Volunteering & Volunteer Students

My view on homeless people was somewhat pejorative not too long ago (a few hours ago, as a matter of fact). After my first few times volunteering at the homeless shelter, the people that I observed and spoke to convinced me that homeless people are vulgar, lazy, and have no one to blame but themselves for their dire circumstances. And, looking back, I had every reason to hold this misconception. A substantial number of individuals I spoke to were obviously grossly inebriated, uttered a swear in every other sentence, and had a blatant lack of class. These people made me feel like I was wasting my time and effort by volunteering, and I constantly asked myself why I even bothered.

So what was different about tonight? People were falling over drunk (which almost led to a brawl), and several individuals were shouting the 'F' and 'S' words as if that was half of their vocabulary. What was different tonight was my interaction with the people I met. Instead of just saying "how are you" to them, I actually asked them questions and tried to get to know them at a more personal level. Doing so led to some interesting and disheartening stories that really changed my perspective on the homeless.

One guy I talked to was named Steve, a stout, middle-aged fellow with a rotund belly.  He smoked cigarettes, almost got caught up in a fight, and was complaining about the food. Naturally, my first impression of him was not favorable, and I chose not to say anything to him. But then he started talking to me, so I listened.

"Do you see that guy over there?" he asked me, pointing to one of the social workers at the shelter. I nodded. "Well, let me tell you something," he continued, "he's a piece of sh--."

Of course, I wasn't sure how to react to this statement, so I hesitated for a moment. In my mind, he was the last person who should be criticizing anybody. Finally I asked, "Why do you say that?" and he gave me his explanation.

"Well, the other night, I was at the hospital because they were treating my prostate cancer. It was 12:30 am at night when I was discharged, and they told me to go to the homeless shelter. When I got there, that piece of sh-- wouldn't let me in."

The shelter has a rule that says no one can be admitted after 11:00 pm. This policy exists for practical reasons ("lights off" is at 11:00 pm) and for obvious safety reasons. I explained this to Steve, who seemed taken aback by my reply.

"You mean to tell me," he stammered, "that if you were sitting at that check-in desk, and a homeless guy walked in at midnight holding hospital papers in his hand on a cold winter night, that you would tell him to leave?"

I told him that I would probably consider making an exception, but that I respect the rules of the shelter and offered that he should consider the importance of policies as well.

"Anyway, you've got to put the past behind you," I preached. "The best thing to do is just to move on with life. You're here now, and you've got a place to stay and food to eat. Sometimes it's better to appreciate what you have now instead of dwelling on the past."

"I don't have anything," Steve replied. "I don't have any friends. Oh wait, I do have friends, and they're with me all the time. I talk to them wherever I go." He turned to his right, and affectionately extended his arm into the air. "Hey, how're you doing buddy?" he asked sarcastically. He continued, "In a few weeks I'll be sleeping out there in a tent next to the river. I'll be able to fish in my own backyard." (The shelter is only open during the winter months.)

"Well, have you tried maybe finding a job?" I cautiously asked.

"I can't work. I have COPD [chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder]," he said. I was about to suggest quitting smoking, but at that point someone else started talking to him. Then, a tall, muscular man named Jesse in his thirties started talking to me. He was smoking a cigarette and had a glazed look in his eyes, hinting that he was under the influence of some illegal drug. Somehow the topic of baseball was broached. I told him that I was awful at baseball, and that I played football in high school.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, "I was nose tackle and right guard when I was in high school."  And we talked about our football teams, our home towns, and such. Aside from being a little tipsy, Jesse seemed like a completely normal guy who I would have never pictured to be homeless. So I asked him, "How are things going for you?"

"Nothing's been going right," he said sullenly. He dropped his cigarette on the ground. "Ever since my mom died when I was 12, and when my dad died in my arms, things have just been going wrong. It just seems like nothing good ever happens. My ex-wife, who I love to death, broke up to me because I lied to her about smoking cigarettes. Now she won't even talk to me. None of my aunts and uncles talk to me, either. I don't know why - I never said anything bad to them or anything. I have nobody."

I didn't know what to say in response, so I tried to offer some encouragement.

"Just keep trying and working hard. Try to find a job so you can find a place to stay."

"I do have a job," he said, "but nobody will rent me a room. I don't want anything fancy, no TV or anything. I just want something to lay down on and a shower so I can wash myself."

At this point, we had been standing in the cold for quite some time, and our conversation ended when we returned inside. I was both stunned and saddened by Jesse's story. I just couldn't believe that a person could have endured so much hardship and lost so much in one lifetime. At first, I saw Jesse as just another homeless person who brought about his hard circumstances by making the wrong choices. And this was partially true. "I was a good student in high school," Jesse said, "I scored in the top 10 percentile in science and social studies. But then I started hanging around with the wrong people and smoking a lot of pot." But after hearing his story, Jesse's marijuana use seemed entirely understandable and even justifiable.

Both Steve and Jesse showed me that you can't judge people from first impressions. Everyone can get rude and ill-mannered under unfavorable circumstances, and the situations that both of these men are in are extraordinarily difficult. On a brighter note, both Steve and Jesse semed happy to have someone to talk to. I guess that makes my volunteering efforts worthwhile after all.