A True Face of Homelessness
By Jacquie Morges

Morges is a sophomore at Davidson College. She wrote this essay at the conclusion of the summer's 10-week Stapleton Davidson Urban Service Internship. During the internship, Morges worked with Friendship Trays and the students of the Community Culinary School of Charlotte.

 

Day 1:

The facts

Population of Charlotte: 1.3 Million. Places of worship: 700. Median Income: $64,000. Unemployment rate: 11.5%. Number of homeless: 8,000. Total amount of shelters: 2.5. Total Schools: 172. Number of homeless children in school: 3,500. Number of shelters beds: 826. Those who fall through the cracks: too many.

 

Day 3:

A new spin on my Grande caramel frappacino

 

Finally I was walking the streets of Charlotte and I was convinced that this was going to be my city. I had spent the closing weeks at Davidson College daydreaming about this summer: who will I meet, what will my relationships look like, am I strong enough to carry my own pain as well as others, how will I respond to the inevitable and presumably ever-present brokenness within this community, am I capable of connecting with people on their level, and most importantly will I help effect change?

Unsure of my own capabilities as well as my surroundings, I found myself ignoring the skyscrapers, restaurants, nightclubs, and banks; and instead, fixating on the bundles of clothing stashed beneath the shadows of the loud and unwelcoming underpasses and on the rows of men clad in raged and worn clothes filling the benches that lined the city center. The latter images would be what shaped my summer. A lens purposefully focused on such an uncommon audience that I found myself reverting back to farsighted vision.

“Oh a Starbucks, I was hoping for one of these this summer,” I said without hesitation. As one of the interns responded with affirmation, a man sitting outside my beloved coffee shop with hair mangled and dressed in a black trench coat amidst the hot southern air came into view. He held no coffee cup in his hand but carried his head against his chest with an unfamiliar weight.

His face remained covered by his mane, acting as a shield of invisibility. I wondered how long he had worn this armor and when the day would come when he would be noticed again. Reality sunk in that this was not my city and most certainly not my home. What have I gotten myself into?

 

 

Day 24:

I think I'll have a scone with my usual

 

It was quite typical for me to find myself making excuses to spend time in the city. I need some money out of the ATM, oh I know the perfect place to go, Charlotte. “Where do we want to go out to dinner?” Well uptown sounds nice to me. I could really use some caffeine right now, how about I drive into Charlotte. They have such a beautiful Starbucks and its right in the center of town.

I seemed gravitated towards the city. Almost as if the same hustle and bustle I saw among the sidewalks and streets was reflected within the walls of my agencies. The tall skyscrapers left many in the shadows; but here, in the city center, shone a glimmer of light where a miraculous union between revival and destruction, employed and jobless and the wealthy class and urban poor seemed to meet.

There was something extraordinarily comforting about seeing the homeless men gather around the park playing chess, as bankers and businessman alike passed with briefcases in hand. Nowhere else would two such different lifestyles merge but at this particular point, among the smog from exhausts, the convergence of streets and the soundtrack produced by machinery and loud voices. This place was special.

Among this wonderland, I noticed a familiar figure. There was a man sitting on a bench outside Starbucks, with his cup in hand and shoulders down low. His face was not visible but the weight he carried from his arduous life seemed unmistakable.

He was wearing the same black trench coat and by this time the sun was hotter than before. He seemed impossible to ignore as images of all the homeless people I had apprehensively walked passed in my life came rushing to my mind. Back then; I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. So I chose to just keep on walking. But now, I was certain a friendship needed to be made. This time, I sat down.

“Hi!” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. This was crazy, but I knew there was no turning back.

“Hello,” he replied without even a simple glance upward.

“Gorgeous day out, isn’t it?” Taking note of my question he turned his face up to the sky to make his own judgment. Now I could clearly see the mangy facial hair that furiously overtook his face. His white mustache and beard were stained a light yellow from what I assumed was years of coffee drinking. His face hung heavy and his lack of sleep revealed his older age. His eyes seemed glazed with sadness.

“Yes, yes it is,” he affirmed.

Feeling empowered by his thoughtful answer I took a chance, “How are you feeling today?”

Without hesitation he replied, “I’m having a bad day. I’m just really depressed.”

Amazed with his openness, I continued on this noticeably painful subject and asked if he was willing to talk about his dejection.

In need of a confidante, he began unfolding the secret heartache he’d been trapping inside for too long. Having lived on the streets for two years with little support; his mother, was the only constant in his life. In fact, he had moved to Charlotte to live with his brother just so he could visit and help take care of her.

But when his brother got evicted for new Charlotte construction and was therefore forced to live on the streets, he remained in Charlotte to stay with his mother. Every day he visited her with unwavering love until two weeks ago when she passed. He already had no home and now he really had no one.

My heart ached as his unbearable reality set in. What could I say to make this better? How could I begin to understand this man’s pain? Please God; help me say words of comfort as alienation and despair consume him.

“I am so, so sorry. I cannot begin to understand what pain and grief you are struggling with. But I do know that God is watching over you and no matter what, you are never alone.”

As these words rolled off my tongue, I felt an overwhelming sadness fill my own body. These few words could never be enough but maybe just sitting together would help.

As I got up to leave an hour later, from one of the most meaningful experiences of my life, I turned back and introduced myself.

“My name is Jacquie. I really loved talking with you and I hope to do it again.”

“Jacquie.” He repeated to himself with significance. “Yes, Jacquie. Thank you for talking with me. My name is Gary.”

“Gary,” I echoed with intention. It seemed the highest honor to reiterate his name. Oh how I admired his willingness to be vulnerable with a complete stranger. This was Gary, a hurting human being, a fighter, and hopefully someday a man I would call my friend.

 

 

Day 49:

The greatness of this dynamic pair

 

What is a piece of bread, three scoops of pasta, two cups of vegetables and a side salad? To most, it is an unimpressive meal; but to the hungry, it is the motivation to search for a job, the strength to stand in line for hours on end, the sanity to fill an old prescription, and the eagerness to fight for something more.

Food is not only physically empowering but also emotionally regenerating. At Friendship Trays, I quickly learned that a meal could be the difference. One meal a day means a guaranteed companion and that was truly priceless. The significance of a meal soon became unforgettable to me and when Friendship Trays had leftover food from today, I knew exactly where to take it.

Today, Gary sat inside the Starbucks; a pleasant but I must say surprising sight. His trench coat draped against the back of his chair and his Starbucks cup sneakily hid the evidence of a once-tasty frappacino, leaving behind only a few remnants of whip cream.

Gary’s head was down again, but he quickly brightened up when I blurted out his name with excitement. He instantly stood up to welcome me with a hug. A smile ran across his face during this meeting, as his spirits seemed much higher. We exchanged salutations for a while until I proceeded to ask him if he was hungry.

“Oh, I just had this big drink. I’m going to be fine. Don’t you worry about me. But thank you for asking.”

“Are you sure? I have this extra meal.”

I asked more forcefully. “I don’t want you being hungry.”

“No dear, really I’m fine. But thank you…Wait a minute, did you come all this way just for me?”

“Well, yes.”

 

 

Day 57:

Time for a refill

 

Hours of reflection and solitude were now pivotal to insure my survival throughout this internship.

The emotional strain of carrying around others' heartache seemed unbearable unless I was intentional about taking time to cope.

Starbucks, of course, was my location of choice; seeing as it had everything I needed: friendship, community, and coffee.
While I sat and contemplated over my emotionally warring day, Gary’s colorless hair came into view from outside the window.

As I watched him take his normal place at his bench, I noticed a recognizable burden that I had seen him carry once before. With a big portion of this summer under my belt, I could connect with his exhaustion.

Being a case manager was not just about the joy of helping people anymore, but it was also about the pain that came with watching people fail, the reality of sending people to live on the streets, and the chance of regret if we dare make the wrong decision.

He too, appeared overwhelmed by his current situation and I wondered if sharing our comparable feelings would help rejuvenate us both.

“Hello Gary. How are you doing today? Would you like to talk?” I said with complete familiarity.

“Hi,” he answered back. “No, I think I just need time to myself.”

Understanding completely, due to my own increased need for alone time this summer, I responded with a simple, “Sure, that’s fine,” and was ready to head on my way, when Gary engaged me in conversation.

“I got myself into the shelter. I am just really missing my mother today.”

Feeling his need for companionship, I offered him some words of comfort; assuring him that it was both healthy and necessary to grieve over his mother’s passing.

But at the same time I also wanted to remain appreciative of his friendship and therefore recognize his original request to be left to process on his own. Right before I said my goodbyes, Gary suddenly stood up and gave me a hug. As his gentle frame slowly let go of mine, he looked intently into my eyes and said, “I love you.”

As tears nearly streamed down my face I returned his sentiment with a full-hearted, joyful, “I love you too.”

 

 

Day 70:

A complete new usual

 

He was a man I always recognized but never took the time to get to know.

His features so painfully familiar that the thought of my intentional avoidance made me sick.

I had always wanted to make a new friend with the man sitting outside my hometown’s Wawa or stop and talk with the secluded and cowering men lining the halls of the Philadelphia train station; but I let my fear of awkwardness and intimidation overrule my incentive for compassion.

Who knew the Starbucks I had put so much emphasis on out of self-indulgence that very first day, would actually be the location where my whole worldview would change.