Reverse Outreach

A late July heat wave invaded the Willamette Valley. Forecasters predicted record triple digit temperatures for five straight days.

I sat on the back deck with a dozen or so phone numbers for agencies and organizations tasked with getting people like Mark and other members of the club off the streets and into various forms of transitional housing.

After an hour of research online and reading multiple print resource guides to compile the list, I started making calls on Mark's behalf and educate myself on what happens when someone calls trying to get a homeless friend help off the streets.

The plan: make calls, talk to staffers, learn about services and programs that applied to Mark's situation, present options to him, and see what he wanted to do—if anything. It was up to him.

I chose the phone calling strategy because I was sick of fucking web sites and apps in the pursuit of promoting the general Oregon welfare. If the phone calls didn't amount to anything substantial, I was considering knocking on doors without appointments. In previous decades, I'd achieved extraordinary results in my personal and creative life that way.

Ninety minutes later:

First call—to non profit. Couldn't be completed, so a voice told me.

Second call—to non profit. Went to voice mail. Voice mail full.

Third call—to non profit. Long wait time but staffer finally picked up. I filled them in on Mark's situation. The staffer directed me to the City of Portland's Joint Office of Homeless Services, and agency previously consulted via their web site. There, I couldn't find an answer to a simple question: how can I help my friend get off the streets? Indeed, the question didn't exist on the web site.

Fourth call—to another non profit. Long wait time. “Classical Gas” played. At long last, I was directed to push a number to have the organization call me back. I didn't.

Fifth call—to a non profit. Staffer answered quickly. I filled them in on Mark's situation and was informed he had to travel downtown to set up an appointment for a future appointment. During the appointment he would be assessed whether he qualified for housing assistance.

Sixth call—to 2-1-1. Long wait time. New Age music played. A staffer picked up. I filled them on Mark's situation and wondered about his possible admittance to the Safe Rest Village sleeping pod communities. I told the staffer I had emailed the program before but got nowhere. The staffer said the only way Mark could be considered for admission was via referral in one of four ways (I already knew this.)

• First responders (meaning, I had to call 9-1-1)

• Park Ranger, but not a regular park employee, rather a specially designated and trained ranger as part of a new program to address the homeless people in parks across the city. I'd seen one such ranger in 18 months in my four neighborhood parks beset with homelessness. She conspicuously avoided interacting with approximately 40 homeless people camped in and around a park.

• A homeless outreach worker. But homeless outreach workers never conducted outreach in Sellwood. I hadn't seen anything resembling that in my 18 months in Sellwood. None of the neighborhood homeless had either.

• Portland's Joint Office of Homeless Services

Sixth call—to the Portland's Joint Office of Homeless Services. Long wait time. A piano concerto played. (Mozart?) A staffer finally picked up. I filled them in on Mark's situation and said 2-1-1 had directed me to this agency for assistance. The staffer said 2-1-1 has provided the “wrong referral information.” I thanked the staffer and hung up.

Why couldn't someone drive to the sidewalk and assess Mark in the field? Why wasn't there a case worker stationed in Sellwood working the grass roots level, like the go-getter in my forthcoming Hallmark Christmas movie tale about the homeless in Sellwood?

I couldn't even load Mark in my car and drive him to a shelter or the sleeping pod village for an assessment. How did I know that? Because I asked!

It all came down to whether or not Mark or I would call 9-1-1 and have the EMTs and firetrucks show up at the sidewalk. Mark didn't have a phone. It was up to me when he asked for help.

Was this the type of emergency that warranted such an emergency call? I didn't know. I was leaning toward no.

It was pushing 100 degrees on the deck. I ended the outreach session with exactly one thought on my mind: I am about ready to start knocking on some damn doors without an appointment!