Dear Anonymous,
This is Ed. Ed struggles. He also shares his smile. He calls himself a loyalist because he is always there waiting to say good morning and for a piece of coffeecake.
'I moved to Portland after living in New York. I was homeless. I watched a homeless man fall on the street there. Ill maybe. Dead maybe. Who knows. Nobody stopped. He didn't have a suit and tie on. Nobody stopped. If he had a suit and a tie on somebody woulda' stopped...'
They were all wet to different degrees. Some more desperate than others...
Dear Anonymous,
They were all wet to different degrees. Some more desperate than others. Some more agitated than others. What would propel them through the day? The next few moments? Not sure. But dry socks for wet feet help. A hot cup of coffee fortifies. A bite of homemade cake can help some sometimes. Some are hungry for something else and on a mission. Desperation in their quick and abrupt movements from eyes to fingertips . But what of all the thank yous? I need to convey them here to those that have helped or want to help. Each one of you. I convey the 'Good mornings!', the countless 'How are you, Joanne's?' the ' How are you doing?' from faces that smile shyly, from faces battered, cut and wounded, from black eyes and watering eyes that cannot focus, from hands that tremble ...Those are for all of us.
And when the camera came out so briefly and he stood on the other end of my car and said...
Dear Anonymous,
And when the camera came out so briefly and he stood on the other end of my car and said 'Take a picture of me!' with such enthusiasm I was caught off guard. I zoom in and he opens himself up into this smile. Without self consciousness.
And off he went, coffeecake in hand and a pair of socks tucked into his pocket.
'Take a picture of ME!'
See me.
I am here.
I am.
Here.
From a distance. A world upended. Bus schedules changing. Caseworkers availability...
Dear Anonymous,
From a distance. A world upended. Bus schedules changing. Caseworkers availability changing. Court dates changing. A general hunger for contact. The same stories of stolen backpacks and lost gear. Things left here. And there. How did we all get here. How do we stay. Some have left like an electron skipping into another orbit and they disappear. I wonder where they all are. I hear from some. Struggling with depression and anxiety and their affection for drugs that help quell those demons. And on we go. Walking one another home from 6' away. But still walking.
I was out with my camera per usual at first light. On my own. Per usual. As I drove out of the city...
Dear Anonymous,
I was out with my camera per usual at first light. On my own. Per usual. As I drove out of the city I saw him sitting on a park bench by himself in the sun. Hat off. One arm over the back of the bench. Looking relaxed. He recognizes my car. I pull over. Mask. Check. Gloves. Check. Social distance. Check. If I am asymptomatic I sure as hell don't want him exposed. That's why.
He places two crumpled twenty dollar bills into the bin in my car.
'Get some baking supplies. I like your baking.' he says.
His face is swollen. His speech thick and raspy all at once.
I ask him to reconsider. Take back half? No, he says adamantly.
He responds, 'I got my stimulus check.'
I know he has recently enjoyed a bottle of Jamesons, a favorite of his. I assume there will be many more purchased.
But I am on the street and someone on the street, in the street, of the street has donated to Dear Anonymous.
Let that sink in a bit.
He accepts socks, a coffee card and a pair of pants. The currency of connection.
PS: The gentleman described is not connected in any way to the location in this image.
Drive by birthday wish for Mike this morning. Complete with brownies and coffee cake handed over to share...
Dear Anonymous,
Drive by birthday wish for Mike this morning. Complete with brownies and coffee cake handed over to share, badass bandana masks for the crew and coffee cards. (and this image from a zoom lens)
The mood was sour at first, filled with his frustration that an incentive check had not arrived in his account, but turned lighter as I read him his birthday well wishes that many of you left here yesterday. He smiled as I shouted out the messages and he nodded his head with each. Thank you.
An older photograph. But very happy to report he has communicated that he has a home.
Dear Anonymous,
An older photograph. But very happy to report he has communicated that he has a home. A beautiful apartment. And a bed. And food. And heat. He was so happy....
Small miracle. Thank you AMISTAD.
Just sayin' if you happen to see him, then SEE him.
Dear Anonymous,
Just sayin' if you happen to see him, then SEE him. Say a good morning. Maybe offer a coffee. Some good food. A couple of bucks and don't demand how he spends it.
He's been through some tough stuff of late and the world is more isolated then ever. The crazy in us becomes crazier.
Or maybe I will just think of him as a fellow human on this weird and wonky ship that's hurtling through space. Maybe that's enough. We are in it together.
Just sayin' he's been through a lot of late.
And his feet hurt. I am on the lookout for a pair of mens size 11 construction type boots. Happy to purchase them.
I don't know but I listen from a distance. Briefly. I know they crave more time...
Dear Anonymous,
Many folks out on the street are getting hotel rooms provided by the City. ( I do not know the details or the policy so I apologize if I am incorrect about who is providing what) I hear if you do not have a State ID you will not be admitted to the hotel. This is a problem for some. Others are well hunkered down at Milestone (thank you Milestone Foundation) at night and are wandering during the day as best they can without any place to land.
Several men mentioned how hard it is not to have people around to speak with. More difficulty getting in touch with caseworkers. Of more than the usual stigma around homelessness. I don't know but I listen from a distance. Briefly. I know they crave more time. Mental stability does not seem to be prospering. There was one story of someone self immolating behind a convenience store yesterday. I pray this is not true.
Mike is headed to shelter for a week and wanted to thank whoever it was that provided these masks at Preble Street.
Remembering a comment from a MaineWorks employee last winter. A man from the County Jail pre-release program who said:
How we treat our most vulnerable members of society speaks to the quality of our society.
Powerful words.
This image was photographed 6+ feet away and was an exceedingly brief check-in as I filled my car with gas.
Having no where to arrive at. With an aching chronic back.
Dear Anonymous,
He said 'I have no where to sit. No where to go in and sit down. To rest my back. Is it going to rain today? Will it get warmer?'
There is no where during the day for him. The resources available before the shut down are no longer available. The centers, the library, the bus, the mall all closed.
You cannot linger in a coffee shop.
There is no where to go until night where he fortunately he has a place to stay.
Having no where to arrive at. With an aching chronic back.
I will double bless my home today. Give gratitude to my lumpy bed. My stained ceilings. For this place to arrive at.
I will search for a camp chair to offer him. I will search.
How do we open a heart when a mind has put on chainmail?
Dear Anonymous,
Socks and coffee cards.
More valuable than ever.
No where to land during the day.
Few bathrooms.
Some of our most vulnerable.
The conspiracy theories abound.
There is confusion.
Difficult to get assistance.
Offices and services on skeleton crews.
How do we treat the most vulnerable?
And how do we treat those on the front line of this risk?
How do we treat the person 8 feet away with a mask and furrowed brow appearing as if they are being stalked and you might be the stalker?
How do we open a heart when a mind has put on chainmail?
I wonder about Joe and if he is okay in a world turned a bit inside out.
Dear Anonymous,
This is Joe. This is an image from years ago when I would encounter Joe on my first light forays near the waterfront. He was always kind to me. I wonder about Joe and if he is okay in a world turned a bit inside out.
Last week he tells me from across the street that he'd like more anti-microbial wipes if I have any. I did because of you Dear Anonymous.
Last week he tells me from across the street that he'd like more anti-microbial wipes if I have any. I did because of you Dear Anonymous. He was using them on the bus even though the bus driver was also wiping surfaces down.
'I wipe down what I can before I sit down. I wipe down everywhere I touch before I leave... The bus driver thanked me.'
On another day at another time I would have hugged him, or maybe just put my hand on his arm to acknowledge that I heard that last part.
'The bus driver thanked me.'
That held such tenderness. I remember wilting.
Instead I left the wipes, and a coffee card and clean socks
( which he recycles where he shelters, so that they can be washed and used again ) on the granite step where he will walk and pick them up.
I will remain wondering if he knows how buoyed I was by his response.
'It's not always pretty. But we sing.'
Dear Anonymous,
Remembering a day when he turned around before heading back to a group of men at the ferry terminal and shouted to me,
'We sing to each other.'
He stood there. Looking at me. Vulnerable and strong simultaneously.
And I recall stopping in my tracks. Feeling this was a gift we do not all have in our lives. I was also dumbstruck that he took the time to turn around and share.
I know it's completely transferential because I consider music divine and intimate and am happy for them and I say
'That's so wonderful you have that.' and, damn, I mean it.
He responds
'It's not always pretty. But we sing.'
and walks around the corner.
I imagine this choir of brokenness, loss and joy, of defiance and stubbornness, of grime and pain, of love and darkness ...and part of me is so deeply jealous in the finest of ways.
I hope they sing now. Chorus after chorus. I hope they sing.
He doesn't like the camera much. But that day, a year or so ago, he gave permission.
Dear Anonymous,
He doesn't like the camera much. But that day, a year or so ago, he gave permission. Gave himself to the image. The moment held a gravitas for me.
I had just been asked to read a letter to him from his mom. The carefully scripted handwritten letter was worn and wilted from the repeated crumpling from fist to pocket and back again.
It was full of love.
It was full of I love you son.
And I fell in love too.
All of us wanting to go home.
Oh, the heartbreaking complexity of our human hearts.
It's not easy in my home. With a bathroom and running water and a kitchen and some food and internet.Imagine without.
Dear Anonymous,
Many of them are sleeping outside. During the day the ones that have temporary shelter at night often are having trouble finding a bathroom to use. Ones roaming the streets after 2 AM are even more suspicious to police. Their usual shelters for coffee are not available to congregate. Overall the mood is anxious. Short tempered.
Some of their community resources have had to close. Cut back.
Like trimming a penny that wasn't ever enough.
I see them briefly. Put on gloves and hand a card. I miss being able to put my hand on their sleeve. Or their shoulder. Or the occasional hug. All that not the way at the moment.
The socks and coffee cards remain urgent.
It's not easy in my home. With a bathroom and running water and a kitchen and some food and internet.
Imagine without.
He said something like this:
Dear Anonymous,
He said something like this: You can give up the alcohol. The drugs. The sex. The whatever. But if you don't let go of the ego...(and here he puts his hand up to his temple fingers gathered )........boom. (Hand gestures by flying to the side fingers splayed.)
Boom.
Love in the Time of Covid19.
Dear Anonymous,
In an informal way of accessing, meaning there's no science or data to my observation, it seems that it's not real clear out here about the virus. Handwashing hygiene is understood and shrugged off by many. Difficult to comply for many. City ordinances regarding gathering seem vaguely understood. Conspiracy theories abound. Incomplete information circulating. High drama and dismissal of risk...both evidenced.
Another threat. Another stress. Another difficulty. Rumor and policy mix and mash.
And I wonder how we help. Coffee card and socks handed out today at arms length with gloves, which felt right and awful and not enough.
Will continue as if I am a carrier which means I'll need to consider for a bit. Unchartered territory.
Love in the Time of Covid19.
How can I walk by without loving what will be?
Dear Anonymous,
Our friend Tyler showed up briefly yesterday morning. It's a difficult and uncertain time and that is not making the streets any more stable. I worry there will be many more out here before this is all over.
He smiles. Allows me to see him and I remember Alden Andrews commenting on photos of folks on the street on not so good days. He said 'THAT WAS ME.' remarking on his own mighty struggles.
Alden passed away tragically this weekend, the result of profound injuries from a hit and run accident.
After surviving heroin addiction.
That beautiful young man who rose like a phoenix from a pile of ashes was able to build a life with people he loved, in community, with his child and family. No more street.
That beautiful man related to another young man, miserable on the street and said 'THAT'S ME.' identifying in those words the spectrum of his own path.
So, how can I walk by without loving what will be?
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Sometimes I feel like I am walking onto a Shakespearian performance during some late act in a play I don't really know the details of and didn't quite realize I'd be attending.
Dear Anonymous,
Sometimes I feel like I am walking onto a Shakespearian performance during some late act in a play I don't really know the details of and didn't quite realize I'd be attending.
There will tears. And tragic laughter. There will be love.
And loss.The great human dilemnas will make cameo appearances.
My own reason and logic do not apply here in the plot. There are sinister factors and conspiracies I could not imagine. No one is safe, I am told. And this is the habit of thinking. Sometimes I am challenged to keep my nose just clear of the sanity line as I listen.
A run in with the police. He says he has no idea why. Therefore he feels it is most unjust. Compellingly unjust.
I have absolutely no idea. I never will.
Still, there is a coffee card and socks.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.