A Gift of Hope: Helping the Homeless (10 page)

My knees were shaking when he left, and it was one of those times when I wondered if I was crazy to be out there, and asked myself what I was doing. Was our outreach work insanity or blessing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. But I do know that I was braver on the streets than I have ever been anywhere—within reason, and with good friends close at hand. I wouldn’t have done it alone, and couldn’t have anyway, not on the scale we did. Although I’ll admit, on very cold or rainy nights, I sometimes went out alone with supplies to give away. I couldn’t stand lying in my comfy bed, thinking about them and not doing something about it.

On another night, we were handing things out on Market
Street. We had stopped to help a few homeless people in a doorway, and somehow in the wide expanse of open space on that street, people saw us, understood what we were doing, and came running. We were literally mobbed. Too many wanted too much and came at us too quickly. We had agreed on a signal if there was trouble. No questions asked, move fast, all we had to say was “Go! Go! Go!!” and talk about it later. Someone said it, Randy, I think, and we jumped into the vans, slammed the doors, and drove off, with people running after us. If they had been able to yank the doors open, they would have. But Younes, Paul, and either Bob or Tony were too fast for them. We took off like bats out of hell, and stayed off Market Street after that. It was too wide open, and we were too visible. The danger there was too great for us. We stuck to smaller, darker streets, where the challenges we were likely to meet were easier to control.

Probably one of the scariest nights, although nothing happened to us directly, made us realize how much danger we could be in. We ventured way too close to the infamous Sixth Street. Randy had warned us over and over we’d get hurt for sure if we went there, so we never did. But we were admittedly in the midst of the action that night, and felt uneasy. We saw some homeless people in doorways as we drove by so we made some quick drop-offs and took off.

Minutes later, police cars were whizzing by us. A lot of them. Helping the homeless is not illegal, but it is frowned on by local government, and at first we thought the police might be after us. We had researched the legalities of what we were doing before we even started. I knew for certain we were breaking no laws, absolutely none. But all city agencies, including the police, took a dim view of anyone helping the homeless. We were committing more of an unspoken city taboo than breaking any law, but we knew we’d get hassled if we got caught. I even wondered if they might throw me in jail, just to scare me. And I had long since volunteered to be the one to go, if that happened. After all, it was my fault we were doing it, so I was willing to go to jail, if need be. The four of our crew who were off-duty cops weren’t breaking any laws or police rules either, but it was an unusual thing for them to do, so it might win them some heat. So for all those reasons, we had always avoided the police when we saw them. And that night, they were whizzing past us in droves.

A few phone calls to the right people informed us that someone had just been killed, literally a few feet from where we’d been working. The police were looking for the killer, still thought to be in the area. Another big wake-up call for us. People die on the streets, not just from starvation, exposure, infected wounds, or diseases. They also die from gunshot
wounds and stabbings. It was sobering to think about. We finished handing out our supplies a few blocks away, and went home like chastised children.
A little more careful, please!
We got the message, and were grateful that our instincts had led us to move on.

A
s things do in a conscientiously run operation, whatever its kind, we evolved, and the nature and number of supplies we gave out altered over time. It took us, or me, a while to figure out what our mission really was, beyond the original message to “help the homeless.” The question was, how? And what was our goal? We weren’t in a position to change their situation, to get them off the streets permanently, house them, detox them when necessary, or train them for jobs. We couldn’t solve the broader problem of homelessness, even with eleven loving hearts and four vanloads of supplies. Our nights on the street were both magical and grueling. And our mission to keep homeless people alive for as long as possible, until someone more skilled could help them in concrete ways, worked well for them and for us, for a long time.

At one point, a friend of mine started a small bicoastal
program to job-train the most eligible homeless. It was a worthy cause, but for me it was still “creaming.” He was scooping the best of the best off the top, the most functional people he could train for jobs, and was successfully getting them off the streets, long-term at times. Saving a dozen people from the streets per year was a big victory for him. And no question, saving one person is worthwhile. We were serving 250 to 300 a night, ten or twelve times a year, but admittedly not getting them off the streets. I pointed out to him once that his mission and mine were typical of a father and mother. He was urging them to get an education and a job; I was more concerned with keeping them warm, dry, well fed, and alive. In truth, they needed both of us.

Once I was clear about our mission, we began to hone in on what was needed to help people stay alive. Experience was our best teacher. The supplies we started out with were very basic, and sometimes it took a while for us to figure out what was most useful. The homeless themselves taught us. It was important to me from the beginning to give them clean, new, high-quality things. I didn’t want to give them cast-offs, old clothes that didn’t fit and were already worn or dirty, or poor-quality goods that would fall apart. We always gave away first-rate, durable supplies, which added immeasurably to our costs. The first thing we added, after the first miserable winter of driving rains, was a rain poncho. There was no point giving
them warm jackets if they were going to be soaked to the skin shortly after, while their new jackets turned into sponges. A rain poncho seemed essential. One night, an older man asked if we had a warm scarf. That was an easy addition and made sense to us too. Jane, with her retailing experience, was extraordinary at finding the best quality and best deals, and ordering supplies.

We then ordered a waterproof tarp to cover the sleeping bags, and another to put underneath it. By then, our supplies were really all over the vans, and it was nearly impossible for us to find the bits and pieces—and even harder for someone to juggle it all as they walked back to their camps. It became clear to us that we needed a bag to carry it all when they left us. Jane found a good one, a big black nylon bag that held everything we gave them. A whole other team packed the bags on weekends in my garage.

In order to identify the size of the clothing in our bags, we tied yellow ribbons on the handles for medium, red for large, and blue for extra large. It made distributing the bags easier and more efficient. We had stopped ordering women’s sizes by then—we saw too few women, and gave them the men’s mediums instead. It worked. The bags were strong, serviceable, lightweight nylon. The color we ordered the first time, and stuck with thereafter, was black. Much of the time when people talked about us on the streets, they called us the “black
bag people,” and over time, we became legendary. It thrilled me whenever I saw our bags on the street, around town, being pushed on carts, which happened a lot.

In time, we added more and more items to the bags, all of which proved to be essential or at least useful for life on the streets. In addition to the warm down jackets, we added track suits, also warm, and also in three sizes like the jackets. Then we added long johns to go under the track suits. We were already giving out socks, gloves, wool beanies, and warm scarves. We researched shoes for a long time; sizes were a problem until we found an open sandal, which we bought in three sizes too. Hand warmers to slip into the gloves were a great addition and got good reviews from our clients. With the rain ponchos and waterproof tarps, we added umbrellas. We also added flashlights, notepads, and pens so they could leave messages for each other. We addressed these needs after talking to our clients. And we put in decks of cards for distraction. We put in a few small tools, like can openers, eating utensils, much later water bottles. And eventually, I realized that if any of our clients were fortunate enough to get a job interview, they had no way of cleaning up for it, so we began including hygiene supplies: combs, razors, mouthwash, toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, wipes to clean their hands, shampoo, tampons. And as a quirk of my own, we added bars of really good soap. I like nice soap, and it seemed
like a small luxury to offer them, instead of something more rudimentary. So within a relatively short time, with the contents of our bags, they were able to stay dry and warm, and get clean.

We had stayed away from offering them food for a long time. By distributing supplies to the homeless, we were breaking no laws. But the rules and laws about food are far more stringent. You need a license to serve or give out cooked or open food. And sadly, we learned that those laws were in place because now and then really twisted, malevolent people had poisoned homeless people with cooked food. Others had given them old food that was spoiled. So you were forbidden to give cooked or raw food to the homeless, in our city anyway. It had to be industrially packaged and sealed. Giving them food seemed complicated to me, since they had no opportunity to cook anything, warm it, or refrigerate it. Despite frequent requests, I didn’t want to branch out into food. The big black bags were already chock full, and our budget stretched. But too often, our clients were asking if we had anything to eat, and looking disappointed when we didn’t. So eventually, we began researching what food we could give them, and it turned out to be less complicated than I had feared.

The challenge was to figure out what was good to eat, nourishing, and didn’t need to be cooked or refrigerated. We
bought tins of tuna fish, chicken, Spam, and assorted meats that came in cans, with a can opener, of course. We included some tins of fruit. Instant powdered soups, instant hot cereals, which needed only to add hot water, which they could find. Cold cereals, peanut butter, jelly, crackers, potato chips, beans, beef jerky, nuts, dried fruits, Power Bars, cookies, chocolate, and coffee, tea, instant hot chocolate, sugar, and powdered cream. In time, we gave them packaged food that we calculated could last for about three weeks if used judiciously. And our clients were thrilled. It made the bags heavier—we had to order bigger bags once the food was added—but it met a very real need, and no one complained about how full the bags were. And if they were too heavy, for the women for instance, the men would help carry the bags back to their cribs or camps. The addition of the food was much appreciated by all.

We got requests for water too, but that was a problem we couldn’t solve for them. Bottled water would have made the bags much too heavy, both for them and for us. Once the food was added, I already had a much harder time dragging the heavy bags out of the van, and bottled water would have made it impossible, for me and also for any of the women on the streets to carry. Although we were asked often for water, we just couldn’t supply it. So instead we gave out an empty water
bottle that they could fill on their own. It was the best we could do.

Another thing we decided not to supply was any kind of medication. Although many of the people we served on the streets were sick and needed treatment for both minor and major ailments, and cough and cold remedies would have been useful, I was afraid to give them anything that someone might be allergic to and inadvertently cause greater harm. I didn’t want to take that risk. I also felt that giving medication might encourage them not to go to emergency rooms or clinics when they needed to, so we purposely didn’t put them in. All we included were bandages and antiseptic.

People knew when we were on the streets. News traveled fast, and many people had figured out our schedule and roughly when we were due out again. We covered as large an area as possible, combing most of the places where the homeless hung out and lived. We asked people where others were camping, and went looking for them in grocery-store parking lots, back alleys, under overpasses, near construction sites, in places no one would suspect that people were hiding and living. As best we could, we found them. And a lot of them found us.

One of the more useful tools and means of communication on the streets are “cell phones,” and not the kind you put
in your pocket. In the language of the streets, a cell phone is a person on a bicycle who rides from one group to another, bringing news and linking people to what’s happening nearby. Thanks to the “cell phones” cycling around the areas we worked in, a lot more people heard about us and came running. We were grateful for them, as they allowed us to reach out to so many more.

The number of bags we handed out rapidly jumped from 75 to 100, to 125 and then to 150. We’d been doing it for a while when we finally upped the numbers to 200, and then to 250, and on some nights 300. You didn’t have to do anything to qualify for a bag. All you had to do was be there. People who said they needed another one for a husband, a wife, a girlfriend or boyfriend, or just a pal who was in his crib three blocks away and too sick to walk to us, were given the additional bag they said they needed. Who were we to question if what they said was true? Life was tough enough for them, without our making it more so. And to this day, I know and believe that in almost every instance, those bags were not sold to buy illegal substances or traded for them. Everyone we saw immediately opened the bags and put everything on, and ripped open the food bags with trembling hands. I saw many of those bags around the city, in the hands where they belonged, as people carried their possessions in them. For the most part, the bags stayed where they were meant to.