By Deborah-Miriam Leff, Coordinator of Hawthorne Park Potluck

I’m sure you’ve heard people scornfully say that the unhoused should pull themselves up by their bootstraps and stop expecting others to feed them.  Maybe you’ve even said it.  Well I spent Tuesday at the park the way I always do – serving lunch to hungry neighbors, without expectation or judgment.  You’re hungry?  Come on over and grab a plate.

There were about 90 people lined up for lunch at the Hawthorne Park Potluck today, and Debra, Michele and I were hustling to serve plates piled with food.  At one point a petite woman approached the table and appeared to be almost in tears.  All the men on line pretty much ignored her and she stood back a few feet, needing an invitation to approach.  When I gave it, that opened the floodgates.  She was choking on her tears, trying to share her deep sorrow and fear about the boyfriend who hit her, the baby who no longer lives with her, the cold night on the ground without a blanket…  Everyone stared and she was embarrassed.  I waved her to come around the table where I could put my arms around her and let her cry a little bit with someone who wasn’t afraid of her or her situation, and could handle that she hadn’t been able to wash for days. 

It had been an especially rough time, and she was struggling and at the end of her tether.  Bootstraps my ass.  This woman needed support, as most of the folks we serve do.  They struggle with pain and mental illness; self medication and drug addiction; hunger and exposure to the elements as well as a hostile community.  I wasn’t sure of what I could offer, but we were almost done serving lunch and I asked if she wanted to wait for me and we’d see if we could find her some support services.  She agreed.

Off we drove to Jackson County Mental Health, where I found out there are no longer any caseworkers at JCMH who take on clients and support them and follow up with them.  So we drove to one of the agencies on the list they gave us.  That place needed Mary to make an appointment for an assessment, no more walk-ins today.  How was she expected to make it to an appointment?  No phone, no watch, no calendar, no car, no bicycle.  Bootstraps??!  The staff was kind and informative to me, and barely looked at Mary who was muttering angrily and who, at this point, was hiding inside of her hoodie and sort of standing to one side.

We went back out to the car and she hesitated, unsure if I still wanted her to get in.  We drove to another place where she said she’d previously filled out papers for an assessment.  Everyone was friendly, but the woman at the front desk could not find Mary in the system, and Mary insisted (getting louder and louder) that she’d spent hours there last month filling out a zillion papers.  She was working up a head of steam.  I asked her if she’d like to sit while I spoke for her, and she agreed.  I introduced myself to the woman working at the desk, and found out her name.  I thanked her for trying to help us.  She remembered Mary, but still couldn’t locate paperwork. 

We wound up waiting 45 minutes for her to keep hunting, as she was having to answer the phone and check in clinic patients at the same time.  In the waiting area, Mary was spluttering about being given the runaround, and was angry and ready to bolt.  I explained to her that the woman was her ally – she not only remembered Mary, she really wanted to figure out how to get Mary set up for an assessment.  She was going to go to the next building, and hunt for the papers and please be patient as it would take some time.  Mary calmed down and when another woman sat down, Mary asked her for a cigarette and they went outside to smoke.

The short of it was that the paperwork was found (it wasn’t signed and dated so they hadn’t been able to put it in the system – sheesh).  I took the papers and a pen and went out front for Mary to sign and date them.  Then we waited another 20 minutes while they got the Coordinator to assign an appointment, which would be today – in 45 minutes!  Mary was ecstatic.  She really didn’t think it would happen.  I said we’d be back, and we got in the car and quickly drove over to the Salvation Army nearby.  I wanted to buy her a blanket for tonight.  She was disbelieving and thrilled.

The Salvation Army people were kind and helpful, and gave her a sleeping bag, some food, and a voucher for $25 worth of clothing.  I calmly told Mary we wouldn’t be able to do clothes shopping today as we had to get back to the assessment appointment on time.  She said “Oh, they’ll understand” and I gently insisted that we needed to make a good impression by being timely to show appreciation for their help.  That had never occurred to her.  Her life is full of outsiders saying they’ll help and then make her wait for hours just to be sent somewhere else.  It doesn’t feel like help at all, and she winds up angry and resentful. 

I asked if she’d be okay if I left her at her appointment and she said Yes.  After having gotten the sleeping bag and food, she was buzzing with happiness at having some worries alleviated.  I found some shopping bags in my car and packed up her stuff so it would be easy to carry.  She tried to figure out what to say to me without success.  There were no words.  We just hugged, and that was enough.

Of course this is not the end of the story for Mary.  But I did what I was willing to do today.  Debra Harrow later called me to find out what happened, and she reminded me of the story of the boy who was on the beach where there were hundreds of starfish stranded on the shore.  He picked one up and flung it back into the ocean.  An observer scornfully laughed at the boy’s foolishness, saying “This is too big a job, and you’re not making a dent.”  And the boy said, “It made a difference to that one starfish I threw back.”

And so it is.

The author lives in Medford, OR and has been cooking, serving, organizing and soliciting for the Hawthorne Park Potluck for two years. The volunteer group provides a free home-cooked meal at the park, seven days a week, 11:30-12:30.  They emphasize a spirit of neighborliness and caring, and are fond of describing themselves as “neighbors feeding neighbors.”