Stories and Fables from the Street
"HOMELESS"
I just want to make one thing clear:
I am not homeless! I have a home. A big and beautiful one.
In fact, you're sitting in it right now. Under your feet
is my bed, and over your head is my roof. Granted, the bed
may have lumps in it and the roof leaks from time to time,
but I wouldn't think of trading this house for any other!
-- Kermit, the Road Frog(David Nebenzahl spotted the above sign from an unknown homeless poet on a wall by the Emeryville railroad tracks and sent it to Street Spirit.)
The Forgotten Man
Nonfiction by Mary Eileen Perkins
"I reek," he said. "Don't get too close. Day after day, I wear the same clothes. I reek."
"I am not paying attention to that," I said. "I am talking to you."
With some humor in his eyes, he said, "These are the same pants that I wear, day after day. My pants smell bad." His eyes had a soft and unspoken pleading for help. "I can't walk too far anymore. My testicles hurt too bad and I have epileptic seizures that I can't afford medicine for."
"Apply for Medi-Cal, SDI and food stamps," I said to him. "I am on Medi-Cal, food stamps and SDI. I would be homeless if I was not receiving financial aid. Apply for it."
"I tried," he said. "They told me that I was 'medically indigent.' I asked them, 'What is medically indigent?' They refused to answer me and did not give me any help. Of course I am indigent. But just what is medically indigent? Does medically indigent mean that I can die without any medical care just because I am poor?"
How many forgotten and ignored men and women are dying, today, on your city streets because the government that you pay to fund health care is too lazy and irresponsible to help them out?
(The above story is for Ron who grew up in Mountain View, California, and now is homeless in Redwood City. He lives without any form of state or federal financial aid.)
Homeless at Heart
Essay by C.R. Credit
Like an alien being who got off course and came to the wrong planet, or perhaps a little boy lost in a big city, I look around in horror and disbelief. Open your eyes! Can't you see? The hellish nightmare that hath befallen thee!
Did you create yourself? Then what are you thinking? Does might truly make right? (Might in this world is, of course, dollars and cents). Even if this were true, are you mightier, more intelligent or wealthier than the creator? Then what are you thinking!?
Wise up! For your own sake! Even if you don't care about the downtrodden, the misfits, the oppressed, the dropouts, those born and raised without capitalistic insight, or a silver spoon. Because there is a Creator! A God who stands up for the downtrodden, a Creator who is far more wealthy, intelligent, powerful, and righteous than all humanity combined. A Creator who pays no heed to "psycho-babble" rhetoric, or "reasoning." JUSTICE! FAIRNESS! PEACE! COMPASSION! And above all, LOVE is what our Creator requests and desires from us.
No finger pointing, no stone throwing, no condemnation, or villainizing -- please our Creator says, please just be nice to each other! Like our parents told us when we fought with our siblings. Now that is true wisdom! Treat each other the way you would like to be treated under that given circumstance. We are a species; therefore we are a family. None can be truly happy while any one of us is suffering.
There is no "lack," no "overpopulation." These are merely fabrications, tools, forged by the unwitting, unseeing oppressors. Even if it were true, who is another to stake claim to the natural resources of this planet and leave another out of the loop?
Patriotic? Let us define this word: Sharing the wealth (for starters). Whose trees did you just cut and mill? Whose soil were they grown in? Whose gold and precious metals, minerals, and gems did you mine? Whose fish did you just catch? Whose soil are you cultivating? A true patriot is just, fair, honest, and reasonable. This is equally our country; that is the definition of true patriotism, at least to me.
Please, just be nice to each other! Give a darn! Care, care a lot. In fact, be profoundly concerned for the welfare of your fellow human beings. Please, do this for me; do this for you!
Pregnant in People's Park
A Berkeley Mystery
Fiction by Kevin McFarrenMaddie was not the typical person to wander into our camp at People's Park, but then, who was? We had our little corner and shared what we had. Gypsy ran that camp and often gave away more than what he had. He is still a legend. So he took her in.
Two things set Maddie apart: She was drop-dead gorgeous, and pregnant. Late at night, I would hear her sobbing. Now I am a light sleeper; most survivors of the street are. That is how we survive.
So late one night, I went to calm Maddie from her anguish. At first, she did not want to talk, but she knew she had no fear from telling me anything. It is the story of the street: If I have two of anything, I will give you one; if I have one, I will give you half.
So she told me a story. And I cried.
All her life, she wanted to help people. A very bright young woman, she worked hard, day-time in the cafeteria at the local hospital; night-time as a nursing student. Against all odds, she became a nurse, and a good one. And then she showed up in the Park. Even in the Park, she helped people. Simple cuts or bruises, she was there. Then, morning sickness came....
She told me it had to have been one doctor she had worked for: She was poor; he was married, rich and scary. She called him. He called back. There was no violence, but the little baby will never have to worry about college tuition. Why? I am the trustee.
Arrival of the Ambassador
They beat her up, while the guards watched and made jokes about her.
Fiction by Jack Bragen
A small woman appeared in a park in a good neighborhood. She was the Ambassador. She knew English, and she went up to a man who was watching after his toddler in a sandbox and said, "May I have some food and water, and can you direct me to the individual in charge of your government?"
The man paused and pulled a communication device from his pocket. Soon, the police arrived and put the Ambassador in handcuffs. The officer threw her roughly into the back of the patrol car and almost slammed the door on her legs, only she moved them out of the way just in time.
The Ambassador sat quietly as the car took her to the station. She was locked into a cage that had other women who had been arrested. And they beat her up, while the guards watched and made jokes about her.
The human body the Ambassador used was giving out. She returned to her planet, bringing the wrecked body along with her as evidence for the assessment. Those in the jail cell were oblivious to the Ambassador's disappearance because she was under a blanket and she was small. It would be many hours before people asked where she went, and even then, it didn't matter to anyone.
On the planet where the Ambassador came from, they decided they would never consider relations with the species from Earth.
STREET SPIRIT
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