The news trickles in slowly at first. A homeless man dies in Montecito in front of Vons. The next week, a body is found downtown on a bench. Then rumors begin to conflict with reality: A homeless man in a wheelchair is supposedly found dead; exactly when and where changes with each new report. This latest news sent me to the streets to check on the well-being of Freedom, and Shaky Gator and Greg, and so many more. I found each of these gentlemen except Freedom, who remains missing.
All of these wounded neighbors of ours are in varying stages of slow death. They each show the telltale signs of years of abuse and neglect — of the toll that the hard life on the streets takes on the body and soul. Yet, regardless of their fate and pain, each has a gentle smile, a warm hello, an appreciation that some people care for their well-being here in Santa Barbara. They share similar stories — hope of how the slow suicide of the streets will turn out differently for them, and of wistful plans and dreams to turn fate around. But at the end of their plans, sorrow leaks from downcast eyes, acknowledging the hideous pull the streets and Death has on each of them.
With far-away looks to their aged eyes sunk deep into weathered faces, they share the precious gift of warm memories of family and friends. Then come the stories of better times and ever so slowly, the memories of the painful speed bumps on the road of life that sent them careening down these cruel streets.
As for Freedom, I still am unable to track him down. I contacted my official sources and they assured me no body of a wheelchair-bound homeless man has been found. I want to believe this but in my extensive journey of the beaches, parks, shelters and homeless encampments, no Freedom. The slightly built man with doleful eyes is nowhere to be found.
More bad news: The word from the streets comes to me that “Skippy” has died from a blood infection. I talk to his girlfriend who, through tears, confirms the news of this latest tragedy. Next the kind folks from Holly Chaos call me. On their way to the YMCA, they stumble upon paramedics trying to revive a homeless man found down on the sidewalk. Sadly it was to no avail. Jack and Ruth, the kind people who run this faith-based outreach to the homeless, are deeply saddened by this news. While sharing their loss, they remind me of the good people in our community who find love in their hearts to reach out to the less fortunate. They are not professionals nor have they been at this very long — surely not long enough to experience the deaths of hundreds of homeless men and women and one small baby on our streets over the length of my professional career.
But with their kind hearts and caring ways, they help ground me; they help me hold onto the belief that together — we as a community, the housed and unhoused, can come together to end this slow-moving horror show. With compassion, we can say enough excuses, enough turning our backs on the mentally ill, the newly jobless, the physical disabled, veterans of the endless wars and a whole lot of people who are just down on their luck or casualties of hard economic times that they had nothing to do with. If anything, the massive layoffs and the cruelty of our broken medical and mental-health delivery systems should allow us to see our fellow citizens without judgment and condemnation. They, the newly homeless and the chronic, are not given the multimillion-dollar golden parachute for excessive greed that now rains so much pain down upon millions of Americans. No, no golden parachutes, winks nor false handshakes are to be theirs. Instead, a cold night on the beach, a frightful night in an alley or park is theirs to call their own for a few troubled hours.
In the meantime, I continue my search for Freedom to either confirm or lay to rest one more story of a cold and lonely death on our streets. Without him, 2009 starts out with four deaths among our homeless friends, with him, five — a cold way to start a new year.
Postscript
Two more homeless men died this week. “Charlie” lived the last of his existence at the shelter, slowly losing the battle against his debilitating disease along with his will to live. More tragically, Ross, a man who battled both mental and physical disabilities, was cruelly beaten to death Wednesday night on East Beach. And it’s been eight months now and still the police have not made an arrest in the Gregory Ghan case. The word filters down to me to be patient. How long should one wait for justice? And now, again, murders strike the homeless. Enough is enough. Gregory awaits justice. Anywhere else these hate crimes bring media coverage, but not here. Instead cruel “opinion” pieces by some demonize the homeless.
Body count for 2009: 6.
Ken Williams has been a social worker for the homeless for the last 30 years. He is the author of China White and Shattered Dreams, A Story of the Streets.