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.

Comments

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.
Anonymous 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!
swingdancer,

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

The Mission Five Years Ago, And Today

I have spent the night the past two weeks plus at the Union Gospel Mission and am having an excellent time of it -- not only regards to sleeping in the dorm that the mission has, but also listening to the sermons that are delivered in the early evening. The Christmas music that is performed is also splendid. [And the food -- the FOOD -- has been fantastic during my stay so far! A happier Tom there couldn't be.] I chatted with a pal last night about The Mish – about how things were about five years ago when we both used the mission’s services frequently, and how thing are, today.
Five years ago, there were a lot scuffles between the guys when the front gate was opened in the early afternoon and in the area near the contact window there were some brawls as guys fought over where guys were in line to get a bed in the dorm.
Nowadays, however, the mission is very much a peaceful place both on the grounds of the facility and and out on the street.
I do not know what transformative eve…

Homeless Sacramentans lose case that would have given them the right to set up outdoor camping

8/11/13 I certainly give attorneys Mark Merin and Cat Williams credit for pursuing a case against the city of Sacramento to give homeless Sacramentans the right to set up tents and a campsite. I wanted them to win their case, but they didn't. They lost it.

BUT, it is also necessary to look at the particulars of the case that Merin and Williams brought and see that the situation underlying the court case was not very compelling.

During the period eight years ago when 22 homeless campers set up their tents and brought in supplies to Mark Merin's vacant lot at C Street, near 12th, there was loud noise and plenty of other mayhem. Drug dealers were on the street encouraging buys from the campers. The Hernandez couple that lived in a house nearby were constantly being taunted by the campers, disrupting their lives.

Per always with Safe Ground camps, calm was deserted for the sake of boisterousness.

Leader John Kraintz and the other Safe Grounders would claim to have signed strict a…

After a Three-Month Hiatus, a Fall from a Ladder & a Broken Wrist, Evangelist Jimmy Roughton Returns to Union Gospel Mission to Preach

After being away from Union Gospel Mission for a quarter of a year, Jimmy Roughton returned to preach at UGM on the cold night of December 13 -- despite suffering [a little? a lot? dunno.] from a fall from a ladder that likely immediately preceded a significant injury (a wrist that was broken).


It was good to see his group from Capital Free Will Baptist Church up on the pulpit, with Roughton rough-and-ready to seduce and inspire the happily-captivate crowd at UGM.


Roughton told us in his opening words that he was now in his 27th year coming to the mission.

I recall the first preaching I had heard from Roughton on June 13, 2009. At that time and up to the current time, Roughton is the only preacher I had ever heard evoke Pascal's Wager -- which is something he would do, occasionally thereafter at the mission. He would evoke Pascal's wager, yet again, last night [12/13/17].


Pascal's wager

Last night, Jimmy evoked Pascal's Wager. He did so near the end of his talk, citing …