Rick (Part 1)

On Wednesday June 18, 2025 at 5:42 in the morning, Elmer the husky and I walked out of our home in the Empire district of Coos Bay. The destination never changes: The Empire Boat Ramp, eight blocks away. There, we descend to the beach and launch our day.

In making our way to the boat ramp, we encountered:

A 60/70-year-old man riding a kid's bicycle and towing an improvised baby stroller carrying his possessions.

A woman asleep against the wall of a grocery store.

Two homeless men in their 30s waiting for the post office lobby to open at 8:30 so they could retrieve a leaf bag full of cans and bottles they had stashed there overnight.

A man asleep under a mural depicting Empire's former grandeur.

A man or woman asleep under the awning of an addiction treatment center and surrounded by a bicycle, improvised trailer, and piles upon piles of possessions.

Two homeless men walking and talking across the street from me.

A young woman asleep with her dog in a battered 90s sedan.

A homeless man without pants doing something inexplicable to the landscaping of the Subway shop.

May I remind you: this all occurred in ten minutes within an eight-block radius of a city (population 15,000) on the Southern Oregon Coast.

Elmer and I hit the beach just as drizzle began falling. We passed the tent pitched in the willows, a presence going on almost two weeks. I'd said hello to the occupant a few times in the morning and he greeted me warmly, always complimenting Elmer's good looks.

That had been the extent of our interaction.

Elmer and I did our thing and it never gets old watching an osprey build a nest. On our return, I saw the tent's occupant outside scavenging firewood. I picked up a stray piece of cedar kindling to lend him a hand.

He greeted me. Elmer and I went up to him. I handed him the piece of kindling and he thanked me.

For some reason, and I can never predict what prompts me to engage a homeless man or woman during an encounter, this morning was one of those times for engagement.

I said I had just moved to Empire and was thinking about writing a book about this unique Oregon place. Would he be willing to tell me how he became homeless and ended up living in a tent on Coos Bay? I'd pay $20 for his story.

He smiled and agreed. I told him I'd leave a $20 bill in a journal with some pens tucked inside if he wanted to write it up. He said he'd take a run at writing—as a kid, he'd stapled together a couple of children's books about his maniacal German shepherd.

“Why don't I just tell you right now?” he said.

“That would be great,” I said. “My name is Matt.”

“I'm Rick.”