Dear Anonymous,
Tyler always offers himself to be photographed. He steps into the experience of being seen in a way few do. And I always love that he allows us to see him. In good times. In bad. That somehow he seems connected to something far deeper in him than appearances.
This morning he drops his gaze into that lens and looks straight into me as if he can see a distant galaxy, and simultaneously as I squint through that viewfinder, he becomes the galaxy himself. The camera disappears and I am standing holding nothing but ferocious love.
And then there's socks and coffee cards.
Today arriving with a generous donation of shoes and boots, pants, socks and coffee cards...
Dear Anonymous,
Today arriving with a generous donation of shoes and boots, pants, socks and coffee cards. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Mike is a shoe guy and was really pleased with this donation. Happy feet help on the street when you're pounding the pavement without regular hygiene.
It's a morning of loss too.
This young man lost his family to his drug use. Worried about his mom.
And this woman. She lost her job, her home, her kids. Drug use.
He lost his backpack. Again. Pants, no belt...and all I can find is some clothesline.
He, well, he lost his patience long ago. Along with a grandson.
Some have lost their minds.
Mike apologizes for the behavior of one person, 'She 's been out here so long she's lost her politeness.'
And so it is.
Upright. Arrived in time for coffeecake. Great to see you Tyler Scott.
Dear Anonymous,
Upright. Arrived in time for coffeecake. Great to see you Tyler Scott.
Lots of socks. Hungry for socks. Hungry for shoes. Tshirt supply is gone.
The open maw of the street. The maw of lives pushed to edges.
But there is water to distribute. Boxer briefs to hand out. And it will never be enough.
One young man I offer socks to puts up his hand.
'I'm all set. Hold onto them for somebody who got nothing.'
And I do.
Another man hands me a sweatshirt to 'recycle'. I'll wash it and back on the streets it goes.
He has lived experience of addiction. And recovery. And all the messy territory that lives between...
Dear Anonymous,
He has lived experience of addiction. And recovery. And all the messy territory that lives between these two shores. He has sustained deep personal loss. One of his brothers died from a fatal overdose. Recently. She, as well, recently lost a boyfriend to the same path. They are both employed. Live in a lovely apartment. They choose to visit.
I am just sitting with how that was yesterday to have them hand out packs to folks on the street in his brother's memory. Reflecting on the conversations. How impossible it can feel to make any change. Just how difficult it is to do so. Just how diminished thinking can become out here. Desperation. Urgency. Drama. Being overwhelmed is the norm. Mental illness partners with substance abuse. Trauma is leaking everywhere. Everyone talks at once. No one listening. No one realizing they are talking over someone else. Triggers. Triggers. What's the plan? I need a drink. I need a fix. I need boxers.
For these two to simply arrive. Stand with us. Be kind. Offer something without needing anything. Good medicine. Thank you.
I met Nick Giacoppo at MaineWorks and his brother Chris Giacoppo. Beautiful men...
I met Nick Giacoppo at MaineWorks and his brother Chris Giacoppo. Beautiful men. They lost their brother Ricky to a fatal overdose this year. This morning Nick joined me on the streets and distributed backpacks from his family's non-profit RICKY,INC. A tribute and living memorial aimed to assist those struggling on the street. Though they are operating out of the Boston area Nick was able to distribute many here in Portland this morning. Nick's mom...I'd be very, very proud.
Two really bright and involved people who give my world great hope. Nick and Virginia...
Two really bright and involved people who give my world great hope. Nick and Virginia. Having wrestled with and survived awful odds in recovery. Who have sustained intense personal loss. Out this morning at 5:30 AM sharing backpacks loaded with street useful items from RICKY,INC. Named after one of Nick's brothers who died from a fatal overdose.
Rickyinc.org
'I been upset lately. I can't even visit the kids. Can't give 'em anything....'
Dear Anonymous,
'I been upset lately. I can't even visit the kids. Can't give 'em anything. That's such a high for me. I was sittin' outside usin' and a 10 year old kid came up to me. I know him from the shelter. He said 'Whatcha' doin' Mikey? That stuff's no good for you, Mikey.' A TEN year old lookin' at me, tellin me this.'
He heads out with a few RICKY,INC. backpacks to help distribute. Bringing a streetfriend up to hopefully find a caseworker. He wants help.
There are tears and tissues and no more coffee cake.
These two young, bright people joined me to distribute backpacks for RICKY,INC.
Dear Anonymous,
These two young , bright people joined me to distribute backpacks for RICKY,INC. ( Respecting Individuals with Care and Kindness You Matter) This is a non profit started by Bernadette and Rich Giacoppo who lost their son to a fatal overdose. This is Ricky's brother Nick Giacoppo and his girlfriend Virginia Norton, who has also lost people very close to her to fatal overdose.The packs are filled with resource information and practical items, from food to socks to hats to personal hygiene products.
Their presence initiated some conversation regarding use and addiction and rehab. Tough and real.
And one man listening, uncharacteristically wipes his eyes with a wadded up tissue. And asks for help.
'I don't want to live like this no more.'
Thank you Nick Giacoppo, and Virginia and RICKY,INC. for joining us this morning.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
His face is swollen. Stitches. He leans on his cane...
Dear Anonymous,
His face is swollen. Stitches. He leans on his cane.
Somedays remaining upright is not possible.
Sometimes that ground hits hard.
He struggles.
He is in our world. In this world in which we move about together and move about apart. Soft spoken. Courteous.
He always turns toward me as he leaves, new socks tucked into his front pocket, with a dignified smile and makes eye contact as he lowers his chin, looks up at me and says 'Now you have yourself a good day.'
And when he says it I can feel that possibility. I can feel like I'd like my day to be good because he wishes it so. Maybe I COULD have a good day.
You too, friend. You too.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
He shows me a little toy a buddy at the shelter gave him...
Dear Anonymous,
He shows me a little toy a buddy at the shelter gave him. One of the kids he's brought toys to in the past year. Hasn't seen him much during the shut down.
The little boy offers him the key chain. Mike accepts.
'I'll give it back as soon as he wants it.'
He tells me the boy and his mom now have a home.
The boy told him he even has his own room. A first.
He smiles.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Did you sleep at all?...
Dear Anonymous,
Did you sleep at all?
'Sleep? What's that? I roll over and she's not there and then I'm wide awake. I rearranged the bedroom my uncle let me sleep in. I had to do something.'
Have you eaten?
'Nah, can't keep anything down.'
He is thanking the tribal representative who sent this bundle for him. I read the message on the card that was included. He listens. Both our hearts melt. Our eyes collect dew. Yeah, that must be it.
He tucks it tenderly into his shirt pocket. Thank you, Dear Anonymous.
He contributed to Dear Anonymous when he received his stimulus check.
Dear Anonymous,
He contributed to Dear Anonymous when he received his stimulus check.
#maggiesmission is the effort of a woman whose daughter died of overdose. She had spent time on these streets...
Dear Anonymous,
#maggiesmission is the effort of a woman whose daughter died of overdose. She had spent time on these streets. #maggiesmission has supplied in the neighborhood of 100 backpacks for the streets. The streets of 'my pack was stolen last night. AGAIN'. The streets of 'I got nothing'. The streets of people wandering with all they own in a ripped plastic shopping bag. The handles cutting into their fingers.
She had asked me 'Do you think anyone would find any use in this?' holding up a leather over the shoulder bag.
This was his response and his gratitude.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
The group was mostly beat up this morning. Black eyes. Swollen temples. Blood stains...
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.
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.