Dusty in Coos Bay (Part 2)

On the drawbridge bridge that traverses the South Slough of Coos Bay, a homeless man staggered west down the sidewalk. Staggering east was a homeless woman. They carried bundles of possessions and looked exhausted. They merely had to look west or east for two of the best scenic views on the Oregon Coast.

Do homeless people think about such vistas as they struggle to survive?

Some do. When I lived at the Oregon Coast for so many years, I saw homeless people admire sunsets at the beach all the time. They made the effort to get down there.

Dusty was grooving the chorus on track four, “Son of Preacher Man,” when we approached the Empire District of Coos Bay, and its tiny Dairy Queen shack with incredible views of the bay. What a place to watch an estuary while drinking a milkshake!

The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man

Yes, he was, he was
Ooh, yes, he was

Homeless men and women were on the move and not going anywhere along the main drag. Some were splayed, some leaned against boarded-up storefronts. A few had dogs. Almost everyone had some kind of jury-rigged means of transportation for transportation or to convey cans and bottles.

Dusty's crooning provided the soundtrack to my observations. It did not jell. I tried figuring out the meaning of the juxtaposition of her magisterial smoky and sexy voice from over a half century ago and these current images of homelessness right outside my window.

This figuring out may have constituted an act of surrealism on my part.

Nothing came to me. Absolutely nothing.

Elmer and I cruised out of Empire and headed east into the heart of Coos Bay and North Bend. By now, track six, “Breakfast in Bed,” was dripping out of the speakers the way honey pours out when you squeeze the plastic bear.

You've been cryin'

Your face is a mess

Come in baby

You can dry the tears on my dress

She's hurt you again

I can tell

Oh, I know that look so well

Homeless people were shuffling along both sides of the main drag that splits Coos Bay and North Bend. One man looked 80 years old or older. One man looked like Willie Nelson. I saw a couple roll up the door to their storage unit. I was stopped at a red light and could see clearly they were living out of the unit, something that isn't uncommon since we have many more storage spaces (many heated) available for quasi housing rather than actual affordable housing.

By the time we neared the cinema complex, track 11, “I Can't Make it Alone” was playing and Dusty was breaking my heart:

I've tried and I know I can't make it alone
It's such a hard way to go
I just can't make it alone
There's something in my soul
That will always
Lead me back to you

The complex's sign advertised “Reagan” as one of the movies. The new bio pic starred Dennis Quaid. Under the sign, several homeless people congregated, smoking and drinking coffee. They had multiple shopping carts laden with possessions around them. This juxtaposition wasn't funny but I laughed because I knew Ronald Reagan's presidency was where the current homeless crisis in America truly began.

Did you know that one of Reagan's first official acts was to order the VA to shut down the street level outreach centers serving the alarming number of Vietnam War veterans who were showing up homeless on the streets of major American cities five years after the war ended? I bet that didn't make it into the film.

And how did I know this revealing tidbit of Reagan's atrociously callous presidency?

I remembered it from my research paper about Vietnam War veteran homelessness written my senior year of high school in 1982!

Elmer and I kept cruising and kept passing homeless men and women in various states of disrepair. By now Dusty in Memphis had come to an end. Why not hear it again? Maybe I would make sense of Dusty's songs of love and loss merging with what I had observed of our broken culture breaking right in front of me. Maybe there was no way to make sense of it. Maybe at some point I would turn off Dusty and tune to Save Me Jesus Radio and listen to their solutions, like voting for Trump.

We finally reached Highway 101 and stopped at a red light before turning north.

To my left, a young homeless woman sat on a bench with a golden retriever and backpack at her side. She smoked a cigarette and stared at the sky.

Straight ahead, a group of homeless men walked up from the port of Coos Bay. Two of them carried fishing poles.