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.”
The similarities of those in need seem to follow you around, but not really, as when we open our eyes, there are people in need everywhere. I’m looking forward to Ricks story… and your book.