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Noticing, Not Staring

“Freezin’
Rests his head on a pillow made of concrete, again
Oh, feelin’
Maybe he’ll see a little better set of days, ooh, yeah
Oh, hand out
Faces that he sees time again ain’t that familiar, ooh, yeah
Oh, dark grin
He can’t help, when he’s happy he looks insane, hm, yeah

Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies
Oh, he don’t know, so he chases them away (Ooh)
Oh, someday yet, he’ll begin his life again
Life again, life again”

— Pearl Jam, “Even Flow”

“What book is he reading?”

I live in north of Seattle. Like most suburbs, we face a lot of the same issues major cities encounter, writ small. And homelessness has been an issue in our region for decades. My career – such as it is – working with nonprofits gestated and grew while volunteering in a homeless shelter in downtown Seattle when I was in high school.

I am not a sociologist, economist, politician, philanthropist, or anything resembling someone with knowledge of how to “solve” the homeless problem. I worked for plenty of nonprofits working with homeless kids and families, raising money – sometimes successfully, sometimes, not so much – to alleviate their immediate obstacles. Grant writing is an excellent forum to express controlled fury and discontent at the politicians, media personalities and the too-wealthy-to-categorize and advocate for groups needing a bullhorn. Finding the words and right medium to appeal to our better angels to make this less of a problem, rather than an ever-expanding one is…a challenge.

And if eloquence and statistics do not make a good enough case for people to add to the community collection plate, will spittle and imagery work? Simply bullying people into giving only worked for Bob Geldof. So, grant writing it is…

I notice homeless people and families every day, sometimes, within an easy stone’s throw of my own house.

March is an interesting time of year climate-wise. Spring weather in the Pacific Northwest is schizophrenic. Temperatures bounce around dramatically from sub-freezing to near summer-like conditions within hours. Taking a minute to ponder how that might affect a body exposed 24/7 is sobering.

Over the weekend, I saw a man on a corner, huddled in a blanket, knees pulled up against him with a knit hat on. I did not notice too much more – I was always taught it was rude to stare. But something kept his attention.

I initially thought he might be asleep…but then realized he was nose-deep into a book, one that was too sheltered and protected by its owner for me to figure out the title. I wondered where he got it. Was it something he found on the road, or picked up off one of those tables in homeless shelters that serve as a lost-and-found? I also noticed he had a backpack. Was the book a prized possession he kept in the backpack? Maybe it was something that served as entertainment, inspiration and a reminder of a better day, when someone gifted him a copy, or maybe he bought it for himself?

“He pulls a prayer book out of his sleeping bag
Preacher lights up a butt and he takes a drag
Waiting for when the last shall be first and the first shall be last
In a cardboard box ‘neath the underpass

Got a one-way ticket to the promised land
You got a hole in your belly and a gun in your hand
Sleeping on a pillow of solid rock
Bathing in the city aqueduct”

— Bruce Springsteen, “The Ghost of Tom Joad”

I still had questions when I got home. And they all broke my heart. I would have been embarrassed to ask a question like “Whatcha reading?” as it would have come off as patronizing or diminishing him and/or his/her/their choice of reading material. How often do we engage with someone in similar situations – situations you have to actively go out of your way to avoid? Not very often. There is a sense of guilt, but you do not know exactly of what…did I do something to cause this person’s misfortune? I did not do anything which directly resulted in this man’s current state, but the guilt is still there.

Maybe it was the Catholic education or the Jewish side of my family…but guilt is sewn into my DNA. So, like most people, I do what is considered “required” of an upstanding citizen, give to charities when I can; try not to be too wrapped up in my own self-interest, especially toward the end of the year.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been tripping, stumbling, awkwardly meandering my way to finish a book. Several times, I have felt empty, devoid of any decent ideas and really wanted to say “fuck it. It was a bad idea in the first place. No one is going to read this. No one will buy it,” and I was going to pass it off as just another failed experiment, a flight of fancy with about the same rate of success as someone of my height, coordination and athletic prowess has of reaching the NBA (Go Cavs, Pistons and Spurs).

I finished the book. And I am not even satisfied with the ending. I still do not think anyone will buy it. Hell, I just hope the publisher does not laugh in my face when they render a final judgment on whether to print it. The best I was openly hoping for was a local library system to have a copy that gets checked out a couple times a year.

My feelings have changed, and my hopes have become grander, or smaller and VERY specific. My sincerest hope for that book – if it is every published – is for it to land in the hands of someone like the gentleman I saw last weekend, who is just looking for a few paragraphs to keep him company each night.

This will not solve homelessness. It will not improve this person’s station in life. I am under no illusions. But…it might be nice knowing you directly brought some unexpected joy into a person’s life. I am aware my idea feeds my own ego and will matter to no one else other than – perhaps – that one person reading the book on the corner, shrouded in a blanket with a backpack carrying possessions belonging only to him.

The song choices tonight were easy. “Even Flow” comes from our local heroes, Pearl Jam, and was the second single off their debut album, written by Eddie Vedder in words, a homeless person would use to narrate their day. I could probably pick any one of a half dozen Springsteen songs for accompaniment tonight, but “The Ghost of Tom Joad” was most apropos. The acoustic and electric versions kick ass, thus, both are included tonight.