Breakthrough?
It was the Fourth of July in 2022. I took a bicycle ride around the neighborhood on the most loathsome holiday in America.
There was Mark, sitting on his sidewalk, alone, reading, drinking a can of beer, smoking a cigarette. I stopped for a chat. He greeted me with a mock patriotic salute and we wished each other a happy birthday America even as I wondered what that meant for a homeless man living on the streets in a semi-wealthy neighborhood in the wealthiest nation on Earth.
I noticed he was drinking a Breakside Hazy IPA. What? No malt liquor! Mark told me someone came up to him on the sidewalk and asked what he needed on the Fourth of July. He said beer and the man bought him a high-end 4-pack of IPAs.
Mark said he didn't care for the IPA all that much. Too fruity.
I asked where he was staying these days. He told me he had a new tent pitched in the shrubbery of the Lutheran church. He had a a new bedroll, too.
Mark was reading the fourth or fifth installment of the Dune Chronicles.
We talked Dune for a few minutes and I promised I would try reading the first book yet again. If I followed through, it would be my fourth attempt at finishing it. The last one failed while serving a ten-day hitch in a county jail on a single misdemeanor count for a thought crime. If you can't finish a book while incarcerated you probably never will. Shit, I'd even finished a James Joyce novel and a terrible Western where evil and bloodthirsty Aztecs resurrected in the 1850s only to get gunned down by genocidal maniacs all over again.
Still, a promise is a promise.
A couple of crows cawed in the trees. They were talking to me. They were telling me it was time.
Something welled up inside me. It was time to go there with Mark. He was a friend. He was homeless. He was losing steam. I just came out and asked:
Mark, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?
No, go ahead.
Do you want off the streets?
It was the first time I'd ever asked that of a homeless person. It surprised me how easy it was. I continued.
The weather, you're getting older. It's going to get harder.
I might.
There's a lot of new housing and shelters coming on line.
Yes, but I don't want to take a piss test and have a fat hairy fart looking over my shoulder.
Many of them are low barrier. I think you can drink, use cannabis, bring a dog. It depends.
Mark mentioned the sleeping pod villages. That might work for him. It would be safe, secure, dry.
It would mean leaving Sellwood. I have a lot of friends here. You're here.
I understand.
I did. He had his canning route. His canning route had got him laid! He couldn't give that up!
He had developed friendships with several homeowners. In fact, he was supposed to attend a barbecue this very Fourth of July!
I want to help if you want out. Let me.
I will.
Can I research it for you? Maybe get you on waiting list?
Would you?
Yes.
I want to know your story. Will you tell me? We've known each other for over a year now.
Yes. I trust you. You're a friend. But it's a long story.
I've got all the time in the world. We'll get a good meal at an outdoor table and drink a few beers. You let it rip. How does that sound?
Great.
I then probed Mark's background: Mark was 57 years old. He had been living in Sellwood for two years. He had transplanted from rural Clackamas County, southeast of Portland. Meth miscreants had stolen his phone and other valuables. He got out of there. He had a former life in various construction trades, including a stint with Fred Meyer as some kind of building maintenance supervisor. He liked that job a lot.
His passion was woodworking. He recalled four projects in particular: 1) drum sticks for a kid in his apartment building long ago; 2) salad forks for his daughter; 3) a Harry Potter wand for the daughter of a former girlfriend; 4) a new leg for a friend's beloved dining room table.
We must have talked for half an hour. He asked me what I was doing for the Fourth. I told him barbecuing steelhead for my Dad. We discussed the sorry state of America and then I had to go. As soon as I left, some other resident of the neighborhood arrived on the scene and began chatting with Mark.
Riding home, I thought: follow through. Swift, direct action. Be your own one-man barn raising crew.
I had opened the door for Mark. He had taken a first step through.
This opening was outside of any agency or organization, but I would need their help.
Two days later, I went online and looked up the City of Portland's Safe Rest Villages program and sent them an email asking how to sign someone up. There were no instructions on the web site.
I received an immediate auto-response informing me that a staffer would be contacting me in a few days.
A day later I received the following email:
Safe Rest Villages take referrals through first responders, including Park Rangers and Transition Project Navigation Team members. I suggest calling 211 to get your friend immediate referral to services.
I did not call 211. I would confer with Mark first.