Photography Thinks
Very nice Sunday afternoon at the Tarant Gallery. Premium show before the concert. Listened to Charles Lloyd with a commentary from VPR Jazz broadcaster George Thomas. Unfortunately, I had to leave to return home to turn off the split pea soup I had put on the stove before I left. Tres stupid. People brought vinyl Lps which they passed around. Not that I needed an excuse to stay out of the cold, but this was as good a place to be as any, assuming you had to go out.
To celebrate his 50th birthday, his wife Zeesey gave Rabbi Raskin a party. There were speeches, a dvar, videos of the Rebbe and good will. In his Dvar, he noted that while individual birthdays don’t get recognition in orthodox judaism, it is an occasion the Rebbe thought should be observed. It is but another opportunity to reaffirm why G-d put us on earth and to share that blessing with others. No gifts. No dancing. Just a blessing from the birthday Reb to go into the community and do good deeds.
Buses don’t run on Christmas in Burlington. If you be here, you be here. If you not be here, you be somewhere else. Odd. You can hear the traffic signals. No outsiders. College kids home. Street people all snuggled up in shelters and motels and camps. No stores open, except for Rite Aid. No restaurants. Gray. Cold. Deserted.
“Did you know that when the feet go, you go? Socks. Homeless people need socks.”
Wise. Helpful. Smart. His history be his history. “Found some socks on the street. Put them under the tree. Got to be practical. And its Christmas.” I had made a date to bring him socks. He didn’t think I would show. Wayne showed up. Gave both of them socks and liners.
He needed to talk about how skewed the world was. “If the apes can learn to survive on isolated islands, why can’t people living ….”
And then along came Andrew.
“I look a lot better than the last time you saw me, don’t I.”
“For sure.” Lost. He was so lost. A person came up to him in the park who was seriously out of it. “Got to stop drinking.” Andrew replied, “I got to stop doing a lot of things.”
A coin commemorates completion of the twenty-one day program at Maple Leaf. How proud he was to stick it out. “You know what this is,” he asked.
Her name is Molly. They came home together. Not sure its a good thing, but others have made it. Better than going back to someone who doesn’t know who you are now. “I hate having my picure taken…. I don’t like looking at myself.” “Maybe that’s why you had to go to Maple Leaf.”
Will he stay or will he go? Who knows. Dan don’t even know. Woman he let shelter from the storm in his room chugged a bottle of vodka, fell, hit her head, and ended up in the hospital. “You shouldda gotten that photo.” He made plans to leave, discussing with the street resource worker what to do with his possessions—bike, trailer, clothes, etc. “Why do you take so many pictures?” “Why do you talk so much?” “Because I can.” …. “I get it.”
As Larry sat behind his sign near Pampanoosuc Furniture on Church Street, a guy walked and handed him a large beer. Larry stuffed it in his bag. “You want to go drink it,” the guy said. “Can’t you see I’m working? If I leave my spot, someone will take it.”
He has a place for the winter. Will not say where it is.
Always courteous, he always has a god bless or a thank you for those who help him. I took change from him, yesterday. He wanted to give me coins. For a five, I received neatly four folded singles. “People have been very kind to me this year. Especially the Canadians. I tell them I take Canadian, but I don’t know what they are talking about when they speak to me.”
So, yesterday, December 1, 2010, I went out looking for him, starting at 7:30am. No Paul at the spot. 9:00am, no Paul. Walked the usual haunts. No one had seen him. Hey. I got a life, too. ran errands. Miserable weather. Just the kind outsiders don’t understand about VT. Its not the cold that kills you, unless you are homeless; its the windy/rainy days, temperature between high thirties and high forties, gray light, and nowhere to hide. Once cold, no way to shake the chill. Just when I was about to give up, there he was, back at his spot, 4:00.
Went to the park this morning looking for Paul. “Oh, you mean the old guy who pisses on himself? He fell so bad. He stood up. Went head first. Straight down. I called 911. Now, I have to go do my hair. I have an appointment with City Housing. Want to get my place back.”
“Paul still had the bags he had in the morning. Heard the sound. I picked them up and put them in the ambulance. He’ll have a bed tonight. He’s not going to make it through the winter. He doesn’t know when to stop. I did yesterday. Knew the alcohol poison was creeping up on me. Gave Paul just a little to keep him going. He was a mess…. You got him a laundry voucher. He didn’t use it….He has somebody.”
“He won’t make it through the winter. He don’t know when to get it done…. I ain’t so easy. Not going to any program. You got to suck up to Tim Coleman…. I could use a place. I got to get out of here.”
I went out looking for him. I walked the streets, looking up the alleys. Needed to get out of the cold myself. Went home. Probably should have gone to the hospital, but figured he was still in triage or something and I got no status. I was tired also and depressed. No end games. No solutions. What role do I play in this?
I went back in the afternoon, after taking care of business. He wasn’t on the street. Drove to Fletcher Allen. A bitch finding a parking space. Looked like a mall parking lot. Blue 1. Like you can read it on the elevator buttons. They offer a reminder card. Just another piece of paper in my pocket. Found the information place. The desk volunteer told me he wasn’t a patient and hadn’t been treated in the emergency room. “I used O, not a lot of them. He is not here and he hasn’t been, according to this.” We laughed about the power and future of computers and I left.
I drove past his usual spot. There he was.
He said they didn’t check him into the hospital. They said, “oh, its you again.” He was put somewhere and offered a tylenol. At some point, he was told to leave. A security guard stood nearby. He walked down the hill and took up his spot.
I offered to take him to Act One. He said they would not take him and would want him to go back to the hospital. He wasn’t ready to go back there. He said he had blown no numbers, “.oo1.” He couldn’t remember how he fell or where. “They told me that I fell down a flight of stairs.”
“Tell my sister I need to get out of here. They are trying to kill me. This is a message for me to get out of town.”
Why would a bike owner leave a bike chained to a bike rack. All over the city of Bulington, from Lake to wherever, bikes secured to racks are left to die, or be stripped for parts. Were they cars, the city would undoubtedly pick them up. Why not pick up the bikes and distribute them to people who need transportation and cannot afford to buy one?
Difficult to keep up with them. They have a life of their own. Some have distinguishing characteristics.
Cannot even rest in peace. Somebody took the front wheel. Now it lies on its bars. Weathering well. May the person who took it, use it well.
Not so easy to pedal here. Off the bike path, halfway between Coast Guard and North Beach. But youdda thought the if the tripper stopped at the beach for a dip, he wouldda come back for the bike to make the return journey, yes? Also missing a back wheel. What does that mean?
