Preaching to the Choir
I used to have a lot of homeless friends. They were noble runaways and underappreciated artists, or at just men who shared my high school passions for mischief and marijuana. I hung out with them because it felt right and there didn't seem to be any reason not to. They were like me, just without a home. I wouldn't admit it then and I'm not sure if I believe it now, but there was also the fact that it seriously vexed my mother, who admitted that she did the same thing in the 70s. I'm not sure if this was motivation, or just a bonus. Still, despite however many times we shared feasts of dumpstered food or stories, or hugged each other goodbye as the sun descended in the sky, I don't think I ever invited any of them home to have dinner with my family.
I was talking to a homeless guy, last night. Actually, I was trying to sleep on the train in between stops and he was talking to me.
"You know what I did last night? I was breaking up a fight between two homeless guys who were to drunk to realize they were fuckin' dying out here."
He was three hundred pounds easy, but looked thinner thinner than the last times I've seen him. He wore an old brown coat that was hardly recognizable as suede anymore, with no hat or gloves. I've met him a number of times over the years. He's very smart, but extremely obnoxious. I sat on the train and saw him work the car. He has a number of different acts. When he talks to young whites (and by white, I mean anyone who isn't black), he speaks to their liberal sense of social justice, talks about the institutionalized racism in city hall. When he's talking to young blacks, who tend to take him less seriously, he goes into a furious Black Power routine. For older folks, white or black, he plays to their sympathies, "I'm homeless, I smell terrible and I've been eating food out of the trash, please give me a little bit of money so I can get some coffee and french fries."
I took a class on American Politics this year; it was full of kids from suburbs and small towns. I was surprised to see how socially liberal and economically conservative there. Few had sympathy for the homeless; they thought that welfare made it too easy for people to not work, when there are millions of shit jobs out there. It was as if schools, hospitals, and factories were clambering for homeless people to act as janitors and maids, that all of our favorite restaurants were scouring unemployment offices, looking for homeless line cooks.
I doubt that many of these students have ever worked before, or had to file for a new social security number, or been in a situation where they had no ID but their fingerprints. It's not like I'm better. I'm in a permanent state of middle-class alrightness where I am available to have good and shitty jobs fall into my lap when I need them
I've only slept outside a handful of times. Most of those times I was drunk and not one of them happened in December. Monday night it was cold. I'm not sure how cold, but it was well below zero. It was that bitter cold that burns every part of you that it touches. You don't shiver, your teeth don't chatter. You just hurt. I was outside for maybe a few minutes, the time it would take me to get out of a car, walk a block to he radio station and have somebody let me in. I was wearing a knit cap, a leather trenchcoat, a scarf and a pair of gloves with no fingers, and it was terrible. For a good twenty minutes, my hands were singed claws, desperately trying to warm up. It felt like they would never not hurt.
I have only really had two bad things happen to me this week. One is a disappointment and I've bitched about the other one endlessly.
1) a guy canceled a tattoo appointment, so I have to wait til after New Years'
2) I was supposed to interview the band Anthrax and now it looks like it won't happen
It took a few days for me to get perspective on this. Monday night, while I was going on and on about how terrible it was outside, there were people, hundreds of them who had to sleep there. Men women and children. I don't know if you've ever slept outside on a night like Monday, I haven't, bt I'm pretty sure that blankets don't help; pretty sure that trash can fires don't help, pretty sure that abandoned building and viaducts don't offer up that much protection against the teeth of a harsh Chicago winter. The city has less than ten homeless shelters, I'm pretty sure less than five. The largest, Pacific Garden Mission, is the only one with the capacity to hold over a hundred people.There are a few thousand homeless in the city and every night Pacific Garden turns dozens away. That Mission has been slated for demolition for years now, with no place ready to take up the slack.
his year, as they do every couple of years, the various city council members are trying to push bills and change laws about panhandlers in Chicago. Please, tell them to stop or if you don't tell them to stop, just shut the fuck up and stop complaining so loudly about that 'one homeless person you see every day' in whatever nighborhood you live or work in. At ten below, at below-ten-below you can stop calling them lazy. ou can stop calling them scam artists. It's really hard out there.
"I don't think anyone of that city council could spend a night like last night outside," he pulled his sleeve back, to show me the frostbite eating its way out of the dry skin on his left hand. "We could do it and they're tellin' us 'fuck you.' Let's see them do it and you know what? They'll die."
I was talking to a homeless guy, last night. Actually, I was trying to sleep on the train in between stops and he was talking to me.
"You know what I did last night? I was breaking up a fight between two homeless guys who were to drunk to realize they were fuckin' dying out here."
He was three hundred pounds easy, but looked thinner thinner than the last times I've seen him. He wore an old brown coat that was hardly recognizable as suede anymore, with no hat or gloves. I've met him a number of times over the years. He's very smart, but extremely obnoxious. I sat on the train and saw him work the car. He has a number of different acts. When he talks to young whites (and by white, I mean anyone who isn't black), he speaks to their liberal sense of social justice, talks about the institutionalized racism in city hall. When he's talking to young blacks, who tend to take him less seriously, he goes into a furious Black Power routine. For older folks, white or black, he plays to their sympathies, "I'm homeless, I smell terrible and I've been eating food out of the trash, please give me a little bit of money so I can get some coffee and french fries."
I took a class on American Politics this year; it was full of kids from suburbs and small towns. I was surprised to see how socially liberal and economically conservative there. Few had sympathy for the homeless; they thought that welfare made it too easy for people to not work, when there are millions of shit jobs out there. It was as if schools, hospitals, and factories were clambering for homeless people to act as janitors and maids, that all of our favorite restaurants were scouring unemployment offices, looking for homeless line cooks.
I doubt that many of these students have ever worked before, or had to file for a new social security number, or been in a situation where they had no ID but their fingerprints. It's not like I'm better. I'm in a permanent state of middle-class alrightness where I am available to have good and shitty jobs fall into my lap when I need them
I've only slept outside a handful of times. Most of those times I was drunk and not one of them happened in December. Monday night it was cold. I'm not sure how cold, but it was well below zero. It was that bitter cold that burns every part of you that it touches. You don't shiver, your teeth don't chatter. You just hurt. I was outside for maybe a few minutes, the time it would take me to get out of a car, walk a block to he radio station and have somebody let me in. I was wearing a knit cap, a leather trenchcoat, a scarf and a pair of gloves with no fingers, and it was terrible. For a good twenty minutes, my hands were singed claws, desperately trying to warm up. It felt like they would never not hurt.
I have only really had two bad things happen to me this week. One is a disappointment and I've bitched about the other one endlessly.
1) a guy canceled a tattoo appointment, so I have to wait til after New Years'
2) I was supposed to interview the band Anthrax and now it looks like it won't happen
It took a few days for me to get perspective on this. Monday night, while I was going on and on about how terrible it was outside, there were people, hundreds of them who had to sleep there. Men women and children. I don't know if you've ever slept outside on a night like Monday, I haven't, bt I'm pretty sure that blankets don't help; pretty sure that trash can fires don't help, pretty sure that abandoned building and viaducts don't offer up that much protection against the teeth of a harsh Chicago winter. The city has less than ten homeless shelters, I'm pretty sure less than five. The largest, Pacific Garden Mission, is the only one with the capacity to hold over a hundred people.There are a few thousand homeless in the city and every night Pacific Garden turns dozens away. That Mission has been slated for demolition for years now, with no place ready to take up the slack.
his year, as they do every couple of years, the various city council members are trying to push bills and change laws about panhandlers in Chicago. Please, tell them to stop or if you don't tell them to stop, just shut the fuck up and stop complaining so loudly about that 'one homeless person you see every day' in whatever nighborhood you live or work in. At ten below, at below-ten-below you can stop calling them lazy. ou can stop calling them scam artists. It's really hard out there.
"I don't think anyone of that city council could spend a night like last night outside," he pulled his sleeve back, to show me the frostbite eating its way out of the dry skin on his left hand. "We could do it and they're tellin' us 'fuck you.' Let's see them do it and you know what? They'll die."
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