Rick

On Wednesday June 18, 2025 at 5:42 in the morning, Elmer the husky and I walked out of our home in the Empire district of Coos Bay. The destination never changes: The Empire Boat Ramp, eight blocks away. There, we descend to the beach and launch our day.

In making our way to the boat ramp, we encountered:

A 60/70-year-old man riding a kid’s bicycle and towing an improvised baby stroller carrying his possessions.

A woman asleep against the wall of a grocery store.

Two homeless men in their 30s waiting for the post office lobby to open at 8:30 so they could retrieve a leaf bag full of cans and bottles they had stashed there overnight.

A man asleep under a mural depicting Empire’s former grandeur.

A man or woman asleep under the awning of an addiction treatment center and surrounded by a bicycle, improvised trailer, and piles upon piles of possessions.

Two homeless men walking and talking across the street from me.

A young woman asleep with her dog in a battered 90s sedan.

A homeless man without pants doing something inexplicable to the landscaping of the Subway shop.

May I remind you: this all occurred in ten minutes within an eight-block radius of a city (population 15,000) on the Southern Oregon Coast.

Elmer and I hit the beach just as drizzle began falling. We passed the tent pitched in the willows, a presence going on almost two weeks. I’d said hello to the occupant a few times in the morning and he greeted me warmly, always complimenting Elmer’s good looks.

That had been the extent of our interaction.

Elmer and I did our thing and it never gets old watching an osprey build a nest. On our return, I saw the tent’s occupant outside scavenging firewood. I picked up a stray piece of cedar kindling to lend him a hand.

He greeted me. Elmer and I went up to him. I handed him the piece of kindling and he thanked me.

For some reason, and I can never predict what prompts me to engage a homeless man or woman during an encounter, this morning was one of those times for engagement.

I said I had just moved to Empire and was thinking about writing a book about this unique Oregon place. Would he be willing to tell me how he became homeless and ended up living in a tent on Coos Bay? I’d pay $20 for his story.

He smiled and agreed. I told him I’d leave a $20 bill in a journal with some pens tucked inside if he wanted to write it up. He said he’d take a run at writing—as a kid, he’d stapled together a couple of children’s books about his maniacal German shepherd.

“Why don’t I just tell you right now?” he said.

“That would be great,” I said. “My name is Matt.”

“I’m Rick.”

Some 20 minutes later, Rick had riffed his story with very few interruptions from me. I interjected a few questions to practice some basic journalism. I was not taking notes. There might be a few errors.

Rick was fifth generation Coos Bay and grew up in Englewood. He graduated from Marshfield High School (in the 80s). His daughter still lived in the family home, but was in a lot of (unspecified) trouble. He’d been homeless a year. In 2022 he was released from the Oregon State Penitentiary after serving eight years (he didn’t name the offense) of a sentence the result of a trial decided by a non unanimous jury verdict. In 2020, the US Supreme Court ruled Oregon’s non unanimous jury convictions violated the Constitution and the state had to throw out all the convictions or retry the cases. Rick was released and he expected significant financial compensation for his wrongful conviction. A free man, he returned to Coos Bay, began working for a seafood processor, rented a room for $450 a month, and then his father died and he spiraled out of control on booze. He lost his job and room. He sought help from The Devereux Center, which, “offers support systems and advocacy for the homeless, those suffering from mental illness, and veterans.” Unfortunately, he became entangled in that non profit organization’s well publicized chaos and got into a fight on the property with four homeless men and their dogs. He presented himself to an addiction treatment center and was turned away. He had never been contacted (or officially counted as homeless in the farcical Point-in-Time counts going on annually across the nation) by a city or county or non profit outreach worker to assist him into housing. Yes, he wanted into housing. You want to live outdoors in Coos Bay? Was there any such official outreach? (No). Was there any readily accessible temporary housing? (No.) Was there state, federal and other grant money available to the the county’s Homeless Response Office coffers to fund such temporary housing? Such as in right now! (Yes. Just watch their board’s monthly meeting on Zoom for confirmation of this.)

Rick and I conversed for a few more minutes after he concluded his narrative. We mostly talked about dogs.

How could I possibly help this homeless man in Empire? If I were still living in Portland I would know exactly how to find him a spot in a Safe Rest Village. It only took me two years to figure that process out.

As Elmer and I walked across the parking lot of the boat ramp, I saw a homeless man and woman sitting at a picnic table smoking cigarettes, talking to gulls and crows. By now, the drizzle had turned to light rain.

A great Coos Bay notion flooded my mind.

Why didn’t the county’s Homeless Response Office purchase an RV and retrofit it as a mobile service provider for the county’s homeless. The idea: meet them where they are—go find them—make an immediate assessment of their needs. ID? Referral to an addiction treatment center? Phone call to a relative. Sign up for legally entitled benefits such a the Oregon Health Plan? Job opportunities? Rides? Temporary housing options? Get to know them, establish relationships like an old time beat cop, and solve one problem at a time in the RV and take it from there. The Empire Boat Ramp should host a weekly if not twice weekly visit by the RV. It’s a perfect place to conduct this ad hoc social service: restrooms, water, dumpster, no businesses that might complain, plenty of parking. Ideally, the RV would be staffed by two people and perhaps a cadre of volunteers.

It’s called action—on the ground. Not meetings, mission statements and endless grant applications. The county takes this on, not a non profit. The county takes responsibility. Someone doesn’t pass the buck.

I know it could work, at least with the homeless people I’ve met in Empire. Every one I’ve interacted with wanted into housing but there was absolutely nothing like the Safe Rest Villages in Portland and elsewhere in Oregon and Washington. There should be—two or three years ago.

These same homeless people of Empire are incapable of advocating consistently for themselves. They survive; they have no knowledge of what’s out there to assist them (not much in this county). Many are addled.

Why not pilot a project? Why not try? Why not have an outreach worker go up to Rick’s tent and shout out hello.

Rick is salvageable and is worth salvaging as a human being, a Coos Bay native son. I make that claim because I’ve stood in front of him and heard his story.