Street roots
Feb. 3, 2012
The emotional roller coaster begins, ends and begins again
ne of the biggest obstacles moving
forward is getting over my past.
O
One year I went to the Washington
State Conference on homelessness. I was
asked to go to a workshop on homeless
health care. I had already signed up for
another workshop, but a woman at the
conference insisted that this was a very
interesting one. “It was a last minute entry,”
she said.
When I got to the workshop I looked
around. There must have been about 40
people in the room. There were health care
providers, homeless service providers,
homeless supporters, but no homeless
people — only me. I asked the woman why I
was the only homeless person there. She
said she had been trying to get other
homeless people to join.
The workshop started and two doctors
introduced themselves. Through a
PowerPoint presentation of photos, they
then gave a brief description of their area,
telling us there were several hospitals close
to each other, as well as a nearby park.
The doctors noticed a problem in that
most homeless people never came to the
hospital until a cut or spider bite was badly
infected, or until they were really, really
sick. The doctors were worried and
concerned about the homeless, so they got
together and discussed what they could do.
Their answer was to seek out the
homeless and do a quick assessment of
people on the streets. If the person needed
hospital care, they referred them to a
hospital. If the doctors could take care of
the ailments on the spot, they would.
The doctors even filled prescriptions for
some of the homeless. Sometimes they
misdiagnosed an infection and sent people
to the hospital when they didn’t need to. To
prevent that from happening, the doctors
took pictures of the infected area and sent it
to the hospital. A specialist would look at it,
then send a message back if that person
should come in for treatment.
This worked really well, and the doctors
were really proud of what they were doing.
They wanted to do more, so they pooled
money together and got a grant. The
doctors got places to stay for the most
vulnerable people.
The next picture the doctors showed in
their presentation was some of the
Leo Rhodes is a street activist and homeless advocate. He is
also a vendor and board member with Street Roots, and a
regular contributor to the newspaper.
homeless people they had helped get inside.
Then we saw some of their living rooms and
bedrooms. As we were looking at these
pictures the doctors explained they had told
the individuals they could get them anything
they needed for their kitchen, living room,
bedroom and bathroom.
The doctor came across a slide of a man
sitting by a window (I’ll call him Mr. Smith
since I can’t remember his name)
The doctor said Mr. Smith sits by this
window all the time and doesn’t say a word.
Always staring out the window. “We can’t
figure out why he does this. Does anybody
know why he does this?” I looked around
and some people were shaking their heads,
others were shrugging their shoulders.
Nobody answered.
The next photo was Mr. Smith’s living
room. It was empty. The doctor said, “We
promised Mr. Smith we could get him
anything he needed. Yet his room is still
empty. Does anybody know why?” Again,
nobody answered.
Next came a photo of Mr. Smith’s
bedroom. All that was there were some
nicely placed blankets and a makeshift
pillow. The doctor told us again that they
had told Mr. Smith he could have anything
he wanted, a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, a
lamp. But he chose to sleep like this. Again
the doctor asked if anybody knew why.
Nobody answered, so the doctor went to the
next picture, disappointed.
I quickly raised my hand. The doctor
turned around surprised to see my hand up.
“Yes?” he asked. I asked him to return to
the first picture of Mr. Smith staring out the
window.
“He’s probably thinking about all his
friends out on the streets,” I said. “He’s
thinking about the good times and bad
times, what they would be doing at that
time. He probably misses them. He might
Portland
even feel guilty that he’s inside and his
with the mentally ill and homeless. I just
friends are still outside. He might even be
shook my head and walked away. I tried to
contemplating going back out to them.”
get in touch with the doctor a few times. But
The doctor then went to the living room
he never answered my emails.
picture. “He doesn’t want any furniture,” I
Now I am inside. I have my own place.
said. “Because, like I said before, he might
Just like most homeless people, I’m having
be thinking of going back outside and
my problems.
doesn’t want you guys to spend any money
When I first announced that I was getting
on him. You might get mad if you spend
a place, everyone was happy for me. They
money on him and he
would ask me how I
leaves, and then you
felt; I would just look
won’t do it for the
at them, sometimes
next homeless
with a sad look on
It wasn't just about me, It
person.” People
my face. Then I
was
about
my
hundreds?
looked at me in
started getting angry
maybe
thousands
of
disbelief.
and went into a shell.
“No, really,” I said.
homeless friends. I mean? I
The reason for this
“I have friends that
anger was people
shared the good times and
refuse to go into
kept telling me how
bad
times?
their
treatment. The
happy I should be.
reason they refused is accomplishments? their
How I should be
because they said
losses? and a safe, secure
thinking about myself
they didn’t want to
and how everybody
place«
We
shared
a
bond.
We
waste taxpayer
loved me. I talked to
were family. I took these
money. There’s not
formerly homeless
stories to the decision
enough housing or
people, and they told
shelter, and they
me how happy they
makers only to be trumped
figured they would
were to get inside. I
by statistics. When I got
end up back on the
would listen to them
Inside my heart was empty.
streets doing the
talk about how hard
same thing.”
There was a big black hole.
it was for them on
We looked at the
the streets.
last picture of Mr.
When they
Smith’s bedroom.
finished I would tell
“This might sound
them I was a
funny,” I said. “But some homeless people
homeless advocate. So it wasn’t just about
are scared of beds.” Everybody started
me, it was about my hundreds, maybe
laughing. “No really,” I told the room. “I’m
thousands of homeless friends. I mean, I
scared of beds. Why are we scared? ’Cause
shared the good times and bad times, their •
we fall off of them. We’re not really used to
accomplishments, their losses, and a safe,
sleeping on them and we fall off. I’ve fallen
secure place. We shared a bond. We were
family. I took these stories to the decision
off. Some of my friends have even broken
makers only to be trumped by statistics.
their arms.”
T h e d o c to r show ed a few m o re p ic tu re s,
When I got inside my heart was empty.
which was followed by a quick question and
There was a big black hole.
answer period. When the workshop was
The easiest thing for me to do would be
over, the doctor came to me. We talked a
to give up, forget the past and move on
thinking only of myself. But I’ve been
little more and then exchanged e-mails. The
doctor was very excited about my input.
through too much. Hell, I’ve seen too many
Somebody tapped the doctor on the
miracles. I’ve watched what others said,
shoulder. It was Bill Block, the director of
“couldn’t be done” happen.
Like I tell my friends, there are no words
the Committee to End Homelessness in
to express the accomplishments of healing
King County. I heard Bill say, “Those were
among the less fortunate.
cute stories Leo told, but here’s the real
story.” He started quoting statistics, starting
c o ffe e b e a n
IN T E R N A T IO N A L ®
We tip our mugs to Coffee Bean International for donating coffee to Street
Roots and keeping our vendors warm in the morning!
Thank you!
Fallen Off
the Edge
A new book by A r t G arcia
"Fallen Off the Edge" is a chronicle
of one man's experiences after returning
from the Vietnam War. Told through the
eyes of Street Roots columnist Art
Garcia, this book celebrates the major
victories born from a series of
questionable choices. Art's jocular
storytelling takes the reader along with
him in and out of the California prison
system over the course of 10 years until
he found the strength and courage to
pull himself up from the fall.
The book is available online at www.
blurb.com under searchword Art Garcia.