Fountain of Light

Website Links

Description

TALK TO ME: Street Outreach Among the Homeless Mentally Ill on Los Angeles's Skid Row by Emmett McGuire Chapter One: Roger Doe PRELUDE We got the tip by phone late Tuesday evening, so I couldn't get down to the identified location on Hope Street until the following day. The message slip I was handed said simply: "Female, age indeterminate. Poorly groomed and dressed. Possibly Hispanic. Apparently living in makeshift shanty. Seemed to the caller kind of weird, out of it." Not much of a description so I hoped at least the location - Hope and Eighth - was accurate. It seemed to be. When I parked the Outreach Car across from the medical center on Wednesday, I could see what looked like a typical homeless dwelling down the block. It was composed mostly of paper and plastic bags overflowing with nondescript contents, stacks of newspapers, and a few odd pieces of wood and broken wallboard. The whole structure was covered by a long piece of clear, although dirty, plastic sheeting. In homeless camps around Skid Row, I had seen dozens of similar shelters over the previous year. Homeless people build their houses, like their lives, from whatever's available. Plastic sheets are particularly valued, when they can be found, as they help keep out rain or, more frequent in Southern California, morning dew. Any ground moisture can become treacherous on a cold morning, even deadly, dropping body temperatures and leading to hypothermia. It was chilly and windy for March. Getting out of the car, I zipped my thermal vest up to my neck, but let my hands hang free, open and unthreatening, as I approached the site. Nothing could be seen very clearly through the filthy plastic as I walked up, although I thought for a moment something might have stirred briefly within the rubble. Well, here we go. Again. From the top. I addressed what appeared to be the front of the shanty and introduced myself. "Hi - in there - my name's Emmett; I'm an Outreach Worker. I came by to say hello, see how you're doing or if I can help you with anything." Nothing. A few passersby on the sidewalk looked at me oddly, hunkered down in the street against the cold, talking into an apparent void. Down the block I could dimly see a large grey truck approaching, and men milling around it. I pressed on. "I've got some food out here if you're hungry, nothing special, just some granola bars and fruit juice, but it's pretty good." I always carried some kind of snack along with me, as a gesture of good will more than anything else. Certainly, there was no way I could possibly provide a decent meal out of the backpack I was using, but the gesture alone was often appreciated, and accepted. Sometimes, it even served to open up a conversation with a paranoid (or simply frightened) street person. Not today. "Well, I'll leave it out here - in case you might like it a little later...." This wasn't uncommon. Often it would take months of careful, respectful encounters before a hesitant man or woman would actually accept something - anything: food, clothing, a blanket - from one of our outstretched hands. And it was becoming obvious that this morning wasn't going to be very easy for me.

Products & services

Similar companies nearby