The Gorilla Has a Name

By Sharon A. Singer

…a thought provoking article about those who are without a home.

·        FACT: Two years ago, in the year 2005, 11,023 men, women and children were homeless in Florida’s Hillsborough County.  This is a 26% increase from the 8,082 that were counted in 2003. ¹

·        Fact: There were 83,391 people without a place to live in Florida during 2005. This number, by the way, did not include people who became homeless because of the 2004 and 2005 hurricanes. ¹

What are the numbers in 2007 for Hillsborough County ─ for all of Florida ─ all of the USA?

      Do you know there’s an 800 pound gorilla living amongst us?   Actually he’s always been there, but I just couldn’t see him.

     We were sitting side by side on a bench; he was holding a sign that read, “HELP”; I was waiting for a bus.  I remembered his face having a long ragged beard which was now shaved clean.  I commented on his nice, new haircut.  When asked, he reminded me that his name was Bill.

     “I got everything I own right here,” he said, and patted the handlebars of his bike in a proprietary way.

    With suspicion I eyed the sleeping bag and sweaters that were tied to the back his bike.  They were disgustingly dirty.  I tried not to let him see that I was cringing away from them.  Thankfully I was far enough away that I couldn’t smell them; a liberal amount of hot soapy water was badly needed, I thought.  I also observed that he was in need of a sturdier bag to keep his meager possessions in, instead of that flimsy grocery bag he was now carrying.

     My mind must have momentarily drifted off while thinking about the bag.  I could make one, or possibly find something in a thrift store…   Suddenly I jerked back to reality.  I could feel myself panicking because it felt like an awful lot of time had passed.  Was it time for the bus?  I scrambled to look at my watch and I noticed Bill looking at me with curiosity.  To shift the focus from me to him I asked, “Where did you get those cuts on your face?” 

    Before he could answer I had to scramble to get up and climb on to the bus which seemed to have arrived out of nowhere.  I thought he looked pitiful sitting there holding his crudely lettered sign.  Earlier I had given him what change I had, but how long would that last?  It seemed like such a paltry amount.  I could feel frustration mounting.  Other questions bothered me: Why was he here, living on the street?  What more could I have done? 

    I wished that I could single-handedly cure homelessness, but considering my own fragile circumstances, I had to quickly dismiss this thought.  Always the practical and decisive one, I made up my mind quickly: the least I could do was buy some antiseptic wipes to wash his face and hands and an antibiotic salve for those cuts.  I had the salve at home, and the wipes should cost about five dollars ─ that much I could afford.  If he didn’t get these quickly, those cuts would become infected.  Oh yes ─ and a bag, so he’d have someplace to put them!  Satisfied that I had found something constructive to do, I took out paper and pen and started a list as the bus moved toward home.

    I was still thinking about that bag when I went to the mall the following day.  I knew the bag had to meet several requirements: first, it had to be something I could afford; and second, it had to be something that Bill would use, not turn around and sell.  I marched past dozens of shops on the way to my destination, and didn’t feel the slightest urge to stop and window-shop at any of them.  But suddenly it felt like I’d run in to a brick wall!  Try as I might, I couldn’t move from that spot.  Looking up I saw, directly in front of me, a store full of nothing but bags.  I had to smile.  Suddenly it felt like the perfect time for a little window shopping. 

    I began peering through the window of the shop with a practiced eye.  Most of them looked pretty expensive, but you never know…  I might at least get some good ideas, I thought.  I turned to leave, but felt myself drawn back, as though by an invisible force.   I was now convinced that something I needed was in that store. Shrugging my shoulders I went inside. 

    I had no sooner stepped inside when a pretty young woman appeared and politely asked if she could help me.  In a brisk voice meant to discourage further conversation I replied, “No, I’m just looking.”

    It didn’t work.  Cheerfully she persisted. “Do you need a particular style of bag?”

    The question flashed through my mind: Should I answer, or not?  Decision came quickly.   “I’m looking for something for a homeless man,” I said.

    Unexpectedly she responded, “Aw-w-w, how sweet!”

    Oh, no ─ this wasn’t my intention!  I felt my face flushing with embarrassment.  I really wasn’t looking for strokes to my ego.  I only wanted to look and leave quietly.

    Thinking to cover my embarrassment I blurted, “I’m thinking of something small, that would attach to the handlebars of his bike.  Oh yes, I’m also looking for a small pillow, similar to what people use for travel.”  I couldn’t seem to shut my mouth.  Wrinkling my nose I continued: “Right now he’s using a dirty old sweater for a pillow.”

    Satisfied that this was something she could finally do, she enthusiastically began showing me every travel pillow they had in stock. 

    Just then three young men entered the shop, each of them heading in different directions.  My years of working in retail settings surfaced and I quietly shooed her away to go see what they needed.  I glanced up to see her actively engaged in conversation with all of them, without allowing herself to be distracted.  Satisfied, I continued my search.

    Eventually they left the store and she returned to me.  Picking up where we left off we resumed our discussion on the merits of various headrests.  I finally settled on one that had a zippered compartment to keep (or hide) things in when it deflated in black.  I fidgeted while she rang up the purchase.  In my mind, I was done here and already heading down the walkway to my destination across the mall.

    Was I really done here?  Not hardly.  The real reasons I had been drawn into this shop were soon to be revealed.

     We managed to cover a lot of ground during those few minutes that it took to ring up my purchase.  I told her about the Oprah segment I had seen the day before, where the television audience had themselves donated 32,000 pair of new pajamas in children’s sizes to help a woman on a mission make sure that kids in shelters have their own set of pajamas. Here was the challenge: they were only allowed to purchase one pair themselves, and then they had to get other individuals and businesses to donate the rest.  We talked about Oprah saying, “…bringing attention to needs is what I was meant to do.”  We both agreed that she does it very well.  

    Out of the blue I said, “Right now I’m trying to find a writer’s group that meets in an accessible location.  As you can see, I use a walker and have to take the bus.”  Happy to help, she enthusiastically gave me the information about a writing group that meets on the way to the mall.  Conveniently she even wrote it on one of her cards so that I wouldn’t forget. Julia was the name on her card. 

     Trading stories, she thoughtfully began, “You know, I just moved to Ybor City...”  My writer’s instinct told me I just had to hear this story, so I stayed put.

     She talked about her recent move into one of the oldest neighborhoods in Tampa.  On their moving day, she related, they were exhausted and hungry, too tired to go very far.  They decided to get something to eat in the neighborhood, rather than elsewhere where it would be cheaper.  I nodded my head; I really did understand both the moving scenario and the peculiarities of the neighborhood.  I, too, had lived in Ybor about six years ago.  She continued telling me that outside the grocery store there were people begging for change, and she felt badly because she didn’t have so much as a dime on her way in.  She told them she’d be back, and when later she came out of the store she had some change in hand and deliberately sought them out.  I was deeply moved.  It was unusual for one so young and beautiful to be this compassionate. 

    I responded by telling her that I had seen an advertisement that boasted, “Ybor City is on the move!”  In reality Ybor was definitely moving toward something ─ but it hadn’t yet settled on exactly where.  In the meantime, this was a section of Tampa where many young professionals were moving in, right next to those who were living in desperate poverty.  Some of these people had to live and sleep right on the streets without as much as a roof over their heads.

     I said, “I can see that you’re a caring person, so you have a real challenge before you.  It will be difficult to find a balance between how much of yourself to give away, and how much to keep for yourself.”   

    She didn’t have to say anything ─ the troubled look on her face spoke volumes.  I could see that her mind was ticking away a mile a minute, trying to come to terms with this.  Then I saw her face clear and a smile return.  “I know what I can do!” she said triumphantly.  “I’ll get some of that fleecy fabric and make blankets and small pillows that they can roll up together. I can give them away as Christmas presents!  This is only April, and I could have a lot made by then.”  After a slight pause she mused: “It’ll be hard not to give them away as I get them made.”

    I wanted to say, “I know.”  Instead, I took this as my cue and left.  “I’ll be back to see you,” I said over my shoulder.  As I walked away I thought that making pillows and blankets would be a good thing ─ a step in the right direction.  She will be doing something positive about the problems she will encounter instead of only being able to look on helplessly.  Julia and I may be at opposite ends of the spectrum in age and circumstances, but in this one matter we came together: We both apparently have a heart for people in need. 

Do What You Can, Where You Are 

    I entered “Homeless stats for USA” into my favorite search engine, Google, and there were 1, 110, 000 entries!  I can’t deal with that, so I choose only a few from the first 10 selections.  As it is, I’ve read so many articles, statistics, and commentaries about homelessness that I’m totally overwhelmed.  It will take some time for me to process before deciding on any definite course of action on a grand scale. Speaking on another subject, Doug A. Kaufmann said, “Often we forget that there is human life behind these figures.”³  

    But in the meantime I have only one man burdening me, and I have a feeling of urgency that something must be done for Bill now, before it’s too late. It may be that it will too late for me and you and not really for Bill ─ I can’t be sure.  It’s just too easy for us to get all fired up about the problem for awhile, only to fall back in to a state of complacency when the task ahead looms too large.  A soothing voice whispers in our ear, “everything’s O.K., no need for alarm, go back to sleep.”  In the meantime people are sleeping on the streets of the greatest nation on earth.

    This makes me very, very uneasy.    

    Deep down inside I believe we can each do something; whatever we can, right where we are.  Julia can make pillows and blankets to distribute to homeless people; she can keep her pockets full of change to give them, because even a little can go a long way.  I can buy skin wipes and antibiotic salve for those cuts on Bill’s face, and a bag to keep his few possessions safe.  We can greet these homeless people when we meet them on the street ─ acknowledge them ─ as we would any other human being, instead of looking the other way. It certainly won’t cost us anything, and that one small act can help to restore their feeling of self-worth. 

    Some will continue to hide their heads in the sand and ignore them, just as I did for so long. 

    Let’s stop complaining about “the problem” and begin to put our heads together and share ideas; talk to people on the bus; the people we carpool with or attend church alongside.  It will first become a grassroots movement, then begin to grow, until we are fully empowered to act.  I feel that the answer lies somewhere within the concept demonstrated by Oprah, on the show mentioned earlier.  Oprah dared to confront enormous problems, and I watched them begin to shrink as we rallied together.

        I can help to focus attention on the issue of untold thousands of people who are sleeping in our streets; and a surprising number of people will join us in this crusade.  They, in turn, will get other people to join them, and on and on and on it will go.  Before long we’ll have a virtual army of aware, empowered people working to make homelessness a thing of the past.  Eventually, like the holocaust, this nightmare will be over, and this 800 pound gorilla will finally be laid to rest.

    Minimizing people by talking about them in vague terms such as “the homeless” is dehumanizing.  They shouldn’t be referenced only by the problem that besets them.  “They are daughters and sons, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters that are missed.  But they are also men and women who were never loved...²”   They are people who find themselves in situations that may, or may not be within their own control. Yes, they are the homeless, but they are people with names.

 ¹ According to a report by The Florida Department of Children and Families’ Office on Homelessness.

 ² From the website of: www.karm.org .

³ Doug A. Kaufmann , The Fungus Link, (p.57), MediaTriton, Rockwell, Texas 2000

Do you know the numbers for your state?  Enter the keywords “homeless in (state)” in your favorite search engine and get the facts.

Homelessness is a broad and complex topic which has permeated social work literature. Resources focus on various population groups especially at risk for homelessness, such as single men, women with children, abused women, and the mentally ill. In fact, homelessness can and does touch anyone living on the very edge between poverty and destitution. Lipton & Sabatani (1984) state:

The term “homeless” is actually a catch word, a misnomer that focuses our attention on only one aspect of the individual’s plight: his lack of residence or housing. In reality, the homeless often have no job, no function, no role within the community; they generally have few if any social supports. They are jobless, penniless, functionless, and supportless as well as homeless. (p.156)

Lipton, F.R. & Sabatoni, A. (1984). Constructing support systems for homeless chronic patients. In H.R. Lamb (Ed.), The homeless mentally ill (pp. 153-172). Washington, D.C.: American Psychiatric Association. RA 790.6 .H661 1984

Feldman, L.C. (2004). Citizens without shelter: Homelessness, democracy, and political exclusion. Ithaca : Cornell University Press. HV 4505 .F451 2004

Burt, M.R. et al. (1999).  Homelessness: Programs and the people they serve : findings of the National Survey of Homeless Assistance Providers and Clients. Washington, D.C.: Interagency Council on Homelessness, U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development

Ogilvie, R.S. (2004). Voluntarism, community life, and the American ethic. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. HV 4506 .N6 O351 2004

Slesnick, N. (2004). Our runaway and homeless youth: A guide to understanding. Westport, CT: Praeger. HV 1431 .S541 2004