Miguel (Part 2)

During my stint volunteering at the street ministry, I worked a breakfast shift once a week. My job entailed pushing a coffee and tea cart through the dining area and then filling coffee and tea orders from homeless men and women. Some orders verged on the bizarre to say the least: Cheerios in a bowl of black coffee, no sugar, sprinkle some Lucky Charms on top. In time, I got to know people by their orders.

During my rounds, I often interacted with the men and women or eavesdropped on their conversations. Sometimes, toward the end of the shift, the place would thin out, and I would take a seat at a table with a man or woman and engage them with whatever topics came to their mind: UFOs, knives, trout, world geography, old movies, you name it. The more I engaged with these homeless people the more I learned. They all had former lives in houses and apartments and by and large, all held jobs. Then, disaster in one form or another struck, and here they were, in Oregon City, my hometown.

Serving coffee and tea is how I met Miguel and we had several lengthy conversations on whatever he felt like bringing up—usually something cosmic. He seemed a spacey young man, uneducated, smart, not (yet) under the influence of hard drugs. He always sat by himself and carried very little with him. At one point, I shared my name and he shared his. I was under the impression he was working with a social worker at the ministry, but wasn't sure and didn't ask about it.

And here he was, two years later, standing in front of me with a jar of peanut butter in his hand, confused, cold, still homeless, and looking a lot worse for wear.

I asked him if wanted to get into housing. He said yes. His eyes said yes.

There was no way working with the City of Portland or Multnomah County would get him housed. Miguel was of Clackamas County and had his routine set up there.

What to do? I knew nothing of shelter or housing options in Clackamas County. Why it should be any different than Multnomah and Washington Counties is stupid and inefficient. It's all the same area with all the same problem but fiefdoms and egos have crept up, and undermine the work. Who gives a shit who gets credit!

Think Matt! I told Miguel that most of Clackamas County's offices would be closed tomorrow. Could I drive him to the street ministry RIGHT NOW and try to see if they could get him a motel voucher, anything to get out of the cold for a few nights?

“I can't go there except to get my SSI check,” he said.

“You got sideways with someone?” I said.

“They got every ways with me.”

I made a note to use that line in a piece of fiction.

Think Matt!

I told he would could meet him at the library at ten in the morning on January 2 and I would have a plan by then.

What plan?

If there was a sane and humane policy, I would have loaded Miguel in my car and driven him to a shelter in Clackamas or Multnomah or Washington County and then he could get off the streets IMMEDIATELY and begin making the transition into housing. No assessments or apps or web sites! He was ready! What more can you ask of a homeless man or woman. He was ready. Open the door.

Miguel agreed to my plan. I drove off and headed to a local cafe to do some writing. I couldn't find a parking spot and circled around the block.

What the hell you are doing? A man needs help and you're trying to find a spot to park and write some drivel?

I raced home and jumped on the computer, searching for housing resources in Clackamas County. I found a number for Coordinated Housing Access (CHA), Health, Housing and Human Services,
Clackamas County Social Services. I dialed the number expecting absolutely nothing.

A staffer picked up on the first ring!

I explained everything at breakneck speed, that I had someone who was ready to go into housing and was desperate.

The staffer said there was no place to take him in Clackamas County for immediate shelter, or so that's what I understood. I expressed my frustration with this absurdity considering the millions upon millions of dollars being spent on the homeless in the county.

He didn't disagree. His point was he needed to talk to Miguel himself and then they could come up with a plan.

Miguel had no phone. I asked if could have him use the library's phone in a private area to call the staffer on January 2. I heard excitement in the staffer's voice and he said he would email me in 15 minutes with some answers.

Fifteen minutes! Action.

Sure enough, 15 minutes later I read: Hey Matt, it was nice talking with you today! I called the Milwaukie Library, they said that they do have phone access, but for privacy’s sake it might be a good idea to call and reserve a conference room in advance, though they said they’d work with you guys.

If we can get into contact with him, we can hopefully provide more tailored assistance but that is the most general information I could find. Wishing both of you luck!

I arrived at the library at 9:45 in the morning on January 2 and sat in my car until it opened at ten.

The doors opened and I went inside the conference room to wait. I had printed out the list of services and a brief introduction to the staffer Miguel was going to call.

I waited until 10:20 and Miguel never showed.