It has been interesting and educational to live these last 10 years or so in an urban environment, compared to the pastoral solitude of raising a family in Ramona. Noisier, certainly. But more interconnected. Everyone has a place in the eco-system. Including the homeless.
Without closely studying the nomadic, poor segment of our population, one is tempted to assume that the homeless are homogenous, a collection of damaged souls who cannot provide for themselves. Some proportion of the homeless population does indeed suffer from disabling mental illness or substance abuse to the point that they can barely stay alive day to day. Others are quite self-sufficient, and become a part of the fabric of the neighborhood, actually providing value in exchange for tolerance of their presence.
“Steve” is a gentleman whom I met a few months after moving into our Little Italy condo. My wife, Cheri, and I had just been married and were enjoying the company of close friends and family at our home reception. Steve was across the street, sitting with his back against the wall of the building next door, painstakingly arranging his inventory of provisions, packed in plastic grocery bags. Cheri made up a plate of food for him and I took it over. He received it gently, quietly thanked me, always looking down and away. Steve has been a neighbor since then. I see him often in Little Italy, walking quietly along the streets, usually late afternoons or evening. I’ve seen him personally confront other homeless people who are behaving badly, to cause them to move on or stop their disruption. He prevented one person from urinating on our property. He chased a scary-looking guy away from the local elementary school entrance. I see him picking up trash and putting it in the wastebasket nearby. He has pride of ownership in his community.
“Robin” is an entertainer who frequents the boardwalk on the bay, usually setting up between the older cruise ship terminal and the maritime museum. He never, ever asks for tips. He doesn’t even put out the traditional open guitar case. He engages people in conversation about music, if they are so inclined, and he loves to talk about it.
One day I heard him playing and I stopped to listen. It was an interesting song, with a story in the lyrics. I asked him the name of the song and who wrote it. Robin said, “It’s called Seattle Tuxedo, and I wrote it, back when I lived in Washington and had a job.” The song was about a time when he was invited to a party that he thought was black tie. He found a tuxedo at a thrift store, which fit mostly. When he arrived, it was not a formal event. He had misunderstood. The song was about always being on the outside of “normal,” which is certainly where he is now.
Robin lives in the San Diego River valley, among the trees and bushes. He walks to the harbor every day. I slip a $20 bill in his shirt pocket whenever I see him. After he plays a few songs, of course.
“Deborah” is a recycler by profession. She tours the streets and picks up valuable refuse as she finds it, where tourists or local residents decided to leave it, sometimes three feet from a bin. She also rummages through those bins to retrieve the treasures that pay for her food, toothpaste and cigarettes. The streets in Little Italy are clean, consequently, and the recycle bins need to be emptied less often. Deborah is an entrepreneur of the avenues.
I thus found in my observations various categories of commerce conducted by the homeless. Security services is one. Waste management is another. Entertainment is a third. Arts and crafts is a relatively new one to the neighborhood. Some homeless folks harvest palm fronds and other plant material, then weave them into fans, hats, flower arrangements, a type of origami and other interesting, perishable, yet useful items.
A less obvious category is the purveyor of forgiveness. The homeless people who beg for money, “God bless,” are actually providing a service. By begging for money, and playing on the sympathies of those who enjoy relative material wealth, they allow the contributor to feel that one is a good person, that one cares about fellow human beings, and that one is providing some measure of support to the unfortunate. But if you talk about building a homeless shelter in the neighborhood, one’s generosity shrinks rather quickly.
The economy of the street has its place. And beyond the strictly commercial dynamics that benefit the participants, this economy has another purpose. It reminds me that providing a valued service to a willing customer is no less admirable and honorable a profession simply because the proprietor can receive no mail.
Friday, March 4, 2011