Across the Great Divide

Shelter Report: The Things They Carry.

My shift at the Day Center is a pastiche of overheard conversations, half-seen exchanges and passing mini-dramas. As a volunteer, I have to gauge whether I am allowed to listen, to see, to enter into conversation or to toss out a joke.

The rules aren't clear. Sometimes eye contact is an invitation to talk. For others, it means, don't mess with me today. Lack of eye contact can carry those same meanings.

I've been around long enough to crack wise, but it depends the people and the situation. I'm not one of the homeless, and to assume too much familiarity can be a problem.

Last week a volunteer made what she thought was a light-hearted remark to a woman loaded down with bags and got an earful about how "bag lady" was demeaning and put people in box instead of treating them as individuals. After an uncomfortable moment, the conversation worked around to why "bag lady" was a pejorative, while a "bag man" was someone loaded down with money.

For many of our guests, a backpack serves in place of the bags.

It may carry spare clothes, laundry, food, tools, tobacco, cell phones, books and papers—often documents related to disability claims, veterans benefits and court cases. One bagless guest today clutched a three-ring binder stuffed with papers and decorated with baby pictures.

Another regular's backpack carried a two-liter soft drink bottle that he filled with coffee from our pot, to save for later. Then he extracted a copy of the Colorado Revised Statutes, a volume as thick as my arm. 

I asked him if he always carried the book around with him, and he said, no. He'd brought it in for another guy who was involved in some dispute over a drivers license revocation, so he could be aware of his rights. Lawyers don't know the law, he said. They just know how to file paperwork. They should teach Colorado law in school so we know our rights, otherwise, we just keep getting squeezed by the government for every dime. He quoted statutes and subsections with apparent authority, and I nodded him into eventual submission.

"V" repaid "D" the $20 he owed him. "M" handed "J" a cigarette. "C" gave an extra set of long underwear to "R," who last week passed the time reading the dictionary he carries. "P" promised "L" he'd bring in a couple pair of jeans to replace the torn pair "L" was wearing. Thievery takes place in the camps and on the street, but here there's a lot of sharing, too.

There are limits on how much sharing is allowed, though. Toward the end of the morning, a couple locked themselves in a restroom, one of the few private places our guests have available, prompting some door banging by the management. The services at Catholic Outreach only reach out so far.

Shelter Report: Who Wants Socks?

This week my wife saw a good deal on socks and bought two dozen pairs for distribution to the homeless guests of the Day Center. Toiletries are kept on hand for people who come in for showers, and most of the time, we have plenty of soap, shampoo and toothpaste for them to take away. Other items such as combs, toothbrushes, razors and throat lozenges are available, depending on donations.

The supply of socks is inconsistent, but the demand is steady, especially this time of year. Guests can request one pair a month. Some never ask, while others would take a new pair each week if they could get them. They can wash their socks here, of course, but now they're sleeping with their boots on, and there must be a point when soap and water can't reclaim a cheap sock.

On my ride to town, I sometimes take a bike path under a bridge across the Colorado River. Nearby is a well-established river camp that's sheltered from view and traffic, but this winter someone has camped under the bridge. 

Some boxes have been set up at one end to provide a windbreak. The ground is cushioned somewhat by multiple sleeping bags and assorted bedding. 

Today, I decided to take a closer look, since I spotted a green plaid sleeping bag like the one I'd just put in the Day Center drier last week. The bottom of the short hill is reinforced with large boulders, creating an irregular climb that's treacherous enough sober and in daylight. I almost fell twice.

The site was kept relatively clean, and I was surprised to discover the main litter was not liquor bottles or food packaging. Among the rocks were about 15 discarded socks — colored, white, rolled, twisted, straight. [Click on the image below. I count seven.]

The sight brought back to me a conversation I'd just had with the Day Center's director about a homeless man who'd choked to death on a hot dog. When she saw his body, she couldn't help but notice his feet. Oh, Steve, she thought, all those socks we gave you, and you had to die in dirty socks.

I suppose a moralist would tell us that free socks create dependence and that people don't value what they haven't earned. I wouldn't totally disagree. But wet socks don't keep feet warm at night, and specific pieces of clothing have little value to someone who lacks a place to keep things they're not wearing. 

I'd tell the moralist, disposable men wear disposable socks. 

Shelter Report: White Snow and Dirty Laundry.

Downhill through light snow

My track joins another... three

Snails in the rat race.

Last night's snow was wet but not heavy enough to be a hazard to navigation. The pavement was clear for cars, and I stayed on the road when I could, nosing back into the bike lane's light slush when the traffic caught me. The fenderless front wheel tossed up just enough slop to soak my pant legs and speckle my shades.

"T" spent the night outside, where the snowfall was bit less poetic. He brought in his sopped sleeping bag and a load of laundry. After he warmed up in the shower, he changed into his customary sport coat. The tail of the jacket, too small for his big frame, drapes on his rear like an untucked shirt.

My job at the Grand Junction Day Center this day was managing the flow among the five washers, five dryers and about ten people who had things to wash — or in one case, just to dry.

As the laundry attendant, I manage the signup sheet, set up the machines and operate them, summon people to move their laundry through the cycle and make sure nothing gets left behind. Like the other jobs at the Day Center, it's neither complicated nor onerous. Since people are literally airing their dirty laundry, I try to find the right line between being helpful and giving them some space.

One of the houses demolished to make way for the new housing.

Earlier this month, some new housing opened across the street, with 500-square-foot apartments for homeless veterans. For men who've been on the street or in shelters for years, moving into a nice new apartment can be an adjustment. For example, so much of their life has been communal or at least out in the open. Having four walls and a ceiling suddenly closes them off. They don't see their old friends as a matter of course, and the friends may not feel comfortable just dropping by.

You might have to spend some time here to understand why ringing another man's doorbell could seem like a big deal.

One man reported that he felt lonesome just sitting in his apartment with no visitors, so he came over to the Day Center. I talked to another vet who'd recently found housing and asked him how it was going.

"Oh, it had bed bugs and I moved out," he said. "I don't mind. I've been homeless so long, I guess I prefer it. I'm happy staying at a church now where they have shelter overflow. The people there are real nice, and I don't have a problem with alcohol, so I can stay there.

"There are so many places in the Valley that'll help you if you just look," he said.

A young woman arrived in tears, sad because a friend had left for a job in Idaho — a good job, apparently, paying $15 an hour with benefits. A good reason to leave a shelter and a semi-girlfriend. She asked for a Kleenex and I gave her one, though we have boxes of them all over the place. Hard to tell how much of this was fresh pain and how much performance for a fresh audience.

I try to accept everyone at face value here, but I know I'm not always getting a straight story.

Case in point: "E" was talking about going to court. As she described it, she'd been outside by the library reading a book and fell asleep. When she awoke, she said, her pants had slipped down and a police officer was giving her a ticket because her butt crack was showing in public.

I gather from other people there was a mattress involved, not a book, and the roadside, not the library. There was also a naked man she forgot to mention, but the part about her pants being down was true, to one degree or another.

This afternoon the bike lane is damp but clear. The snow lingers in the grass and on the north facing hills, but the desert brush looks like it did yesterday. Tomorrow, if you want to see snow in the Valley, you'll have to look for it. 

Shelter Report: It's Not My Job to Judge.

The reading material on the free bookshelf at the Day Center is getting thin: a Hillerman, Lehane and Grisham; some spirituality and self-help books; and Sunset publications on "Wall System & Shelving" and "Garage, Attic & Basement Storage."

I wonder why someone thought these last titles would be of use to homeless people.

***

Today I was glad to see one of our former guests back. The last time I saw him, he was walking down the street shouting and leaving clusters of worried-looking people in his wake. I don't think he recognized me when I biked past and waved.

Later that day, he was picked up and committed to a psychiatric facility. He had stopped taking the medication to control his paranoid schizophrenia, and he for weeks he'd been wandering in a scary place that made him dangerous to himself and others.

When I left town, he was living under restraint and not liking it. I thought I'd never see him again, which made me sad, because when his demons were under control, he was a decent, interesting man who occasionally gave me a glimpse into the bizarre world inside his mind.

Now he's volunteering on my crew, and he brought along another man from the group home where he lives to work here, too.

His eyes are clear and an amazing alpine blue.

***

Two regulars I hadn't seen since I was here in the spring came in with a newborn baby today. It was so small and quiet, at first I thought they were just using the stroller to transport some belongings. I didn't get a chance to ask about their housing situation, but there's not much question the kid has been born into tough circumstances.

If you want to be judgmental — or even if you're not — what the hell are they thinking? easily comes to mind. In fact, I don't know what they were thinking or what choices were available to them. Both mother and father were caring for the baby, and for all I know, they will be responsible parents.

Earlier in the week, I was in a Twitter exchange with a conservative who has discussed the errors of my thinking here before. The topic was loosely whether a progressive tax system punishes ambition. This view holds that higher taxes affect behavior, and therefore, if we tax the income of people who are successful in this economic system, society will enjoy less of their productive effort. I don't disagree with the economic theory, but the effect is overstated for political reasons — usually by people who would much rather see the poor punished for their alleged moral failings.

I wonder if a baby born to two homeless people should be "punished" more or less than a person with a high income?

***

Last week, commenter Ford asked me a question about the owners of some heavily loaded shopping carts. (If you haven't read his comments about his homeless brother's situation, do visit this post.)

I learned the woman who owns two of the carts has been banned from institutions and public places that can help her: shelters, the soup kitchen and a few others. She's still welcome at the Day Center, but it's only open between 8 a.m. and noon.

She doesn't do drugs. She's clean and not violent. She has six degrees and considers herself an evangelist, but also apparently has a tendency to get into arguments that the other places consider to be too disruptive. So now, besides not having a home, she has very little of the support system designed to help the homeless.

The Center's director has made some calls, but so far the woman is out of luck.

***

One of the guests received a jury summons today and was asking me if I'd ever been called. He was trying to figure out how to respond, and the process appeared to make him anxious. I tried to tell him it would be a good thing to do.

The father of the baby chimed in, "Tell them you're a drug addict." He spun an account of his own failures to show up on time for jury duty, as if his was a success story. "I told 'em, put me in jail. I don't care. It's not my job to judge anybody."

Shelter Report: Good, I Guess, to See You.

I'm back volunteering at the Catholic Outreach Day Center* in Grand Junction, Colorado. Leaving the pre-school in Minneapolis and starting here again always involves transition.

The most abrupt change, of course, is moving from teaching homeless kids to serving homeless adults. The kids demand an active, engaged presence, and they compete for attention almost all the time. The adults at the Day Center socialize mostly with their peers. The volunteers adopt the friendly, non-judgmental demeanor of shop clerks who've been told "I'm just browsing." We stay out of the guest's faces and only try to help those who ask for it.

The biggest difference, though, is in the trajectories of the lives I get to know.

When I leave Minneapolis for six months, I can be almost certain to start over with a new group of kids after I return. For the most part, the shelter is aimed at families who are seeking to get back to stable housing situations. When they leave, it's usually good news — at least I can be hopeful — but it means I'll never see the kids again.

Here, I expect to see many of the same people I've been serving since 2009.

My first day back, several of the regulars parked elaborate shopping cart configurations at the bike racks. They typically showed up with shopping bags of clothing and other possessions, but these contraptions approached Mother Courage scale. I don't yet know what it means about how they are living or how their circumstances might have changed.

Because the weather has started to turn cold at night, it was possible to tell those living rough at the camp by the river from those who had a shelter bed. The layers of clothing and the grime are tip offs.

I don't mean for this to sound bleak. I saw several people who were doing much better than when I was last here.

It's odd to be glad to see someone again when it means they are still homeless. On the other hand, it also means they're still alive.

_____

* I've been volunteering there since 2009. The Day Center provides guests with laundry and shower facilities, a mail drop and phones, a safe storage for some belongings, and a warm place to sit with free coffee, creamer and, perhaps most important, sugar.