Jamie, Rallying

Jamie from the Old Crow Book Club sat across the table from me devouring an enchilada washed down with a hard cider. We were sitting in a chilly and cavernous room of a brewery. A massive backpack crammed with possessions rested near her. She looked positively radiant and gesticulated wildly as she riffed her words.

The last time we’d talked was ten months ago and she was on the verge of dying from exposure. Later, I’d heard she got off the streets into a couple’s shelter. Then I heard she left and was living in the wildlife refuge. I told the rest of the members to implore her to call me so I could assist her into housing. I’d given her my number at our last meeting but never heard anything.

Ten days before Christmas, my phone rang with a strange number. I let it go to voice mail and then listened to the message. It was Jamie! She was living in a Safe Rest Village in outer southeast Portland!

“Matt,” she said, concluding her message, “You always promised me lunch if I got into housing. I’d like to take you up on it.”

I called her back immediately and learned: she’d dumped her abusive boyfriend who’d burned all her belongings; not taken up with another man; rescued her dog from near euthanasia; had quit dangerous drugs; had availed herself of social services. In other words, rallying and rallying hard.

We arranged a time to meet. I would pick her (and dog) up at the Safe Rest Village and we’d find some joint nearby to eat and catch up. I was eager to learn how she gained admittance into the Village.

Thirty minutes later I knew this: after her possessions were burned, she left the wildlife refuge and began living in and around a park not far from the Village. She somehow managed to track down and reclaim her dog, a pitbull named Priest. The ex boyfriend had surrendered him to the Oregon Humane Society without her knowledge, let alone approval. Priest was briefly on death row because of his aggressive behavior, but now Jamie had him back at her side. One day, an outreach worker from the Village found her in the park and put her on a list to reside in the Village. Three months later, Jamie was housed in the Village. Three months for a distressed homeless woman who desperately wanted off the streets and housing was available.

It should have taken three hours, but that discussion is for another time. Maybe the new Portland Mayor will start kicking some ass on this subject and start throwing the word alacrity in the mix. To hear Jamie tell the story, her housing transpired only because she kept showing up at the Village (something you’re not supposed to do) and literally knocking on the secured front door. She eventually formed friendships with a couple of the staffers of the Village and they made it happen for her, almost totally ad hoc. If not by advocating for herself, she would still be homeless and quite possibly dead.

Jamie updated me on the various members of the book club. It wasn’t going well for some. Out of the five original members, two are now housed. And these two people wanted into housing and weren’t debilitated by drug use. I asked if she still had the Swiss Army Knife I’d given her a couple of years ago, the one I traveled all over the world with. She started crying when she admitted it disappeared not too long ago. I told her it didn’t matter. A Swiss Army Knife that helped a woman survive homelessness was surely a good way to end its life.

At one point in our very animated conversation, Jamie said she wanted my help publishing a children’s book based on her experience of living in the wildlife refuge and making friends with animals. It would be narrated by an owl named Mr. Hoo Hoo and include the characters of Hector the Gangster Raccoon, Travis the Retarded Woodpecker and Chubby Checker, the obese squirrel. They would interact with homeless people and work together to protect the habitat.

Gold! Gold! Gold! I told Jamie if she wrote it up, I would find an illustrator for the project, produce a zine, and distribute via street libraries around Portland and beyond. (Any illustrator reading this who wants to volunteer their services for free, please contact me.)

I then played Santa Claus and gave Jamie a sack full of presents: additional copies of The Old Crow Book Club, a copy of my Oregon Coast Christmas Tales, two sweaters I never wore, $20 bucks, and a marvelous large print of a photograph of a bottle of Old Crow resting near The Old Crow Book Club taken by a renown Portland photographer who is working on a fantastic project with the homeless.

She insisted I sign the books.

Then Santa slid down the chimney and delivered me the ultimate Christmas present: Jamie had brought her flute and would play me a holiday tune! We packed up everything and went outside to a picnic table. She pulled out the case from her backpack, rigged up the flute, and prepped a tablet that would play a version of a tune that she would accompany. She warmed up on a Lady Gaga song I’d never heard of. Then, the familiar sound of “Holly Jolly Christmas” sung by Burl Ives started playing and Jamie played along. I started singing. A young couple with two kids and an older gentleman walked by this spectacle and threw us a weird glance.

I didn’t give a Kris Kringle shit! I was gigging a Christmas classic in public with Jamie! And the spirit of the season struck me as I sang. It felt like I was living a Christmas tale right then and there and maybe I was. They are potentially all around us, ready to unfold, but you do have to set them in motion. Usually it doesn’t take much effort.

Jamie finished and I clapped. I paid her a sawbuck which she tried to refuse.

“I always pay buskers,” I said.

We talked of her future as we drove back to the Village. I mentioned a friend who might help her receive funds from the Oregon Opioid Settlement because an opioid addiction that began with an over prescription had set her on a path to homelessness.

I parked my car and then helped carry her possessions to the front door as Priest led the way. She thanked me again and we planned on another lunch soon.