a year, but we can't break the law. So Benjaman got frustrated and left, against our wishes."
Vague flashbacks
On May 31, Kyle grew weary of not earning a paycheck and left J.C. Lewis - the only home he had known, he said.
Since then, Kyle has moved back and forth among the homes of friends. Most of them are nurses and people he met at J.C. Lewis.
He works whatever odd jobs he can find for under-the-table cash to buy food and clothing.
Twice he has returned to the Burger King where he was found.
"I thought seeing the place would help. It didn't," he said. "I don't remember how I ended up in Richmond Hill or how long I was lying there."
He also has talked to operators at most of the motels and restaurants in the area, but no one has found an abandoned car or any records that the man was there.
During the past three years, vague flashbacks have popped into his head, Kyle said.
For some reason, the name Benjaman - "with the A, not the I" - has logged into his mind. He's not sure if that is his name or the name of a family member, but he likes the name, he said.
He decided to use the last name of Kyle because that would make his initials BK - just like the short version of Burger King.
"I got tired of the jokes about Burger King," he said.
Doctors estimate Kyle is in his late 50s or early 60s, so he has adopted a 1948 birth date.
Kyle said he remembers living in Indiana and Colorado, but he doesn't know when or where. He has no memories of Richmond Hill or any other place in the South.
He believes he has three brothers, but he can't picture them or remember their names.
"It's like I have a 20-year gap," he said. "I just don't remember."
Kyle can read and write and has the intelligence of an adult.
He believes he might have worked in a nice restaurant, because he has a lot of knowledge about kitchen equipment and restaurant design.
He spends most of his days searching the Internet. He surfs missing-person Web sites, hoping to find his picture. He looks at photographs of Indiana and Colorado, trying to stir up more images in his head.
'Square one'
While not remembering his past is hard enough, it's not having a way to work for a future that is even more difficult, he said.
Without an identity, Kyle cannot get a Social Security number. That prohibits him from getting a job, applying for government assistance or getting more medical care.
"If I could just get a job and start over," he said. "Then, I could work on the rest of it."
Georgia Legal Services was trying to help him obtain a Social Security number, but they hit a wall when Memorial Health wanted $800 to obtain copies of his medical records, said U.S. Rep. Jack Kingston, R-Ga.
Kyle said things started to turn around a bit last month after a friend wrote to Kingston for help.
"We're just thinking there is some family out there who may have written him off like he's dead," Kingston said. "We get lots of oddball cases that come through our office, but we've never had one like this."
Richmond Hill police recently issued a report describing Kyle's injuries, which they have labeled as a miscellaneous incident. It's not known if there has been any response from anywhere. Richmond Hill Police Chief Billy Reynolds did not return two telephone calls Friday.
But even though a police report was issued, it's still not enough for the Social Security Administration.
"You can't get a replacement Social Security number by walking in there and saying you have amnesia. He does not know his name, his Social Security number or where he was born. He has no picture ID," said Trish DePriest, Kingston's district case manager. "That's why we are at square one."
Searching for a family
At Kingston's request, the FBI took Kyle's fingerprints and forwarded them to the National Criminal Justice Information Services Division in West Virginia. There, technicians ran the prints through their national databases, which include convicted criminals, crime scene evidence and anyone who ever served in U.S. armed forces, said William Kirkconnell, supervisory senior resident agent for the FBI in Savannah.
"There was nothing on file," Kirkconnell said. "It's an unfortunate story that was relayed to us. It's sad. If the FBI can help reunite this guy with his family, that would be a terrific thing."
They also took photographs and checked to make sure Kyle was not in the federal Witness Protection Program, Kingston said.
"It's like he appeared here from another planet," DePriest said.
The congressman's office is trying to get the Medical College of Georgia in Augusta to provide psychiatric help for the man, including hypnosis.
"It's a very interesting mystery, but it's also very sad when you consider there has to be some family out there somewhere," Kingston said.
Kyle said he tries not to think about a family or what he might be missing out on.
He worries he might never find out - or, if he does, he might not like the person he was, he said.
Kyle considers himself a walking missing person's poster: The more people see him, the more chances he has that someone might know him.
"I have nothing from my old life," he said. "I just hope someone recognizes me."
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