Ginger Gray, not Lily White

Maybe you’re not old enough to have experienced the company of insanity. I've seen a broad spectrum of it. But one person who sticks out in my world is a woman who went by the name Ginger Gray.
She's real and I'm certain she is still out there.
I met her in the lobby of an SRO (single-room occupancy) in San Francisco's Tenderloin District. She was smoking her Merit Golds and was reading from the big blue book (not AA, but rather A Course in Miracles).
She seemed to have been well-educated and made reference to her Catholic school upbringing in Newark. "I was a cradle Catholic," she'd say, adding, "and I'd sucka punch any cracker who'd ask me when my family converted!"
We got on like a house on fire (long before the term meant what it does today) and I remember sharing many things with her. I brought her to events, and went to readings in a church that sponsored the Course in Miracles, then would go to dinner with her afterwards.
Unfortunately, she had a condition. The diagnosis was never revealed to me in oh so many ways, but I took it to be manic-depression. And when she was manic, she needed to be distanced from matches and scissors.
She left the SRO for an apartment in the Western Addition. Later she lived in a facility that supported women of color with mental health concerns. I lost touch with her. The facility had a pay phone, but when she left it was just about the time when most people were beginning to use cell phones. She never shared her number.
I used to hope I could find her on Facebook (her family lost touch with her as well), or somewhere on the Internet. Addresses and phone numbers were either out-dated or cancelled, respectively. She has no web presence and her only child died a number of years ago in Brooklyn from the ravages of pulmonary necrosis.
I knew she had undergone some surgeries herself. I tried to find her even on Craigslist, but Craigslist has gotten to be fascistic with its flagging.
So, the current whereabouts of D. Ginger Gray of San Francisco via Newark remains one of those unanswered mysteries in my life.