Dear Anonymous,
The group was mostly beat up this morning. Black eyes. Swollen temples. Blood stains. Upset stomaches. Skin troubles.
Bottle of water? Yes.
Do you have any coffeecake? Yes.
Socks. Socks. Socks.
A coffee card. A clean t-shirt.
Winter is rough out here. Summer sometimes looks rougher.
One man exchanges a book with me. I ask if he writes. He nods his head. I hand him an empty journal.
Another picks up another book I've brought along.
I never hear the stories of the black eyes and blood stains.
Of the swollen temples and hospital bracelets.
But they smile and wish me well.
See you tomorrow.
Take care.
Love ya'.
And that's that. I have been blessed again.
Thank you Dear Anonymous. Cards, socks and shirts...a few pairs of pants. Some sneakers help.
Not sure how the conversation got here but Mike tells me his grandfather used to say...
Dear Anonymous,
Not sure how the conversation got here but Mike tells me his grandfather used to say 'Your ass is grass. And I'm the lawn mower.' and would then thrash him.And then another man chimes in, 'My mom chased me with one of those long oversized wooden cooking spoons and whacked me on the ass....'
Another man passing by trying to get to a bathroom says 'There's a special place in heaven for you guys (Dear Anonymous).
I say, We'll meet you there.
He says, 'I 'll say hello on my way through but that's not where I'm headed. Can't do what I've done in this life and stay in heaven. My friend said 'We die into life. And then he drove his car at top speed into a brick wall.'
He hesitates, pouts his lips and says 'Yeah. He never felt no pain.'
Coffee cards. Socks. Do you have a backpack? You remembered my shoe size! Do you need pants? What size?Bye. Love you.
It is wet and chilly out here and Mike is shivering. Everyone struggling their struggles...
Dear Anonymous,
It is wet and chilly out here and Mike is shivering. Everyone struggling their struggles. And exceptionally polite. And kind. In this moment. Always a 'Love ya'' when they leave. Always a consideration of 'How are YOU today?' These two markers of humanity always move me. It is not a given. And when anyone of us is lost in what ever suffering we are suffering, hearts appear to shut down like collapsing origami balloons. All that space that can hold 'other' collapsed.
A piece of coffeecake here. A coffee card there. Finally able to get this one woman some new underwear. She smiles a smile that lights up the street. Mens boxer briefs hold real street cred out here. Handed out as a sacrament of holiness.
No pun intended. They are received with the embodied gratitude of open palms, of two hands opening a tattered bag and accepting them as they drop to the bottom.
Backpacks via #maggiesmission where swept up. Thank you.
Dry socks on a wet day. Divinity.
One man hands me a gift. A copy of THE PLAGUE by Albert Camus. I promise to bring books the next time to swap.
Jed Spear sighting on Custom House Wharf. The conversation turned to badminton. Didn't see that coming.
Jed Spear sighting on Custom House Wharf. The conversation turned to badminton. Didn't see that coming.
There were three men chatting over cigarettes and there was coffee cake and water and coffee cards...
Dear Anonymous,
There were three men chatting over cigarettes and there was coffee cake and water and coffee cards. There were socks.
One of them had requested a backpack.
I said, 'I got one but, it's... well, it's pretty.'
They all stop.
How pretty?
I say, 'It's pretty damn pretty.'
I go to the car and show the man who scoffs at it.
Mike on the other hand said 'What the hell? I've thrown bright pink backpacks over my shoulder and walked uptown!'
He takes the very preppy, very white pack, pretty much made for a picnic on a boat heading out from a yacht club.
I said 'So, I see you can do pretty?'
Mike laughs.
And that...that was the moment we both sought.
I told them I would order pink backpacks from here on out. It was met with laughter and groans and a few eye rolls.
He was in and out of the hospital last night. Story unclear. Not sure. OD maybe. Profound agitation...
Dear Anonymous,
He was in and out of the hospital last night. Story unclear. Not sure. OD maybe. Profound agitation. Upset with a possible relationship break up. No reserve to cope with the emotional onslaught. In the ER a woman wails as her husband dies there. He leaves the ER.
'Can't handle it. I was depressed going in, and then THAT?'
Another man shares his plan to get on a bus today to Boston. He can't make enough signing on the street up here since Covid19.
Socks. Water. Coffee cards. A t shirt. Tiny little props for an unhinged moment.
...One thing for sure: Masks cannot hide smiles.
Dear Anonymous,
I had never seen him without a hat. Which he was asking for. Which I do not have. One thing for sure:
Masks cannot hide smiles.
"If we desire a society in which men are brothers, then we must act towards one another with brotherhood..."
"If we desire a society in which men are brothers, then we must act towards one another with brotherhood. If we can build such a society, then we would have achieved the ultimate goal of human freedom." – Bayard Rustin
This image was originally posted June 8th, 2018, with the following caption:
Chronicle of a Homeless Man: Mistaken for someone wanted by police he is taken down in a parking lot by three policemen. The fourth incoming officer recognizes him by name, and assures the other officers it is not who they are looking for. A fractured rib, and a damaged ankle he goes to the ER. Where he is offered a 'cocktail' of pain killers including oxycontin. He is two years sober. He knows well it's the beginning of the end of sobriety, or sell them on the street. He declines both apparently. He walks all night, having taken an aspirin,unable to sleep. One never knows the whole story. But this is a chapter.
I was able to hand out a few pairs of shoes yesterday and there were some happy feet today...
Dear Anonymous,
I was able to hand out a few pairs of shoes yesterday and there were some happy feet today. Today, a woman needing pants. I have none that fit her. She takes a pair of new men's boxers to wear under her torn ones, open seam in the back. She smiles. A big beautiful smile. And says God bless you. If blessings are being handed out I want to return her blessing. If god is not available I pray she is blessed in all ways by this world.
Mike is having a tough time. Relationship trouble has him seperated from his partner. He slept at a friends for an hour. But he has trouble sleeping, so he wanders. All night. As he does. He's cold and needs dry pants, which I have.
Thank you, Dear Anonymous.
A beautiful day in the neighborhood. If I had had a baby pool...
Dear Anonymous,
A beautiful day in the neighborhood. If I had had a baby pool we may have all invited one another to roll up our pants and stick our feet in. And I would have loved that.
Another man living rough out here mentions that the BLM protest on Commercial Street last night was the most moving thing he had ever witnessed. Silent, he said.
'It was amazing....' as approximately 2000 people layed themselves down on this street we stand on.
'Amazing...' he says, gently shaking his head and walking his bicycle away.
He has bright aqua eyes that disappear in the crinkled folds of his endearing and disarming smile...
Dear Anonymous,
He has bright aqua eyes that disappear in the crinkled folds of his endearing and disarming smile. He makes it clear to me that though he is struggling, he is getting a place. An apartment. And soon he says he won't be on the streets like this. He has a job but got laid off back in March and hopes to be able to be rehired.He's having trouble making any ends meet at all.
He is hesitant to take too much of the resources. Won't take any clothing because he can get that elsewhere he tells me. But he is clumping around in a pair of oversized and cracked heavy leather and rubber boots. He lit up when the sneakers arrived.
'My feet are a mess.'
Mostly he wanted to thank you. He wanted to thank whoever Dear Anonymous is. He is really grateful, and a bit stunned.
The last thing he says is 'When I get back on my feet, I want to give back. This has helped.'
Prayers for his sore and painful feet.Thanks, Dear Anonymous.
Haven't seen him for a week or two. Every day I wonder about his whereabouts...
Dear Anonymous,
Haven't seen him for a week or two. Every day I wonder about his whereabouts and guys offer me their sightings. But today he is here and giving permission for a rare image. He apologizes for his hair. 'It's ugly.' he says.
I don't see that and I'm not havin' it.
He is a formidable man, size 15 shoe. And has the softest voice. He asks for sage and crumples it in his palm and then pockets it. He is more talkative this morning than many mornings I encounter him. My hearing is poor and though I miss many words I don't miss his sweetness. His internal quiet. Something about him that runs deeper than street talk. Something immensely gentle.
'We're trying to find that innocent part of ourselves again. Before the world twisted us into what trauma twists you into..."
'We're trying to find that innocent part of ourselves again. Before the world twisted us into what trauma twists you into. You know it's a return to innocence and it's a return to being childlike again before these f***ing things come in and reshape and turn you into the f***ing Joker. And that's what it was turning me into. I started getting feelings of hope.'
- Justin Downey
An excerpt from Trauma, Addiction and the Greatest Life Cheat
https://www.joannearnold.com/posts/trauma-addiction-and-the-greatest-life-cheat-a-conversation-with-justin-downey
They always ask how I am. Which is not a given. Which is not a question one can assume will be asked...
Dear Anonymous,
They always ask how I am. Which is not a given. Which is not a question one can assume will be asked. When folks are really struggling there is little energy or ability to ask a question like that. I ask about those that don't show up. Where's Ed? Chandler? Grey Wolf? The list goes on. The responses vary from shakes of a head to exasperated sighs to knowing silences and sideways glances at the sidewalk.
They ask 'Why do you guys do this? Why are you guys kind to US?' I note the tone of self deprecation. Of loathing.
And the answer is, Why would we not?
Thanks Dear Anonymous for the help with coffee cards and socks and clothing. It all helps. Thank you for connecting.
He has quite a presence. Always. Eats the sugar glazed pumpkin muffin top and shares the rest with the birds...
Dear Anonymous,
He has quite a presence. Always.
Eats the sugar glazed pumpkin muffin top and shares the rest with the birds.
'I like the sparrows.' he says. And sure enough they arrive flittering wings and pecking beaks.
And we watch.
He tells me the extent to which people are avoiding being close to him and his buddies on the street during the pandemic. 'Movin' across the street and back again and then again to avoid each of us. Like a billiard ball.'
Three days sober, he shares, and he agrees to be photographed.
He stands waiting. Cold. Hungry. Struggling. A pair of pants are clutched to his chest (thank you Dear Anonymous)...
Dear Anonymous,
He stands waiting. Cold. Hungry. Struggling. A pair of pants are clutched to his chest (thank you Dear Anonymous). He comments on the protests and broken windows of storefronts. He has nothing, he says, but what I see. His voice barely audible.
I am thinking about this phrase WE ARE ONE. And I think yes, yes, we are one. As long as this WE includes the staggering 'drunk' on the corner who has just vomited on my shoes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand black with grime. And the young kid in active addiction behind my back desperately trying to steal my wallet or run off with a friends' backpack. As long as it includes the ragged and drawn woman selling her body because that's the condition for her survival. As long as it includes her pimp. And her children. And those that may decry her behavior. We are one as long as it includes that politician that turns my stomach or yours, whose voice comes on the radio and we slam the radio off. As long as it includes people who praise him or her. Yes, as long as it includes that 'idiot' on the highway who cuts me or you off, or gives us the finger for our latest transgression per them. As long as it includes me having the word 'idiot' even flash across my mind. Yes as long as this includes those that will mock mask wearers. As long as it includes the mask wearers. Yes as long as this includes that exasperated man infuriated about getting his coffee order wrong. And that barista just trying to make ends meet struggling with two young children at home without childcare. If it includes her critics. As long as it includes that cop who intentionally kneeled on a mans neck for 9 minutes, killing him. As long as it includes that man who is now dead and as long as it includes his entire community. And the people who are angry about that. On both sides.
We are one. But I sit with those words a bit. If we are one, I don't think we get to select what makes up ONE.
Icon of the Waterfront. Skully. When he looks up and smiles the entire world softens and anything seems possible.
Icon of the Waterfront. Skully. When he looks up and smiles the entire world softens and anything seems possible.
That's a solid good morning. Thanks Timothy Allen, aboard f/v PROVIDENCE.
That's a solid good morning. Thanks Timothy Allen, aboard f/v PROVIDENCE.
Outside Portland Police Station. All is quiet at the moment. The sun has just risen...
Outside Portland Police Station. All is quiet at the moment. The sun has just risen. There is a bit of trash on the sidewalk. An overflowing trash can. A ripped open package of water bottles near the steps. A news team just finishing taping a segment across the street. And RIP GEORGE FLOYD spray painted on the brick wall of the station.
They wanted to be photographed. But I don't have direct permission to reveal their identities. They were unable to attend the protests yesterday. The feeling, and it is feeling based only on a few sentences of communication, that they wanted to be part of this moment. Wanted to be seen. A certain pride in making this stand, perhaps? An urgency to speak up? A mix of deep distress and relief, like an exasperated unspoken 'Finally...'.
Speculation on my behalf?
I leave their faces blank. Not to rob them of their identity but maybe as a space for us to place ourselves. A space to place ourselves in if we have not already tried on the cloak of our injustices. Our uninvestigated racism. I leave the space. White. Open. Making a stand.
Strip away the privilege. The entitlement.
There is no where to go back to. We are all from away excepting the Indigenous community that has survived our genocide. Yes, genocide. Only here to go from. I wonder and implore, how will we be?
'So the f***ing thing that trauma did, which was to make me hate people so much...ended up being the rescuer of me. It was people....'
'So the f***ing thing that trauma did, which was to make me hate people so much...ended up being the rescuer of me. It was people. I was like, this is a f***** up lesson. The thing I hate the most is what ends up returning myself to me. Wicked ironic.' -Justin Downey
Excerpt from TRAUMA, ADDICTION AND THE GREATEST LIFE CHEAT: An Interview with Justin Downey
© Joanne Arnold
From trauma, violence and hate to hot yoga, goldendoodles and chanting.Thank you for sharing your honesty and insights Justin Downey.
The entire interview is available at:
https://www.joannearnold.com/posts/trauma-addiction-and-the-greatest-life-cheat-a-conversation-with-justin-downey