There's a small strip mall a block from where we lived in the shabby rental home we found when we first moved back to Southern California. We were only in it long enough to find a real house to buy, which we eventually did.
We still like to go to the Mexican butcher shop in that strip mall, they have the killer steaks.
Anyway, there's a homeless guy named Freddie who lives in the back of the strip mall amongst the dumpsters and the crates. The property owners give him a few bucks every now and then because he sweeps the parking lot, picks up trash and keeps an eye on the place at night.
Freddie got beaten senseless as a young man by a family member. His brains are truly scrambled for good.
He's friendly and you can tell that once upon a time this was a guy who probably held down a job, because he talks about his past life when he had his own place, and even a girlfriend.
And they both worked and lived relatively normal lives, I guess. Sure sounds like it.
One look at his face though, and you can see that Freddie got his bell rung pretty hard.
I can't begin to imagine what he looked like that night in the ER, must have been pretty bad, because his face is a modern art masterpiece now. He must have suffered a traumatic brain injury because he has more than a bit of trouble with long term plans and complex patterns. And his short term memory isn't so great either.
But he's cheerful, helpful and honest. And apparently trustworthy, because he has stopped a couple of attempted burglaries and vandalism incidents. Even the local cops know Freddie and they know he's alright.
No matter how one tries to steer him to programs and services where he can get help, he seems to prefer his little DIY lean to in the back of the liquor store. He gums the sandwiches he buys with the little bit of money he earns, or finds another way to get his hands on some food.
I used to give him a couple of bucks whenever I saw him, whatever singles I had in my wallet, sometimes even five bucks. He even helped me clear out the trash and the odds and ends when we moved.
He spent four hours working hard and helped me get the dumpsters filled and the place swept out.
I gave him forty bucks. He couldn't believe it. It was maybe the most money he'd had in a very long time.
So you see, once you put a human face on homelessness, suddenly these are real people, with real problems.
