As part of the Unhoused Project, for Room In The Inn, I decided to spend Christmas morning documenting such an auspicious day, experienced by those living on the streets. I was prompted, in part, by the remembrance of a song that was popular in 1984 by Band Aid: Do They Know It’s Christmas Time At All.
The lyrics of the song brought attention to the “famine” in Ethiopia, and raised the international awareness, as well as money. The other thing that sparked the impetus for me to do this, is the recent influx of groups, and new-media outlets offering to tell the stories of those facing grave humanitarian crises. Yet in each description of these crises nothing touched on those living on the streets.
In the center of this image is a dark blue mound - just beyond the beige-colored cushion. That is a person sleeping, or at least trying to sleep. As I stood there making a short series of photographs, the person beneath the blanket kept shifting positions in an attempt to get comfortable, or warm - or both. The rain was heavy and constant on Christmas morning and, as you can see, the bridge overhead did very little to protect this person from the encroaching water.
As I moved closer I realized that there was a second person - the gray mound just beyond. I also became aware that the person near the large cushion was only partially covered by a thin blue polyester blanket - the kind handed out in economy class on airlines.
This image was emotionally overwhelmingly difficult for me, which I had not expected. Yes, I hold great empathy for those living like this, but there was something more - something that I have no way of describing. My heart ached intensely, and the pit of my stomach knotted. In the past I have photographed countless human sufferings - from severely impoverished villages, to conflict zones where human life had little value.
In these situations I had always been able to remain slightly detached from the horrific-ness of what I was witnessing. But not this time…
The building to the left is The Rutledge - a high end eatery. The dichotomy between these two scenes was striking, but what made it more extreme, on this morning, was the Christmas music that was playing through the restaurant’s outside speakers. For me this was (unintentionally of course) adding insult to an already painful reality thirty yards away.
Again, for me it was a reminder of how we dismiss, ignore, or completely disengage ourselves from those living on the streets - the displaced among our society. I am not opposed to the restaurant, or what it represents in our society. And yes, the restaurant is a permanent structure that this person chose to seek some semblance of refuge near. What I would like to see is a modicum of consideration. The area beneath this bridge is well-known for being a place where the displaced seek refuge from the inclement weather. So why not - in this season when no one will be sitting outside to eat, turn off the outside speakers; and if not permanently through the winter months, at least during the Christmas Season.
As I was walking along the single railroad track, that dead ends at the old train station, I noticed a tent by the river at the base of the embankment. A short set of concrete steps led downward, then stopped abruptly at a black cyclone fence that had been cut open - just enough for a small person to get through easily.
I pulled the cut fence back as far as I could, left my camera back on the bottom concrete step, and with two cameras slung around my neck I bent low and squeezed through the opening. Once on the other side I stepped onto the embankment. Almost immediately my feet slid forward on the slick mud. My legs flew up in the air. I landed on my but and back then slid rapidly to the bottom, and into the river.
Quickly I recovered and, thankfully it seemed that I had not alerted whoever was living in the tent. The small encampment had a circular stone fire pit near the tent. In many ways it seemed to be an idyllic situation. In fact it reminded me of a possibly scene from the early days when explorers, traders and trappers migrated through this territory.
Last Wednesday, as I was leaving Room In The Inn, I was putting my riding gear on. Velvet (my motorcycle) was parked about thirty feel from the exit gate. A man who had exited a few minutes after I did walked along the sidewalk where I stood. He was dragging a suitcase with great difficulty.
As a side note, many of the displaced people have a roller suitcase with them. These suitcases contain all of their possessions.
This man, who I now know his name to be Mark, stopped where I was standing, paused for a brief moment, then began to express his exasperation with then “plastic wheels” on his suitcase. “they just wore down to nothing,” he said. “They just can’t handle being rolled across the pavement so much.”
I supported his sentiments, but I was also somewhat astounded by this. When I though about it, it made perfect sense to me. After all, suitcases are designed to roll over short distances of pavement: vehicle to the airport checkin, or to and from the hotel lobbies. But to be rolled over pavement, many times for miles every day, the wheels break down completely.
Mark then told me that he was going to go to a Lowe’s hardware store to see about purchasing new wheels. This morning, as I returned to Velvet - parked in the very same spot, Mark walk by again, still ‘dragging’ his suitcase. I hadn’t seen him, as I was loading soaked camera equipment into the hard cases. Mark, however, recognized me - and spoke. “I still haven’t made it to Lowes”, he said.
I looked at the wheels again. One was non-existent, and the other nearly the same. I told him that there was a Lowes near where I lived, and that I would go there tomorrow to see what was available - which I did.
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Wonderful essay on a sad situation.