Street roots., October 01, 2010, Page 13, Image 13

Street roots
13
Oct 1, 2010
From black and white to gray; an average day transpires
“ "W
anHa 4rinL
L
* 1.»
gotta
drink or ITI be
sick!"
lt was 9:30 a.m. and Mr. Hendricks
was already halfway through a six-pack.
I d found him under the Morrison Bridge
approach in the inner southeast industrial
district, and he fit perfectly the description
of someone who had just committed a “beer
run” from a nearby
convenience store.
His frank admission
about why he stole
the beer summed up
Robert Pickett
the complex situation
brilliantly.
Mr. Hendricks had
been a frequent consumer of police services
in this area over the past month.
Passersby had been calling often about the
tall, dark-haired gentleman who was often
staggering in traffic or dropping his pants to
pee in full view of Portland’s public.
Convenience stores had also been calling
about their escaping beer. I’d personally
dealt with him a number of times, as had
other officers in the district. Our solution
was often to call Hooper Detox, which would
dispatch a van to come and take him to the
drunk tank for a few hours. Detox staff
would sometimes check his blood alcohol
level with a portable breathalyzer, so I knew
that Mr. Hendricks’ baseline BAC was a
number that would probably leave me
unconscious, or at best praying to the
porcelain god. He’d developed such a
tolerance that he was almost fully functional
at that level. Unfortunately if he let it drop
too far below that, his body would begin
going through withdrawal — sickening,
A
STREET
BLUES
Robert Pickett has been a
Portland Police Officer for
eight years. He has spent
most of that time working
in inner Southeast
Portland, first as a patrol
officer, and more recently as
a Neighborhood Response
Team officer working on
neighborhood livability
issues.
___
possibly deadly, if not monitored carefully.
Living outside, without any income, Mr.
Hendricks did the only thing he could think
of to get the medicine he needed — he stole
it
Clearly, one of my jobs is to enforce
criminal laws, but do I arrest him for this?
Do I simply arrange another trip to detox
with the knowledge that he’ll be out stealing
more beer before the end of the day? What
do I tell the convenience store clerk who
keeps watching his beer walk out of the
store? I’d previously referred him to the
county’s in-patient sobering program, but
there is a waitlist for that service, and it
takes persistence and initiative from the
patient, something that Mr. Hendricks had
not shown thus far.
This was not the sort of gray-area
scenario I expected when first considering a
police career.
Popular culture shows officers tracking
down the most heinous of criminals, cleverly
catching them in the act or eliciting a full
confession afterward, followed by the
satisfying and finalizing click of handcuffs
being applied. A clear bad guy caught and
put away where no more harm can be done.
Case closed.
Such was certainly my image of policing
back in high school, when my parents say I
first spoke of becoming a cop. Growing up
in a medium-sized town in Indiana, I wasn’t
exposed to much of society’s ills. I played
soccer and had a paper route. I was a Boy
Scout, for goodness sake. I wouldn’t
describe our family as rich, but we were
never lacking, and my parents are together
“
to this day. The couple of times I saw my
parents drink alcohol in 18 years were wine
at dinner parties.
My innocent upbringing continued at an
idyllic, liberal-arts college in rural
Minnesota, where I studied nitty-gritty,
practical stuff like political philosophy and
Japanese. After graduation I needed to
explore a little, and went to Japan where I
worked as an English teacher in public
schools. It was during these four years in
Japan, followed by a year of backpacking and
motorcycling in Asia and Europe that I got a
taste for other ways of living, including
exposure to real poverty.
It wasn’t until becoming an officer in
2002, however, that I started to learn about
the challenges facing my own culture. As
someone usually called at last resort to
patch society’s breakdowns, I began a
lengthy course of study in what ails us. And
while still not an expert on any of them, I’ve
learned a lot about poverty, addiction,
violence, politics, homelessness, race,
bureaucracy, mental illness, social services,
the law, the media, the police.
I’ve also learned that each individual
person I’m called to, or stumble across, is
usually receiving my services because of a
lengthy string of failures, personal and/or
societal, that occurred way before I entered
the story. I try my best to make a sound
decision while surrounded by this miasma of
gray, but being human, certainly I
sometimes add to this string.
It turns out that Mr. Hendricks could
have been even more succinct.
“It’s complicated,” would have said it all.
Editor’s note:
Street Roots
welcomes Officer
Robert Pickett to
our line of diverse
columnists. Picket
offers afresh
perspective from
the view of a
police officer
working directly
with our streets.
We hope readers
will gain a new
understanding of
the complex
interaction
betweeen
homelessness,
public safety and
law enforcement
that occurs daily in
Portland.
A true hero lives on within those he leaves behind
he other day I was checking my
e-mails. I noticed an e-mail from Scott
Morrow. Scott, I thought to myself,
Scott don’t send out e-mails.
I clicked on the message: “Our old friend
Roberto Maestes passed away this morning
from cancer.” ... Oh my god, I thought
There’s got to be a mistake, heroes don’t
die. E-mails from my other friends
confirmed Roberto’s death. But I was still in
denial. I kept thinking, heroes don’t die.
In late 2001,1 had
——"" st ar ted my advocacy
THE
with SHARE (Seattle
Housing And
Resource Efforts).
Leo Rhodes
SHARE is an
organization of
homeless and
formerly homeless people. At that time they
had 15 indoor shelters, housing for work
program and storage lockers, all self­
managed with very little staff.
A big project they were working on was
the start of Tent City 3. So there were a lot
of meetings with Tent City 3, El Centro de
la Raza, Roberto, and the city of Seattle. I
wasn’t into tent cities at that time. So I
really didn’t pay too much attention to those
meetings.
I put my energy into indoor shelters and
homeless people’s rights. I went to a lot of
meetings and spoke, too. Scott (the men’s
organizer for SHARE) noticed my interest in
homelessness, he started mentoring me.
Roberto also noticed me and started asking
questions of who I was and what I was
about Scott started telling me about all the
activist and advocates in Seattle.
In the early years Scott always talked
about the gang of four. The gang of four was
the four minorities: Native-American Bernie
Whitebear (who died sometime before I got
there), Larry Gossett, an African-American;
Asian-American “Uncle Bob” Santos; and
the Mexican-American Roberto Maestes.
T
WANDERER
Leo Rhodes is a street
activist and homeless
advocate. He is also a
vendor with Street Roots
and a regular conributer to
the newspaper.
Scott told me as individuals they didn’t
make much of a difference, but together
they made a bigger impact. He also
explained their individual accomplishments.
One of Roberto’s was El Centro de la
Raza. Scott went on to say how Roberto and
others occupied an old school building,
never giving up. That was the start of
Roberto’s organization, El Centro de la
Raza. He was the executive until a couple of
years ago.
I would sit there in amazement and awe
as Scott told me these stories. Then Scott
would say we’re going to speak to him next
week. I’d play it cool and say, “That’s cool.”
But I was really nervous and a little scared.
I prepared myself for the meeting (mainly
calming myself down). Scott and Roberto
greeted each other like old friends. Us
homeless people started telling Roberto
problems with homelessness, the solution
(shelter), and the obstacle preventing us
from a shelter. Roberto listened and
patiently waited until we were through.
Then he would say: “So you want me to talk
to so-and-so, or write a letter?” Then he’d
have suggestions on who else to talk to.
When I was by myself, I would reflect on the
meetings. Every time Roberto was
compassionate, caring and very helpful.
Ever since I heard the stories of Roberto
and the gang of four, I wanted to take a
picture with them. I’d always forget the
camera though. One morning they were
going to have a dedication to Bernie
Whitebear. I could get all of them together.
Of course, I forgot the camera. But we
found one, and they agreed to take a
picture. We took two.
When I went to give Roberto his copy.
His secretary told me he was in a meeting. I
said, “OK. Just tell him Leo from SHARE/
WHEEL stopped by to give him this
picture.” The secretary said, “Wait” A few
minutes later he came back and said, “He’ll
see you.” I walked in, Roberto was happy to
see me. He explained who I was to the
person he had a meeting with. I gave him
the picture. We talked a little, then I left He
loved the picture.
I showed Scott the picture. Scott said,
“Leo, you know what you got there?” I
replied, “A goofy picture of the gang of
four?” He said, “No, you have a collector’s
item. These guys have never been together
in the same room, or taken a picture
together since Bernie Whitebear died.”
I had a desk and this picture was on it.
Whenever I was tired and ready to quit, I
would look at this picture and think, what
am I complaining about? These guys went
through hell. What I’m going through is
nothing. That always recharged my
batteries.
Roberto was the king of the Sea Fair, and
as part of his duty he had to have his court
Part of his court was knights. Scott and I
were knighted. Years later he would make
fun of me. Roberto pretty much took his
being a king as a joke. I on the other hand
was thinking, A leader of the committee was
knighting me.! It was a big deal to nie.
Roberto would tell everybody how I stood
there all serious. Then he would start
laughing. I would just smile and raised my
eyebrows. I think this is about the time
Roberto started calling me his “bodyguard.”
So thinking back, Roberto was a kind,
gentle leader. He showed compassion and
concern for the less fortunate, which
inspired me in my work.
Heroes never die.
I believe Roberto planted a seed in me as
well as others, to fight for social justice and
change. In my observations of him — I know
others have seen it also — he proved that no
matter how big you are or what fight you’re
in, we still need each other. As long as we
keep fighting, Roberto’s spirit will never die.
He’s probably organizing the angels right
now.
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