Skip to main content

Homelessness and its plague of frequent death

“And our bodies are earth, and our thoughts are clay, and we sleep and eat with death.”

The people of Homeless World Sacramento die frequently, with homelessness itself seeming to be the plague that offs us.  A lantern in a tent blows out and two are asphyxiated from the gas.  Their dog dies, too.  A man’s face (and the brain that had animated it) is destroyed from the blast of a gun. Over the course of a long string of besotted years livers are poisoned by alcohol to the point of not functioning. Death ensues. [Homeless persons don’t get liver transplants.]  The homeless dead are carried off in the motorized carts of modern day and most are discarded in our day’s potter’s fields after being turned to ash.

Conventional citizens die, too, of course.  But their deaths are much less frequent. They live longer, after all, and usually die quietly behind the veil of hospitals and nursing homes. These deaths are sterile, offstage, and followed by a dignified obituary.  Things are wrapped up and sealed off in a ritual.

Homeless people die openly.  Often tragically.  And by causes unnatural.  Interventions to save the vulnerable are less available and less successful out here than in the prim, swanky halls of conventional citizens'.

Many homeless people stake out paths to kill themselves and diligently stay apace on their descent to oblivion.  Denizens in homeless climes are more histrionic and can be socially askew, and death frequently comes suddenly and is -- up until the last breaths anyway -- unemotional.  There’s nothing to cry about until you’re gripped with fear.

“By the description of the guy, it would seem to be either Casper or Overhill that died on the light rail,” someone at the mission said. “People thought he was asleep.  It held up train service, through-out the system, for over an hour.”

“Overhill had been falling out of his chair in chapel a lot in recent weeks,” I said.

“But Casper hasn’t been around.  He’d disappeared into the streets,” someone responded. “I bet it’s him.”

It turned out to be Overhill, whom I knew as ‘211,’ since that’s what he told me to call him. Steel Reserve 211 was the name of the cheap high-alcohol lager he drank in large quantities. 211 (the man) could do magic tricks with his agile hands and dexterous fingers. He was truly amazing.  When there was call or opportunity for his trickery, 211 would sober up in an instant and your dime or quarter would deftly disappear (into his pocket).

When I first became homeless, over four years ago, Sacramento’s most prominent homeless people were Gremlin and Chongo. It wasn’t their noticeable names that made them foremost:  Gremlin was a small, wirey soul with fiery red hair.  He was as absolute in his bravery as he was in his loyalty to friends.

Chongo was known for his balance, his intelligence and fearlessness.I first saw him waiting for a 15 bus downtown.  He was weighted down with eight pieces of cases and bags, tied together in a crazy bundle that all was twice his volume and three times his weight.  He was a famous rock climber who became a retired legend and long-time homeless Sacramentan. He wrote the science column for SHOC’s homeless newspaper, Homeward Street Journal.

When a friend of Gremlin’s was attacked by a guy with a knife, Gremlin leaped into the fray. Valiant Gremlin died; the friend didn’t.

Chongo, death defier that he ever was, lives on.  A very long New York Times article about the man tells us of his exploits across ropes at high altitudes and climbing near-vertical and -impossibly-difficult slopes.  Today, he lives at the edges in Homeless World, proving all the more how death cannot snatch him.

One winter, kindly Bernice found a patch in Capital Park where she could sleep, keeping her things nearby.  A beast of a man, heavily tattooed, stabbed her for no particular reason other than he could. She died. The killer, with blood on him and his knife, was filmed by a hidden camera when he wandered past a light-rail stop.

Lovely Bernice, a small middle-aged black woman, was dead.  I knew her only very slightly, but it was a hard thing to get my head around.
The quote that begins this essay is from the 1930 film version of All Quiet on the Western Front.


Shifty said…
A frozen tennis shoe with strings stuck to winter-cold asphalt, under a pile of slushy ice. The person whose foot inhabited that old frayed shoe has finally found peace, we can hope. To the Bernice's and the couple with the loyal hound, for whom life was made so hard to survive: I wish more could have been done for you.
Shifty, Thank you for your wonderful, wonderful right sentiments. I got tears in my orange juice this morning.
swingdancer said…
It's time to move the homeless shelter OUT of the Sacramento mid-downtown area, somewhere were they won't be pandering and ruining the element of the downtown lifetyle! It's pretty digusting the whole downtown is inidated with these smelly beggers,, lol and I volunteer at the shelters all the time, but just tired of these jackasses shitting in my yard, breaking into buildings and the criminal element behind alot of them!!!! Move the shelters far enough out in a area where they can't beg and be such a problem!

I would want everyone's experience to improve such that it is healthy and happy. I say that in respect to both the residents of mid-downtown and homeless people (including myself) who frequently are there.

A lot of things are happening, currently. People are finding housing and the economy is improving. Maybe, maybe, things will get better from this.

How shelters can be moved, I don't know. The NIMBY circumstance persists. Nobody welcomes more homeless people moved into their neighborhood.

But I do honor your complaint, swingdancer. I know that there are rascals among the homeless and others that have lost their dignity. It is not right that you should have to put up with the all the mess. Though no fault of yours, your life experience is diminished.

Popular posts from this blog

More Homeless Hate from Marcos Breton

There was a long spell a handful of years ago when Marcos Breton said something so fully ridiculous in one of his hateful screeds against homeless folk that it appeared to be very apparent he had been taken off the Homeless Beat by his superiors. Unhappily, after a few months, Breton was again writing disparaging columns about homeless folk

In today's Bee [3/5/17], Breton has written one of his longest columns. Online, it is titled "The price downtown Sacramento is paying for Mayor Steinberg’s homeless crusade
Read more here: It goes on for days. The message, essentially, is this: Homeless people poop; they're getting a great deal of what they want from the overmuch-helpful mayor; and business people proximate to Chavez Park are made miserable by the forever-disgusting homeless that are there in great number.

O.K. Let's get into all this a bit. Except in Breton's mind, homeless pe…

The first-person dimension of homeless Sacramentans suffering from Schizophrenia

"Disabilities and dysfunction process from having been shunned and denied access to needed opportunitites and networks of support."
~ the brothers Lysaker in Schizophrenia and the Fate of the Self What is schizophrenia? How many are homeless Sacramentans?

Perhaps 15% of the Sacramento homeless population suffers from schizophrenia. The percentage is difficult to determine for many reasons that branch from both the fuzzy definition of the malady and that many people within the homeless community who have the illness (1) are in denial and are undiagnosed and (2) have the illness as a diagnosis only – the disability can be faked by people who are successful claimants of social security and other benefits.

What is schizophrenia? One webspace gives us this definition: The most chronic and disabling of the severe mental disorders. Typically develops in the late teens or early twenties. The overt symptoms are hallucinations (hearing voices, seeing visions), delusions (false beliefs ab…

Homelessness and Remembrance

This is a follow-up on the matter of remembering homeless people who have died and the Wall that Libby Fernandez wants to build in remembrance of the deceased. [See earlier blogpost "Tell Libby NOT to build her wall."]

This blogpost is prompted by a Philosophy Bites podcast released in the last couple days -- titled "Cécile Fabre on Remembrance." Fabre's take on why we honor or grieve for certain individuals or certain collections of individuals is not greatly helpful -- since his focus is mainly one of fallen war heroes and war casualties -- but it does open up the issue of why should there be a remembrance effort for deceased homeless people at all. Who is served by it? And has the effort been perverted by the avarice of charities in their insatiable drive for donations.

It is, for starters, a curious thing for "homeless people" to be a collective that is honored. I write that NOT because I don't want the best for homeless people. But, homelessn…