If you're downtown much, you've seen the couple I'll call Jorge and Vanessa.
He moves slowly, pushing a sort of heavy duty luggage cart loaded with clothing and miscellaneous possessions. His impassive expression can look like a dangerous glare because of his unkempt hair and fu-manchu. Sometimes his moustache is flecked with foam. I think he takes medications that sometimes put him in a bit of fog.
But if you speak with him, you'll find he observes the world with amusement.
The bird-like Vanessa dresses a bit further out than Big Edie of Grey Gardens, favoring long dresses and multiple layers that cover most of her body in all seasons. This week's head gear consisted of a colorful silk scarf, a knit wool cap and a brown plastic grocery bag.
She's very particular about hygiene. She calls me Roger.
I hadn't seen them at the Day Center all winter until this week, so I asked Jorge whether their living situation had improved.
But one night in January it was so cold Jorge told Vanessa, I don't know if we can make it. We've got to do something.
So they found the woman's house and she let them move into the camper. When she came to the door and told us we could stay, I thought we'd found an angel, he said. Later he realized her friendliness was largely the product of alcohol and pot.
The Tioga was in bad shape but it was better than sleeping outside. During the day Jorge worked to replace the floor and other parts of the interior suffering from dry rot.
Their host was anxious to get her yard cleaned up and she wanted them to take the camper, Jorge said, but the title was kind of funny and they had no place to park it. (She had two sons living with her but couldn't get them to even take out the garbage.)
With the warmer weather, Jorge and Vanessa are back on the street and presumably their angel will come up with another strategy to unload the Tioga.
Last August, the local paper announced it would help us recognize "vagrants"—who have “rejected much of society’s norms, even while they eagerly accept its charity”—from “the truly homeless” who have “involuntarily fallen on hard times.”
The Daily Sentinel distinguishes between the term “homeless,” for those temporarily without a home and working to improve their lot, and “vagrant,” for those choosing a lifestyle without permanent residence, as defined by Merriam-Webster.
As I wrote to the editor at the time, I’m all for precise language as long as it reflects precise distinctions. But how does a distant oberserver know the good homeless from the bad ones?
Have the mentally ill fallen on hard times voluntarily or not? Will compilers of The Blotter determine for us which persons arrested are trying to better their lives?
Will reporters ask people without homes whether they “eagerly accept“ charity or do so reluctantly? How long must someone try to get back on his or her feet before that person qualifies as a vagrant?
Why is losing a home through foreclosure taken as evidence of good intentions, while having a one’s campsite repeatedly disrupted by authorities is no excuse for wandering from place to place?
What about common criminals and suspicious characters with fixed addresses? Do we need labels for them, too?
It may be comforting to believe people are worthy/unworthy, lazy/industrious, smart/stupid, able/disabled. But the world doesn't quite line up that way. Not from day-to-day or even within one person.
In print, the newspaper seems to have backed off its declaration. The labels, though, never go away.
