The Discarded

Within the past week, three things happened that made me painfully aware of how easily the homeless are discarded in this country:



1. An article: I read TomDispatch.com's April 1st post by Chip Ward, recently retired assistant director at the Salt Lake City Public Library System, The Public Library as an Asylum for the Homeless. This is an incredibly moving article, and the reader will undoubtedly feel sorry not only for the homeless who use the library for shelter but also for the librarians and the well-housed and well-fed members of the public who come to the library and are bothered by how noisy and smell these homeless people are.

2. A movie: The Pursuit of Happyness (watch the trailer) about a down-and-out father and his five year old son and how precarious their lives were until the father, unusually tenacious and lucky, moved from rags to riches.

3. A friend: “W,” has been working for me for about seven years. He shows up in my backyard nearly every day, and if I don’t have an odd job for him, he reads. He walks to and from his “camp” outside of town where he sleeps year round, his only company a feral cat that he has tamed, along with occasional curious raccoons and deer.

W is one of those people who fall through the cracks in our society: probably not mentally or physically ill enough to get SSI, but not mentally well enough to hold down a job. He’s tried, but he can’t.

Until about a month ago, W remained in good health. Then he fell and injured his knee. He would limp into town, try to do a few chores, then limp back to his camp. He stopped showing up on a regular basis. A week ago, he stopped by while I wasn’t here to get a few dollars. Then he didn’t show up for over a week.

A couple of nights ago, I became concerned that he couldn’t walk and was stuck in his camp with no food or water, i.e., that he could die out there and no one would know. I had no idea where his camp was, but a friend knew its location within a quarter mile or so. I decided someone needed to go find W. My friend’s brother, D, volunteered. At the same time D parked his car in my driveway, W showed up. I burst into tears out of relief that he was okay.

My personal friendship with a homeless person, who is bright, truthful, loyal, yet unable to make it in the work world, has convinced me that there are many, many people out there like W. These people need help.

Quoting Chip Ward, “America is proud of its hyper-individualism, our liberation from the bonds of tribe and the social constraints of traditional societies. We glorify the accomplishments of inventors, innovators, entrepreneurs, pioneers, and artists. But while some individuals thrive and the cutting edge of our technology is wondrous, the plight of the chronically homeless tells me that our communities are also fragmented and disintegrating. We may have gained the world and lost each other.”