I've been in Chicago for the past week or so and in my time here I have stopped to talk to some of the homeless people who are so often ignored. I don't know that I would do this if I hadn't spent the last semester taking a class about homelessness, but because I did, thoughts of how much the homeless struggle through every day have been fresh on my mind .
The story I want to tell is about a man named Steven. It was around 4:00 in the afternoon and I was sitting on a bench by the river with my girlfriend when he walked up to us and said, "I'm just a homeless chap looking for a few bucks to catch a train to Waukegan, can you help me?" He smelled a little bit of alcohol and looked somewhat disheveled, but I gave him a dollar anyways because I like to take people at their word.
(the rest of the story past the fold)
I'm not sure how exactly it happened, but he ended up sitting next to me and quickly broke down crying. Between the tears it came out that he had just gotten out of the hospital for alcohol poisoning and severe dehydration. He told me that he was only 44 years old and couldn't believe his life had come to this. He even wanted to pull out his ID to prove he was only 44 (I think more for his own sake than mine). Steven then started saying things like "death is next on the line for me" and showing me the scars across his wrists. If you've ever been in a situation with someone saying things like this, you know it's rather scary. For the next five minutes or so I just sat there with my hand on his back (you would be amazed at how much simple human contact can mean to people).
When he finally became a little more composed he started to tell me that the reason he wanted a ticket to Waukegan (from what I could gather, another city in Illinois) was that he knew of a halfway house there and wanted to commit himself so that he could begin to work through his alcohol addiction and get his life back on track. I asked him how much he had towards a train ticket and how much they cost. He only had the $1.00 that we had given to him, and tickets were $6.00. Just $6.00 and a little kindness is all it can take to help a man start pulling his life back together.
We happened to be going to the train station anyways, so we walked over there with him and got in line for tickets. I gave him five dollars (on top of the one I had already given him) and he bought his one way ticket to Waukegan. Then we walked him to the right track and said goodbye. He gave me a hug before leaving to get on the train and thanked us profusely.
In writing this diary, there was really a moral that I've been trying to get at. That's basically that we shouldn't ignore the homeless. Even if you don't feel comfortable just giving someone money, then give of your time. It's not that hard to stop and say hello, shake their hand, give them a listening ear. So please, next time you see someone homeless, don't just walk by and look away. If you have the time stop even just for a moment to say hello.
Another thing is that we as a society often have one stereotype of what homelessness looks like. We see it as a problem plaguing young-middle aged African-American men who are chemically dependent. While this is one face it is not every face. For instance, many of you may have pictured Steven as African-American though I said nothing about that (he was in fact White). I've written a few other diaries here that profile homeless individuals just to try to show that there are as many different stories as there are individuals experiencing homelessness. If you're interested in reading more of these, here are the stories of a few other people I have met:
Cynthia
Dan