Comprehensive Home Energy Audits
Homeless in America - 6-11-09
It was a decidedly chance encounter. I was trying to decide between two fast food joints – Chick-fil-A or Wendy’s. It was then that I noticed the couple standing on the side of the road, waiting to cross the heavily trafficked four lanes just off the interstate, intent of Wendy’s. I did a U-turn just as they crossed the road and pulled into the rear of Wendy’s.
By the time I got in line they were in front of me. I watched them order, using some sort of plastic card. When the cashier handed the man back his card, I watched him fold the receipt neatly, carefully placing it in his pocket. The cashier then confirmed what I suspected when she asked her supervisor for assistance with the register because she was unfamiliar with how to process a gift card. I knew they were homeless and, based on their lack of body fat, the wear on their boots and the level of sun exposure on their skin, it was apparent they had been in this situation for some time.
I placed my order for a plain baked potato, salad and tea while considering my options. Never shy, I was not afraid to approach them. However, I did want to be respectful and not pry, though curiosity was killing this cat. That said, I also suspected they wanted to tell their story, evidenced by the sign on the back of his backpack which was written in a bold, engineering type script and read “LOST EVERYTHING BUT OUR FAITH.” I approached their table, made a bit of small talk and asked if I could sit at the table adjacent to them, hopeful they would tell their story.
In short order they were telling me their story. She was in her mid 40’s while he was in his late 40’s. They were both high school graduates and considered themselves middle class. He’d worked as a construction tradesman while she had worked on clean up details of construction jobs. And like thousands of other Americans, they found themselves out of work and homeless.
The first thing that stood out to me was how the date they lost their home was etched in their minds the way the rest of us remember memorable occasions in our lives – be they births, deaths, anniversaries, etc. Their date was November 12th, 2008. They mentioned it no less than half a dozen times during our conversation.
I asked if they saw it coming and they said yes, they had discussed what would happen when the work dried up as the scuttlebutt and disappearing trades gave sure clues that construction was grinding to an abrupt halt. I asked if they had savings and they said no, that they had lived paycheck to paycheck, the way lots of Americans do. As we delved deeper into the discussion on the economy one thing became apparent as well – that J & D (I will not use their real names unless and until they give me permission.) – never imagined the magnitude of this economic decline. I offered all the solace possible as I noted that almost no one in power saw it coming either.
Not surprisingly, they were quite knowledgeable on what was happening with the economy, no doubt because they saw the failings in the starkest of lights. At one point I was fascinated how the man outlined the salient aspects of GDP – consumer spending, investors, net exports, government spending – and arriving at the obvious conclusion, that government had to restart growth because the consumer was tapped out, the investor afraid and exports had frozen. Our discussion continued on to how the unemployment rate was vastly understated and how stagnant the economy had become.
At length we spoke of how energy costs consumed a larger portion of a low income earners budget, the variable cost that invariably pushed them over the edge. Despite the intrepid clouds around them, they were hopeful. They mentioned that they voted and were hopeful that President Obama could right the ship.
I asked how they were surviving. This couple embodies that age old phrase, that “necessity is the mother of invention.” Not content to be on the dole, they traveled from town to town and sought out the local library. Once there, they got on the internet where they searched Craigslist for temporary work, all in an effort to earn much needed cash.
We discussed at length the despair of charity, of how genuinely good ideas run amuck. We discussed how children and wives are forcibly separated from fathers and husbands because men often are not allowed to shelter with women. That led to a discussion about how they are denied access to public services, and run out of town. As I painted the vision in my mind, I could see Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath” in my mind, only this time in flesh and blood.
When I asked what they needed most, they said a vehicle. If they had a vehicle they would have shelter in addition to transportation. I concur with their assessment. Unlike the Great Depression of the 30’s, there will be no food lines in America. This depression is, by and large, insidious as they are no great gatherings of tent cities or food lines because food is plentiful and cheap in America today. As for tent cities, we have become suburbanized so no one really pays attention to the people sleeping inside the cloverleaf at the interstate or in the shrubs surrounding office buildings, so long as they make themselves scarce during business hours.
The biggest irony also lay in their lack of vehicular transportation. Succinctly, when they do find employment the first question they are asked is how they will get back and forth to work. Invariably they are told that “walking to work” does not constitute “reliable transportation,” though those same feet have taken them from Florida westward to Texas and now northward into North Carolina. We collectively chuckled at that absurdity.
When I asked about their families, the woman said she had two grown children that she did not want to bother. Instead she told them they were on a traveling vacation. But even this exchange revealed the depths of this economic downturn as her daughter, a recent graduate of an administrative assistant program found herself working as a cashier at Wal-Mart while her son, a recent graduate of a diesel mechanic program, was working as a general mechanic, his recently acquired skill set largely untapped. The woman did take pride in noting that her children were self sufficient, adding that her daughter already had enough on her table, having married the previous Christmas to a young man now stationed in Iraq.
For the moment, their greatest concern was the location of a hotel I had never heard of. Their goal was to find it because there they could stay together. If they went to a shelter, they would be separated, forced to sleep alone, denied the comfort of love as they took respite against the cruelty of a world run amuck. While I understood the reason shelters kept men and women apart – security – did not mean I had to like it.
Having completed our meals, it was time we parted company. It was at this point that I realized a couple of elderly women had sat at the string of tables to my left. Because the restaurant was basically empty except for the couple and me, this seemed an odd place for two elderly women to sit. When I realized this, I turned, startling one of the women, the one who was eavesdropping on our conversation. I smiled at her and she smiled back, nervously.
Before they left we exchanged contact information. I asked if it was okay to blog about them and they said yes. I promised to keep their information confidential but encouraged them to write me, reminding them to not hesitate to ask for help because they never know who might know someone else in this vast country, impersonal though it often seems. I took a couple of photos, (one of which is included below), we shook hands and off they went in search of a hotel that would let them sleep together.
As I headed to my car, I heard a woman calling “Sir, excuse me sir….” when suddenly it dawned on me that she wanted my attention. It was the woman who had been eavesdropping. (For the record, the date I want back in history is the day people went from saying, “Young man, excuse me…” to calling me “Sir.” Yep, I want that day erased from the annals of time!)
She began to ask about the couple whereupon I confirmed her queries. She asked if there was anything she could do, offering to take them to the homeless shelter, etc. I chuckled to myself as I recalled our conversation, knowing that was the last thing they wanted or needed right now. The woman seemed disappointed that she could not do more, but I understood. I pegged her age as the mid to late 70’s so being forward was probably not in her nature. However, she seemed genuinely interested in doing something as she asked again, this time wringing her hands in angst.
Gently, I told her the best thing she could do was extend a hand to those people and people like them. I told her that she had to get involved, be it by donating money, volunteering her time, writing her congressional representatives or just by talking to them. I told her to write “mustard letters,” hand written letters to her congressional representative on white paper and stain it with mustard, much the way a mother writes a hurried note for her child’s teacher in the morning, invariably staining it with peanut butter and jelly. I told her to be urgent, to be involved, and to check fear at the door because it had no place in this game.
I closed by borrowing from the Goo Goo Dolls, one of my favorite rock groups, telling her to let love in. She smiled at that and said, “Thank you, I will do that.” At that point, I hopped in my car and fired up my Ipod, searching for the Doll song racing through my mind.
At the intersection I looked north, watching them climb the hill towards the interstate overpass. He was next to the traffic, protecting his wife, just as he should and as best he could. They were talking to one another as they walked, looking at each other in an animated fashion as they proceeded up the incline. I looked at my Ipod, considering the list as I searched for a particular song.
I hope to hear again from J & D as they head north to Boone in search of work. I hope to hear of successes in their travels and that indeed the black balloons that have clouded their lives of late are soon popped, that the silence is lifted from their lives and that indeed better days will arrive, and that the stark lights of uncertainty and despair will be replaced by joy and happiness. Until then “Better Days” is on my Ipod while my energies are focused on writing and changing the world, along with all my associated green weenie friends - though I will take time to smell the roses as I hope the Tarheels win the College World Series in Omaha!
Jack
By the time I got in line they were in front of me. I watched them order, using some sort of plastic card. When the cashier handed the man back his card, I watched him fold the receipt neatly, carefully placing it in his pocket. The cashier then confirmed what I suspected when she asked her supervisor for assistance with the register because she was unfamiliar with how to process a gift card. I knew they were homeless and, based on their lack of body fat, the wear on their boots and the level of sun exposure on their skin, it was apparent they had been in this situation for some time.
I placed my order for a plain baked potato, salad and tea while considering my options. Never shy, I was not afraid to approach them. However, I did want to be respectful and not pry, though curiosity was killing this cat. That said, I also suspected they wanted to tell their story, evidenced by the sign on the back of his backpack which was written in a bold, engineering type script and read “LOST EVERYTHING BUT OUR FAITH.” I approached their table, made a bit of small talk and asked if I could sit at the table adjacent to them, hopeful they would tell their story.
In short order they were telling me their story. She was in her mid 40’s while he was in his late 40’s. They were both high school graduates and considered themselves middle class. He’d worked as a construction tradesman while she had worked on clean up details of construction jobs. And like thousands of other Americans, they found themselves out of work and homeless.
The first thing that stood out to me was how the date they lost their home was etched in their minds the way the rest of us remember memorable occasions in our lives – be they births, deaths, anniversaries, etc. Their date was November 12th, 2008. They mentioned it no less than half a dozen times during our conversation.
I asked if they saw it coming and they said yes, they had discussed what would happen when the work dried up as the scuttlebutt and disappearing trades gave sure clues that construction was grinding to an abrupt halt. I asked if they had savings and they said no, that they had lived paycheck to paycheck, the way lots of Americans do. As we delved deeper into the discussion on the economy one thing became apparent as well – that J & D (I will not use their real names unless and until they give me permission.) – never imagined the magnitude of this economic decline. I offered all the solace possible as I noted that almost no one in power saw it coming either.
Not surprisingly, they were quite knowledgeable on what was happening with the economy, no doubt because they saw the failings in the starkest of lights. At one point I was fascinated how the man outlined the salient aspects of GDP – consumer spending, investors, net exports, government spending – and arriving at the obvious conclusion, that government had to restart growth because the consumer was tapped out, the investor afraid and exports had frozen. Our discussion continued on to how the unemployment rate was vastly understated and how stagnant the economy had become.
At length we spoke of how energy costs consumed a larger portion of a low income earners budget, the variable cost that invariably pushed them over the edge. Despite the intrepid clouds around them, they were hopeful. They mentioned that they voted and were hopeful that President Obama could right the ship.
I asked how they were surviving. This couple embodies that age old phrase, that “necessity is the mother of invention.” Not content to be on the dole, they traveled from town to town and sought out the local library. Once there, they got on the internet where they searched Craigslist for temporary work, all in an effort to earn much needed cash.
We discussed at length the despair of charity, of how genuinely good ideas run amuck. We discussed how children and wives are forcibly separated from fathers and husbands because men often are not allowed to shelter with women. That led to a discussion about how they are denied access to public services, and run out of town. As I painted the vision in my mind, I could see Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath” in my mind, only this time in flesh and blood.
When I asked what they needed most, they said a vehicle. If they had a vehicle they would have shelter in addition to transportation. I concur with their assessment. Unlike the Great Depression of the 30’s, there will be no food lines in America. This depression is, by and large, insidious as they are no great gatherings of tent cities or food lines because food is plentiful and cheap in America today. As for tent cities, we have become suburbanized so no one really pays attention to the people sleeping inside the cloverleaf at the interstate or in the shrubs surrounding office buildings, so long as they make themselves scarce during business hours.
The biggest irony also lay in their lack of vehicular transportation. Succinctly, when they do find employment the first question they are asked is how they will get back and forth to work. Invariably they are told that “walking to work” does not constitute “reliable transportation,” though those same feet have taken them from Florida westward to Texas and now northward into North Carolina. We collectively chuckled at that absurdity.
When I asked about their families, the woman said she had two grown children that she did not want to bother. Instead she told them they were on a traveling vacation. But even this exchange revealed the depths of this economic downturn as her daughter, a recent graduate of an administrative assistant program found herself working as a cashier at Wal-Mart while her son, a recent graduate of a diesel mechanic program, was working as a general mechanic, his recently acquired skill set largely untapped. The woman did take pride in noting that her children were self sufficient, adding that her daughter already had enough on her table, having married the previous Christmas to a young man now stationed in Iraq.
For the moment, their greatest concern was the location of a hotel I had never heard of. Their goal was to find it because there they could stay together. If they went to a shelter, they would be separated, forced to sleep alone, denied the comfort of love as they took respite against the cruelty of a world run amuck. While I understood the reason shelters kept men and women apart – security – did not mean I had to like it.
Having completed our meals, it was time we parted company. It was at this point that I realized a couple of elderly women had sat at the string of tables to my left. Because the restaurant was basically empty except for the couple and me, this seemed an odd place for two elderly women to sit. When I realized this, I turned, startling one of the women, the one who was eavesdropping on our conversation. I smiled at her and she smiled back, nervously.
Before they left we exchanged contact information. I asked if it was okay to blog about them and they said yes. I promised to keep their information confidential but encouraged them to write me, reminding them to not hesitate to ask for help because they never know who might know someone else in this vast country, impersonal though it often seems. I took a couple of photos, (one of which is included below), we shook hands and off they went in search of a hotel that would let them sleep together.
As I headed to my car, I heard a woman calling “Sir, excuse me sir….” when suddenly it dawned on me that she wanted my attention. It was the woman who had been eavesdropping. (For the record, the date I want back in history is the day people went from saying, “Young man, excuse me…” to calling me “Sir.” Yep, I want that day erased from the annals of time!)
She began to ask about the couple whereupon I confirmed her queries. She asked if there was anything she could do, offering to take them to the homeless shelter, etc. I chuckled to myself as I recalled our conversation, knowing that was the last thing they wanted or needed right now. The woman seemed disappointed that she could not do more, but I understood. I pegged her age as the mid to late 70’s so being forward was probably not in her nature. However, she seemed genuinely interested in doing something as she asked again, this time wringing her hands in angst.
Gently, I told her the best thing she could do was extend a hand to those people and people like them. I told her that she had to get involved, be it by donating money, volunteering her time, writing her congressional representatives or just by talking to them. I told her to write “mustard letters,” hand written letters to her congressional representative on white paper and stain it with mustard, much the way a mother writes a hurried note for her child’s teacher in the morning, invariably staining it with peanut butter and jelly. I told her to be urgent, to be involved, and to check fear at the door because it had no place in this game.
I closed by borrowing from the Goo Goo Dolls, one of my favorite rock groups, telling her to let love in. She smiled at that and said, “Thank you, I will do that.” At that point, I hopped in my car and fired up my Ipod, searching for the Doll song racing through my mind.
At the intersection I looked north, watching them climb the hill towards the interstate overpass. He was next to the traffic, protecting his wife, just as he should and as best he could. They were talking to one another as they walked, looking at each other in an animated fashion as they proceeded up the incline. I looked at my Ipod, considering the list as I searched for a particular song.
I hope to hear again from J & D as they head north to Boone in search of work. I hope to hear of successes in their travels and that indeed the black balloons that have clouded their lives of late are soon popped, that the silence is lifted from their lives and that indeed better days will arrive, and that the stark lights of uncertainty and despair will be replaced by joy and happiness. Until then “Better Days” is on my Ipod while my energies are focused on writing and changing the world, along with all my associated green weenie friends - though I will take time to smell the roses as I hope the Tarheels win the College World Series in Omaha!
Jack
Comment
About
© 2009 Created by Green Home on Ning. Create a Ning Network!
You need to be a member of Green Home to add comments!
Join this Ning Network