Faces and Places

“Faces and Places.” The title comes from a gentle, sentimental Tom Paxton song written decades ago. Yet, it now comes to mind in a completely different context.

First, if you’re not familiar with the song, here’s a bit of the lyrics:

“Faces and places,
They all left indelible traces
On my soul–
Wherever it’s going.
Faces and places,
Spun my soul in gossamer laces.”

The face I cannot stop thinking about these days belongs to a homeless man I encountered down in a dirty San Francisco subway station at midnight one Saturday after an outing at the theater.

Faces and Places

The man who I would judge to be in his 50s walked — if you could call it that — at a 90-degree angle with his belly and head facing the ground. He also limped.

His baggy gray sweatpants and top were soiled. His manner was calm and his voice soft. He wandered up and down the station platform, asking for food, water, and money, twisting his head painfully up to each passerby.

He was not ignored. People responded. How could they not? He was in such visible discomfort, distress, and need.

Needing Help. Yet, …

Yet, handed food, he would toss it away a few moments later onto the subway tracks. Handed money, he’d hobble away and discard it as well.

I watched one man gently and repeatedly try to return the money he had left behind. “Sir, sir,” the man kept saying. “I think you dropped this. Don’t you want it? Don’t you need it?”

At one point, a woman offered him a seaweed snack packet. He politely declined. “I had this before. I don’t like it. Thank you anyway.”

Occasionally he’d pause. Sit down on the cold cement floor for a few minutes. Then, he’d get up and begin his circuit up and down the platform again.

Once he wandered so close to the tracks as a train approached that a young man rushed forward and gently guided him back.

After 20 minutes, my train finally came. The homeless man was out of my sight, but not out of mind.

Witnesses to Pain

Each day we urban dwellers pass people in distress and need. Many of us “good” people donate to charities to help the homeless, now “fashionably” called the unhoused. Many of us volunteer our time as well, trying to help. We also try to support friends and family facing their own personal demons.

Yet, we “the good people” at that subway station simply did not know what to do for that one specific man in need.

Why that Man?

You may wonder why this particular person has stayed in my mind especially when in San Francisco misery abounds on every block.

It’s because of my mother. She, like that man, had horrific back problems. After — or because of — multiple failed surgeries, she lost four inches in height. Her spine collapsed and she was in non-stop, agonizing pain. My mother described it as “having a billion bees stinging constantly.”

Because of her suffering — despite the best medical care, the love of family, and the comfort of a beautiful home, I cannot stop thinking of that man who has nothing.

Helpless

In the days since I’ve tried reaching out to San Francisco homeless agencies to see if someone would go into that subway station and offer him housing and medical attention. If I got past the “Leave a message” recording and actually spoke to someone, they were polite, but said, “There is nothing we can do.”

I understand. First of all, I’m not a family member. So, I have no legal standing. Not even a name to offer for the man. Second, these agencies are overwhelmed with calls. Overwhelmed with clients and people in need. They’re understaffed. Under-funded. The people I spoke to said they doubted they could find the man even if they tried. I ask them to please try. They again explain their workload and the scope of the problem.

Damn, reality! And damn that beautiful Tom Paxton song which I have always loved, but which now haunts me on auto-replay in my head but now in an entirely unromantic, unsentimental way.

Faces and Places End Note

Apologies to Tom Paxton, who I adore. His music and lyrics are amazing. You can listen to the wonderful “Faces and Places” here.