100meals

01: Leighton

His mother was Sioux. When he was four years old, his Irish father died at age 33 from a fall on a Seattle street while intoxicated. By Leighton's account, his father did most of his dying in jail, because the police who brought him in didn't understand the extent of his injuries until inmates yelled that he was bleeding. Leighton's lineage probably had a lot to do with the fact that he is an alcoholic as well. As a young, strong, athletic man, he could overdrink and not show the effects. But he's 69 now. His right hand is arthritic and swollen; he has arthritis in his right leg and walks with a cane. And 11 years ago he might have bled to death.

Seattle was cold last night, and winter is just getting started. A nippy breeze was blowing uphill from the Sound--the kind of breeze that can slip up a sleeve or down your collar and chill your bones. At the intersection of Madison and I-5 a man in well-used clothing presented off-ramp drivers with a sign asking for help. In another half mile, Ivar's will sell you five pieces of fish, sleeping on a bed of hot salty chips for $12.05. You can take a lot of napkins, get extra tartar sauce and ketchup packets, and even get a larger paper grocery bag, which helps to insulate the food against the chill as you ascend Madison back to I-5. You can eat two pieces of fish for your trouble and give the rest to some guy just trying to stay warm.

At I-5, the man with the sign was gone, probably driven to shelter by the light, pelting rain as well as the chill, and the fact that the off-ramp traffic had diminished considerably. But diagonally across Madison, next to an abandoned coffee stand, two men were talking in the dark, one sitting, the other standing.

The sitting man, 50 years old, came from Alaska three years ago. He said Leighton and he were friends, so it seemed a safe assumption that if he received the meal he would share it -- and he did, small as it was. And they were grateful. The fries and fish were still warm even after a half-mile hike up Madison in a chill wind. The Alaskan -- who said he was Eskimo,  took some fries and fish before offering food to  Leighton. Afterward they both shared with a man who arrived with a wheelchair that he sometimes stood beside and sometimes sat in. A fourth man arrived; the Eskimo shared with him as well, and explained he was Cheyenne. He should have been cold, with what little he was wearing.

Leighton was born at Harborview Hospital in 1947; at 69, he looked good, for his ailments. He spoke with a calm, rich voice. His possessions were all contained in his backpack. You don't need a foam pad to sleep on at night, he explained. Under these circumstances you want to carry as little as possible (the backpack might have been 15-20 pounds), and you can always find cardboard in a dumpster. You put down a couple layers to insulate you from the cold. And you don't have to carry it around the next day.

What about health care -- he's old enough to be worried about the diseases of age. What about prostate screening? Well, that's already been taken care of, he explained. In 2005 he was in California, drinking in an alley: a swig of liquor followed by a swig of beer. He went to a convenience store and tried to purchase cigarettes, but the clerk kept asking him if he were all right. That puzzled him until the clerk pointed out that his lap was soaked with blood. After a visit to the emergency room and a checkup he had his hemmoroids tied off and some polyps removed. He believes there were issues with his prostate that were taken care of.

No-one had arranged lodging yet for the night. The Eskimo and Cheyenne walked off and the man with the wheelchair left. Leighton explained he would find shelter someplace -- perhaps under an awning, protected from the rain.

Leighton has a sister he hasn't seen for years. He would like to find her, but doesn't know how. He knew where she used to work, but for confidentiality reasons, that agency can't provide him with information or help link him with her. Although the Seattle library has Internet service, Leighton doesn't avail himself of the library much and he said he doesn't use the Internet. And he didn't know that the Salvation Army has a missing persons program which he can tap into. Maybe, after finding that out, he will be able to track down his sister . . .

Takeaway: There was a remarkable air of calm among these men, buffered against the chill wind by the side of a coffee stand long since abandoned. This life is their normal. The word I'm searching for is not "content" or "acceptance" or anything I can put my finger on. It's something else.

Ubuntu,

Centennian