Carol Samson's WRIT 1133 Class

Project Homeless Connect Reflection
John DeLacy

You must give some time to your fellow men. Even if it's a little thing, do something for others -- something for which you get no pay but the privilege of doing it.
     -Albert Schweitzer (1875 - 1965)
                       
I am always willing to partake in philanthropic endeavors, even it requires me to get up before noon. I was certainly anticipating Project Homeless connect because interacting with people is undoubtedly my niche. Upon arrival I could immediately prophesy that the day was going to be busy due to the spectacular weather. It took a little while to get situated; and once we all did, the first bus arrived. The first person I was paired up with was a short Hispanic woman named C. She had long brown hair that spanned the length of her torso, and she was wearing a Dave Matthews Band Summer Tour 2003 T-shirt. Right away this excited me due to the fact that is one of my favorite bands, and I couldnt wait to exchange our favorite songs of his and how good his concerts are. C had never heard of them. Her first words to me were, My boyfriend threw me out last week, literally. I was taken aback by this comment; how was I suppose to respond, Oh, neat? In reality that wasnt a prompt for me to rebuttal with a sympathetic gesture; all C wanted was to talk to someone. She wanted someone to vent to, so I obliged.

She told me about her sons, both of which are felons. One was present there at Project Homeless Connect. His name was Manuel, and he had just gotten out of prison for grand theft auto and minor drug trafficking. We ran into him a few times, and I could tell by the way he interacted with his mother that he was a kind person with a lot of love for her. I didnt see him as an ex-convict. Cs primary concern was getting a job and getting food stamps. Thus, we registered her in the employment section and got her some food stamps. After this, she was ready to head back to her sisters house where she was staying. I took her and Manuel to the place where the busses were picking up and dropping off, and we said our farewells.

Looking at my watch (a.k.a. my cell phone), it was only 11 am; and I didnt feel that I had fulfilled my obligation.
The next person, whom I spent the rest of the day with, was named L. He was a short and stocky man who wore a fishermans hat pulled down just above his glasses. He had salt and pepper colored hair and a long walrus mustache to match. He sort of looked like a Hispanic Wilford Brimley. He was a talkative man, with a kick in his step. He was so eager to get going and get things done. Being a persistent and fast-paced individual myself, we were a good match. L has lived in Colorado his entire life. He dropped out of high school in the 9th grade to help his fathers landscaping business. After working for his father, he worked odd jobs like custodial supervision and small engine repair. About six years ago, he had finally gotten a job with a piping company in northern Colorado that he was completely satisfied with, and it paid a substantial amount. One day while fixing one of the pipelines an accident occurred, and L was buried in rubble and severely injured. He claimed, Man! Im lucky to be alive, you know? Its due to the graces of the Almighty (pointing to the sky) that I am still here; there must be something I have to do here before I leave (referring to life on Earth). I assured him he was correct, and today we would help him get there.

It was due to this accident that L was put out of work. He suffered a vast repertoire of injuries, everything from torn cartilage in his knees to a hernia the size of a grapefruit. L was so eager to get reemployed and help himself and his brother get off the streets. Currently, they are sleeping on a mattress in an alleyway off of Federal. His brother has such immense back pains that he is practically immobile; therefore, their ability to get off the street is entirely contingent on L. After moments of  silence between us, L was always the primary instigator of conversation. I was so surprised how open L was. He told me about how his wife left him in the 70s, and he hasnt remarried since, and how he has three daughters and grandchildren whom he never sees, and how he blames this on the fact that he is unemployed and homeless. His own family has disowned him due to his circumstances, which is why L was so eager to get a job again and why I was keen to help in any way.

Standing in the long lines for prolonged periods of time was not excruciating by any means; L kept me entirely occupied in conversation. We discussed sports, politics, and other arbitrary things that made time pass rather quickly. L often commented on the order of things, how calculated and organized the lines at Project Homeless Connect operated. He said getting on the bus was a mad house. I could see a sense of comfort in his eyes, a sense of being content as if he was being greeted by an old friend. While being asked his skills at the resume workshop, L spoke with confidence and assertion. He spoke with a sense of empowerment and reassurance that he would soon get back on his feet; he was on the precipice of a better life. After L and I got him entirely situated and ready to go, we checked him out. He then retired his old and worn fishermans hat for a nice new blue one. Looking at his face, I was convinced that that was the pinnacle of his afternoon. When I said good-bye to him, he thanked me profusely and his parting words were, Man, I got a real good feeling about this; I can just feel it in my gut. I asked him if it was perhaps his hernia, and we laughed. I had a good feeling about it, too.

It is often easy for the privileged to ignore and to marginalize the homeless, perhaps even to indulge in occasional cynicism. One can easily walk by a man wrapped in a sleeping bag on a sidewalk on a cold winter night and stereotype him as a lazy drug addict who free-loads on hard earned tax money. That is easy. That is often typical. What that person often doesnt consider, or even care to, is what circumstances can cause homelessness. To the privileged, the homeless are the nameless, the faceless; they are practically subhuman. "Why do they deserve help?" many might ask. It is experiences like Project Homeless Connect that give these people a name, a face, an identity as our fellow human beings. It is events such as this that deteriorates a mindset of us and them and instead creates we. After this experience, I find it nearly impossible to continue my life tacitly approving the tragedy of homelessness. I find it impossible to not help my fellow human beings. 

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