The meal refused

Walked to the library today to renew a book. Enroute, saw a man standing at I-5 and Madison with a sign, and another one leaning against the low cement barrier overlooking the traffic, his legs sprawled onto the sidewalk and his body bend over, face down. He looked exhausted. I looked for a needle and didn't see any, and I realized I had no meal to offer him.

After the library, I walked to Ivar's Acres of Clams, purchased the 5 fishes and chips meal to go, making sure to get extra cups of catsup and tartar sauce. I  ate two fish strips and  headed back up the hill, thinking the men at the bridge might still be there. They weren't.

At the freeway intersection, two men who seemed to be homeless crossed south, and another potentially homeless man with backpack passed north. The timing didn't seem right to make an offer. I headed on uphill.

At Boren and Madison, two women sitting at the bus stop seemed like potential candidates, but I didn't know how to offer the meal I had, when there were two. Again, it didn't feel right.

But ahead of me there was a withered, short, thin bald man with a deep tan shuffling along the sidewalk. He approached a couple, one of whom held out a package to him. They exchanged words, and the couple moved on, while he zeroed in on me. As he drew close he asked for $2 for MacDonald's. I said I had food. He asked me for $2 again for food. I said "this is a meal --it's fish and chips." He turned slightly and walked past me. Maybe all he wanted was money for drugs.

I walked home and ate the fish and chips myself.

This doesn't seem to be working any more. The point was to engage people in conversation and learn more about them and what they need. In most engagements, that doesn't happen in any significant way.

Meals served so far: still 46
Ubuntu

Breakfast is served for the Real Change vendor

Top story for latest Real Change is public art in industrial corridor

Just when I think I'm done taking meals to homeless people there's a Real Change vendor at the door of the Capitol Hill Safeway on this rainy morning. This is just too convenient.

"Would you like a cooked chicken?" I asked. He demurred, because he's allergic to chicken.

So I asked him for an alternate and he said Mac and Cheese. But Safeway's deli was out of that today. So I came back and asked again. He went for jo-jos and pot stickers (although I had to explain what pot stickers were). However, the pot stickers had chicken in them, so instead I sprang for the spring rolls, spotted the pizza stick, and picked up half a pound of jo-jos. Kind of a starchy meal, but it was warm and ready to go. Cost: A measly $5.37.

I asked him if he was cold. He explained that someone stole his sleeping bag. No, he didn't know about Operation Nightwatch, so I asked him whether he used the library and handed him a Homeless in Seattle.net business card. I told him to go to the Web site, look at the "blankets" listing and that would take him to Operation Nightwatch. They provide warm dinners, and a shelter, and if they don't have a shelter you can get a blanket and a metro bus pass, I explained. (He didn't know that some people ride the bus at night to stay warm and safe.)

Meals served so far: 46
Ubuntu

Three more meals / street stories

I thought I was done with meals. My focus has shifted to Homeless in Seattle,  so when Union Gospel Mission sent their request for donations for holiday meals, I made enough of a donation to carry me over the 100-meal mark, so that I could pour my energies into the Web site.

The "Homeless" business card

But today I decided to hike to the downtown Seattle Library branch to find out how to promote the site to the homeless, and just to be prepared I took two sack lunches. Each has two ham and cream cheese sandwiches (with a Homeless business card peeking out through the plastic wrap), a raspberry fig bars and an apple. It was a good thing too. At the intersection with Interstate 5 I saw a familiar face, a panhandler with a sign for cars pausing at the intersection. He turned down the lunch, but directed me to the opposite corner, where another man with a help-me sign gratefully accepted a sack lunch. Then it was on to the library.

When I asked about distributing business cards, I was referred to the 5th Floor and then to an individual who was gone for the day. (I e-mailed her later, asking for help.) I headed toward Ivar's Acres of Clams for the exercise.

Outside Ivar's there was a young woman sitting tailor fashion on a bench with a box for spare change. She had no upper teeth. I offered her the lunch. She said she would save the apple, but she was able to handle the sandwiches. As she ate, we talked about her "old man" who was not doing well. They live in a tent under the freeway with too few blankets to stay warm. She is a Seattle native. I bought a coke to go with her lunch and brought over a cup of water for a chaser. Two men who knew her stopped to talk. One of them appeared to be discussing religion. I headed back up the hill, stopping at the library and it was then that I learned the individual I planned to meet was gone.

The Kentuckian.

At Boren and Madison a young woman, Christine, was standing with her sign. I asked her whether she was hungry, and we agree to go to Subway. She told me she was from Louisville, KY.

 Enroute, a woman who lives in the neighborhood greeted her and joined us. Christine ordered the meatball sandwich and the three of us sat and chatted about the Homeless Web site, and her situation. I learned that her son, 20, had died a few months earlier and that she didn't feel safe in shelters. Quite likely she was sleeping outside tonight. And she apparently has a boyfriend; she left the restaurant briefly to chat with him before we ate. Her friend said grace prior to the meal. After Christine finished and left, the friend shared that she also had been homeless at one time.

After I left Subway, I didn't make it to the end of the block without running into three more homeless people: a man sitting on the sidewalk asking for handouts and declaring that he was not returning to the shelter because there were Nazis there who were picking fights. He showed me an injury on his hand. While we talked, a woman in a wheel chair made her way toward us and asked for help to buy coffee. At the corner a young man held a sign asking for money. He didn't have a place to stay for the night. Each one got a small handout and a Homeless card.

The weather has grown colder, and now it seems like they are everywhere.

Meals served so far (aside from Union Gospel donaton): 45
Ubuntu

The woman on the sidewalk

Lately I've been focused on building Homeless In Seattle (homelessinseattle.net) and haven't been taking meals to the street, so tonight I put three sack lunches together and headed out about 7 p.m. I got as far as Madison and Summit when I spotted her sitting on the sidewalk with her back to traffic. There was a water bottle off to one side, and another couple containers at the base of a tree.

She was alone. I almost passed her by, but there was something strange. I circled her, made eye contact, and asked if she were OK. In retrospect, I realize she was dazed, but at the time it wasn't clear what was happening. She mouthed words that were almost inaudible. I asked her whether it was OK if I stayed with her or if I should leave. Her response was ambivalent, and I sat on the sidewalk next her. About that time I noticed the goose-egg bump on her right forehead.

She just wanted to sit. Then she laid down. I doffed the backpack that had the three sandwiches inside and offered it as a pillow. Then, when a man passed pushing a container, I waived to him and we spoke. He suggested 911, and I made the call.

The operator asked me to check to see whether she wanted medical aid. I tried talking to her. She was largely ambiguous in her response, but finally she said yes. I told the 911 operator to send an aid car, and I described what she was wearing and where we were situated. The woman began to drift away; her eyes seemed to see nothing, and she was having problems keeping them open. 

I took her hand. Her grip was strong, and I think she liked the comfort of the touch, but she seemed to be having trouble speaking. Her eyelids were growing so heavy. I placed my hand on her cheek and told her to stay awake.  I kept  talking to her, trying to have her keep her eyes open.Then I heard the sirens. I saw the aid car and waived it in while I continued to support her face in my hand -- she had dropped her head on the sidewalk once, and I didn't want that to happen again.

Several paramedics exited the aid car. They took vitals and tried to get her to talk with them.  There was a plastic bracelet on her right wrist, and from that they learned her name was Donna. They called Donna by name and asked her what had happened. They wanted to know whether she had taken any substances and whether she had been assaulted, possible in the form of a domestic dispute. I stood and watched.

One of the paramedics concluded that she was under the influence of something. They asked whether she needed to throw up and positioned her on her side, but nothing came of it. An ambulance arrived, she was placed on a stretcher and taken away.

It's not what I expected to see when I walked out with three sack lunches -- someone sitting in the light of dusk on a nearly empty street who might have lain there for a long time if I hadn't stopped and talked with her.

Lunch donated

I walked toward the waterfront and engaged a corner panhandler who was facing traffic and holding a sign asking for money at the 7th Avenue freeway offramp. He was up from Las Vegas, exhausted, and wanting an affordable place to stay. The conversation didn't make a lot of sense to me, but I gave him a sack lunch: an apple, fig bars and two sandwiches of cream cheese, Jimmy Dean Summer Sausage, Miracle Whip, and mustard. He seemed more curious about what was in the sack rather than interested in eating. What he really wanted was an affordable place to stay until he returned to Las Vegas, I think.

I walked to Ivar's and returned home; enroute I saw the panhandler across the street under a tree and eating what looked like takeout. Maybe it's the time of year. I'm getting jaded taking meals to street people who don't appear to need them. I still had two sack lunches, which I placed in the fridge.

Meals served so far: 42

Ubuntu

Quiet night of big noise

There was a street performance on Pike between 12th and Broadway.  I was packing two brown bags and heading for Alaskan Way.

A young lady was sitting on the sidewalk just past 12th on Madison looking dejected. I stopped to talk.  It was awkward, but she was receptive to taking a meal. The conversation didn't develop and I moved on, wondering how to improve connectivity.

I descended to Alaskan Way and ascended to Broadway and Madison without finding anyone else to engage, but there was enormous sound coming from the performance, and I walked that way. After I passed it I noticed a man sitting next to a building selling Native American dolls. He was Eskimo. His girlfriend was around the corner, incapacitated from alcohol.  He said he was an alcoholic, too. We talked for a while. He asked if I read the Bible and said he had spoken with Jesus.  he declined a meal.

Around the corner on Pine Street, two men held signs. One said "alcoholic," and the other held a sign saying he was looking for a sugar mama. We chatted. They were hungry and I relieved myself of the second brown-bag lunch.

The writer

As I headed for home I noticed a young man, 26, sitting on a chair with a typewriter on a milk crate. He was writing impromptu items for customers. He got the idea from people in New Orleans who did that. He was living out of his car and traveling around the country. By this time I had no change to pay him to write something for me and no meals to pass out, but it was a nice chat. The conversation seemed strangely normal.
I'm going through a transition of how I engage people. I think I need to take more time to listen and learn. I should plan to take longer on future jaunts.
Meals served so far: 41
Ubuntu

Drugs, dreads, the F-bomb, and a rebranding

Label on sack lunches

Today I delivered four brown bag lunches and this time, there's a new wrinkle: each lunch contains the address of homelessinseattle.net as an effort to starting marketing the Web site to the homeless.

Along with that, Centennian is no longer signing off at the end of these postings. The signoff will be a simple brown bag, symbolizing the meals to homeless people. The point is to avoid branding confusion.

Curses and ODs

Today started and ended with some unsettling experiences. My first encounter occurred in Cal Anderson park, where I passed several men who appeared to be camping in the shade and I spotted a woman on a bench with two bags that appeared to be worldly possessions. I approached her and ashed whether she was homeless. She responded with the F-bomb. I explained that I was distributing meals, was met with more malice, and moved on, recognizing that I need to practice and improve on my technique. I turned right at Broadway, walked a few blocks and met Gigi.

Gigi

"Gigi" is the name I have assigned for the sake of privacy to a lady who stands on a street corner on Broadway. She recognized me. Her plastic teeth make eating the apple I included in the brown bag difficult, but she could deal with it where she lodges, she said. Same for the two Black Forest ham and cheese sandwiches I made that morning.

The couple at the corner

A block farther on, there was a sprawl next to the sidewalk and backdropped by a dumpster. I passed it on the far side of the street, crossed and doubled back, realizing that I was looking at a man and a woman lounging on the sidewalk with their debris and a shopping cart. Did they need food, I asked. She pointed to the shopping cart and said they were well provisioned. But I wanted them to know about homelessinseattle.net. I mentioned the site and said the sticker on the brown bag gave the listing. I left my second brown bag meal with them.

Cancer, diabetes, "free" canes and water

I walked on north on Broadway until Umpqua Bank, then doubled back, encountering a man who was holding out his cap for donations. His name is Mike, he said. As I handed him the third brown bag I learned that he has lung cancer as well as diabetes; no money and inability to acquire health care; and a cane that was given to him by a doctor in Wallingford, for whom he performs minor chores. Being totally broke, Mike stays at homeless shelters such as Union Gospel Mission. Someone gave him water, but the bottle was stolen when he left it outside while using a bathroom. He obtained a second gallon bottle, drank some of the water, put the bottle down, and it disappeared. Mike said he could obtain water at the fountain at the Rite Aid pharmacy at East John and Broadway. That was news for me, because I thought the fountain hadn't been working. Maybe I was thinking of a different fountain.

At Dick's Drive-In I saw a familiar face -- a young woman who frequents the area. She was just getting started for the day and already had a meal, she said.

Dreads and drugs

At Broadway and Pine on the margin of Seattle Central Community College stood a man with a smattering of dreadlocks selling a $2 graphic magazine he had crafted by copying images from the internet. He didn't want a meal, he wanted to sell his magazine. But perhaps the people sleeping by a tree on the lawn would want a meal, he said. I approached them, but they were sound asleep. But this other man, leaning over as if to read, was sitting on a low wall 100 feet away. I approached him quietly and noticed the needle that his right hand was slipping into the vein on the back of his left hand. He remained stationary and oblivious. I walked back toward the intersection of Pine and Broadway.

Cops and the motorcyclist

Police had pulled over a motorcyclist and were citing him for driving the wrong way. I pointed out to one of the officers the man bent over with the needle in his hand and was told they would check on him.

Cardboard storefront

The fourth brown bag went to a woman in the shade along the southern fence in Cal Anderson park. She was trying to connect the cardboard with the fence as if to create a backdrop. I asked her whether she wanted a meal. She accepted it without a smile; she was focused on attaching the cardboard to the fence.
Meals served so far: 39
Ubuntu,

Andre, Kristen, Kenya, and what's his name...

I took one look at the bathroom scales and realized it was necessary to exercise more and eat less, so I headed off to Alaskan Way, and along the way I shared the wealth ... of food. Close to Boren and Madison I met an old friend -- Andre, who had positioned his chair -- a milk carton -- outside the door to Bartell Drugs and was holding a sign asking for help.

Last February I asked Andre if he wanted to go to McDonald's for a meal and he explained they wouldn't let him in there because of his hygiene, but Subway was kinder, so we ate there. The McDonald's is gone now -- there's just a pit filled with construction activity where the Golden Arches used to be, just one more indication of what's going on in the city with the most cranes in the nation. The homeless people who would gather outside the entrance have been displaced as well.

Bladder cancer, stolen cane

I recognized Andre right away and he remembered me. Another Subway sandwich? I asked. He said no; he needed to get money for meds. Not only is he diabetic, he now apparently has bladder cancer. And somebody had stolen his cane, a nice cane he had hung on the tree behind where he was sitting.

I went inside Bartell,  broke a $20, and gave him $5. Then I asked again if he wanted a sandwich. He said yes. He rose and slowly ambled toward Subway -- he can't walk fast -- leaving his materials behind. Shouldn't he take them? I asked. No-one would want then, he said.

That lying bathroom scale

He ordered a sandwich. I got a foot-long tuna, cut into two sections. Remembering what the lies my bathroom scale was telling me, I figured there would be people who needed it more than I did. And if I didn't buy something myself, Andre might have felt strange.

Andre was having second thoughts about his property on the street and wanted to get back to his perch and belongings, so we exited the Subway. On the sidewalk a woman joined us and  thanked me for buying a meal for Andre. She's also living on the street, and they are friends. I gave them each a business card, with my contact information inked out and a new address: homelessinseattle.net, along with my email address: rds@homelessinseattle.net. I explained that I was building a Web site with an index of services for the homeless.

The stolen backpack

It was time to head downhill, but I didn't get 100 feet before I ran into a man selling the Real Change magazine. I asked him whether he might want a tuna sandwich. He explained that he had his backpack stolen, along with a spare pair of pants and some money. He had put the backpack down, and when he turned around, it was gone. He was not giving up hope that it would turn up. (He had been on the street less than two weeks.)

I walked to Alaskan Way and turned back. On the way up Madison, I encountered a young man by the Library who was engaging pedestrians to talk with them about his organization that addresses working conditions in Seattle. Was it "Washington Works?" The organization's name escaped me. But his didn't -- he is African American, and his name is Kenya. Nice young man. I made a point of him remembering homelessinseattle.net, by handing him a business card. I think the two organizations can help each other help the homeless.

Seven years on the street

At 7th and I-5 I encountered a man facing downhill traffic where cars stop for the light and holding a sign asking for help. He said he had been homeless in Seattle seven years. He got the second half of my tuna sandwich. Not 100 feet away there was another individual lying on the concrete beyond the sidewalk, with his legs toward the street and his head cradled in, and covered by, an arm, as if he were trying to capture what silence he could as he slept. It made me wonder whether he was more in need of that final sandwich.
Meals served so far: 35
Ubuntu,