Homeless Housewarming Invitation

Not too long ago, I hired Jacob from the Old Crow Book Club to commandeer another piece of art screwed into a light pole near a mini homeless encampment. Cost? $25. It took him a day to deliver it to my front door. What an excellent new addition to my collection, although perhaps a bit too abstract for me.

When I placed the order, Jacob told me he had established a new campsite in the neighborhood. It was situated along a creek and defended on all sides by railroad tracks, Highway 99, slabs of of concrete, and another creek. Jacob told me he had also camouflaged the entrance to keep out the freaks and vampires.

I knew exactly where his campsite was located. He must have run a gauntlet of 70-mph traffic and freight trains every time he accessed it during daylight. But that danger meant solitude and Jacob loved solitude.

Jacob updated me on his present legal dilemma. He was still waiting for a spot in a residential drug treatment center somewhere in the city. This treatment had been mandated by the courts as part of his sentence for violating his probation on a DUI rap. He was eager to enter treatment but one open spot didn’t exist currently and thus he was violating his probation and racking up more fines. It was all frustrating and discouraging, but he remained positive and wanted to get back to work when he cleared everything up with the bureaucracy—if that was possible.

I asked him if he was destroying the riparian area along the creek. He knew of my absolute loathing for that malicious habit practiced by many homeless miscreants.

He told me he hadn’t cut down a single branch. He had tied up branches with rope to create a canopy to shade him from the sun, and the rain coming this winter. He rotated his campsite regularly to avoid soil compaction. No litter anywhere. No fires. He dug a pit toilet and moved it every few days.

“Matt,” he said, “I’d like you to see my home.”

I didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to see it.”

What does one bring as a housewarming gift to a homeless man’s new home along a creek?

Christ! I thought of a million things he might need to survive, even prosper. One day, Jacob would make it off the streets and out of the willows. He was fighting a 50-round welterweight fight against many heavyweight opponents, including his own personal demons. But I was in his corner. Call me a cut man. Everyone needs a great cut man (or woman) in their corner.