I was recently reminded of something that happened to me when I was 19 and living in Portland, Oregon. I had booked an early morning modeling gig and had to get to the MAX train by 5:30 AM. Back then there was no Uber and I had no car. I left my warm apartment and went out into the cold, dark winter morning. Even though Burnside Street was not well lit, it was the quickest route to the train and I was freezing. I figured it was so cold, who else would be out at this hour? I could make it to the train in just a few minutes and be on a safe, warm train before I knew it.
I now know who would be up at this time. Someone too cold to sleep on the street, someone driven out by the need to keep warm. Someone who heard a young woman walking by in high heels at an early hour. I found myself being trailed down Burnside Street. My pursuer was not particularly scary since he was not that much bigger than me. Nonetheless, I was spooked, so I increased my pace, knowing that I would be at the MAX platform in just a few blocks. But, my unwanted shadow kept pace with me and started to speak. The scary thing was that I could not understand what he was saying. He seemed to be just muttering sounds.
By now I was nearly running. The platform was not far away, and with any luck, there would be early commuters waiting for a train. All I had to do was make it to the platform and blend into the early crowd. It had slipped my mind that it was Saturday; there would be no early commuters. When I came into the light on the platform, all of my potential protectors were at home in their warm beds. I looked around with more desperation than I should have felt, but there was no one. I started to turn to face my pursuer. Now my shadow’s voice was clear, “Hey, pretty girl, where are you going?” It was then that I saw that there was someone else on the platform.
Almost ghost-like, he appeared. He was tall, maybe six foot two inches; maybe taller. He was dressed for the street. Lots of layers against the cold. His many shirts, jackets, and coats made him seem impossibly large. In that second I froze. Had I been herded? Was the man behind me the driver and the large man in front of me the catcher? I could perhaps deal with one, but not two; and the second one so large and scary. I hate to say it, but I froze. I stood on a deserted platform between two men who seemed bent on harming me.
Suddenly, the gigantic homeless man moved forward with amazing speed. But rather than attacking me, he placed himself between me and my would-be assailant and spoke in a quiet, rumbling voice. “Her Mama… don’t want her talking to YOU!” My pursuer froze. In that second, the situation had changed. I found myself suddenly protected by this tall black man who lived on the streets of Portland.
Without a word, my pursuer turned and fled into the darkness. My homeless knight-errant turned away from the receding footsteps. I looked at him. As I watched, he melted into behaviors that reminded me of my uncle. Here was a man with symptoms of schizophrenia. Here was a man with problems so large, it seemed impossible that he had risen above them to help me in my moment of need. He did not look me in the eye as I thanked him. He muttered quietly to himself as he remained by my side waiting for the next train. He stood there, clearly protecting me when just as clearly, he was not able to protect himself. Now that the crisis was past, he retreated back into himself. He just stood there muttering until the train arrived and did not seem to clearly hear my heartfelt thanks.
I boarded, found a seat, and heard the familiar recording: “The doors are closing.” And still, he was there standing guard. He came out of the darkness to protect me and he vanished back into that same darkness. After that morning, I looked for him from time to time on Burnside, but I never saw him again. Even though he may not remember what he did for me, I would certainly like to see him and thank him again.
It’s still odd to think about who might come to your aid and from where. I guess the lesson here is not to be too quick to judge those who live on the fringes of our cities because the street doesn’t necessarily rob them of their humanity.