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The smaller man was perhaps 5 feet 6 inches
tall and slightly built, his companion about my height and 280 pounds. The
latter was too blitzed to stand, grabbing my low fence to keep from toppling.
Living adjacent to two Sacramento homeless
shelters I had become accustomed to this. The pitch was predictable: Lost job,
stolen wallet, broken car; needed money for food, motel, bus; would mail cash,
send money order, return to pay me. The big fellow was well-rehearsed, but
alcohol was wreaking as much havoc on his speech as his balance.
The man’s more immediate problem, though, was
that when he steadied himself on my fence our dachshund managed to leap just
high enough to nail his hand. He rocked back on his heels, shaking his fingers,
hollering “Ow! Sucker bites!” Then back to the spiel.
Apparently his memory was struggling as much as
his equilibrium because a few moments later he’d rest back on the fence and get
another fist full of wiener dog.
His friend finally had enough. “Look,” he
interrupted. “We’re winos. We want money for booze.” I rarely gave our
transient neighbors anything for fear of becoming a mark, but decided I owed
these two for the show. I handed over a few bucks and never saw them again.
Not all our encounters with shelter residents
were that amusing; suffice it to say I have fair empathy for folks concerned
about these facilities in their neighborhoods. This added to the chagrin when
my 1997 column about a visit to the Jesus Center soup kitchen, then in temporary
quarters, brought an angry call from a reader who thought I blamed neighbors for
the series of arson fires plaguing the facility.
I reread the piece 2 or 3 times, searching in
vain for the accusation. Returning the man’s call I reached his wife, who
wasn’t sure what offense I’d committed either. Still she was clearly frustrated
by what she felt was rough handling of folks raising questions about the
kitchen’s impact. Perhaps my favorable assessment of the Jesus Center’s
operations was enough, but I came away sensitized to how touchy folks are about
being thought anti-homeless.
So it is no surprise that questions about plans
for a year-round homeless shelter near the Silver Dollar Fairgrounds have been
asked in whispers rather than shouts. And it is for that reason that Councilman
Rick Keene says he plans to present a list of concerns on behalf of neighbors
when the shelter comes before the council for budget approval June 5.
Keene is reported to believe the community
needs a shelter, but questions the lack of the neighborhood patrols that have
been successful for the Jesus Center. He asks that the shelter serve only men
so as not to overlap with existing services and argues against a kitchen there
for the same reason. He wants an earlier curfew and wonders whether the need is
year-round.
Predictably, these comments have drawn fire
from some shelter supporters, most notably Councilwoman Colleen Jarvis. Jarvis
has been quoted in this paper as saying “It is extremely unfortunate that the
lone voice against the shelter has the power to misuse that voice,” accusing
Keene of “going around the land use process to get what he wants.” She calls
her colleague “the lone wolf.”
It does seem odd that Keene would let an appeal
deadline for the shelter’s permit pass, which he has explained by saying the
action would have precluded him from voting on the matter. But what I find
“extremely unfortunate” is that a respected city council member wouldn’t welcome
any opportunity to address the concerns of folks who may have felt intimidated
into silence.
I suspect Rick Keene isn’t so much the lone
wolf as the only one howling. The Chico City Council is elected at large; they
should give all views a fair hearing, not just the politically correct.
© 1997- 2002 Brent Morrison
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