Spring.

Once again, sorry I haven’t written in a while.  I guess I haven’t had a lot on my mind lately.  Maybe I should buy a hat...I said maybe I should buy a hat!  Am I right?

Now that we have that knee-slapper out of the way, not too much is new around here, but I’m back and feeling refreshed after taking a few days off while my family visited.  We were able to explore a bit of San Francisco and I showed them around Oakland and my apartment.  We also went to Muir Woods and Stinson beach, which were both lovely.  The place we rented had a hot tub and I was reminded why people work real jobs--big props to my pops who does not volunteer his time.

It’s hard to believe how much of this year has passed, but it’s been great to get some nice spring weather in the bay area in recent weeks.  I’m starting to get excited about the year coming to an end, but I’m also a little nervous, as I don’t have a job lined up.  Like most of this year, not making any real money to speak of, it’s been a challenge to live in the present moment and trust that good things are ahead.  But I’ve tried for so long, why stop now?

Along the same lines, maybe it’s just my imagination, or merely a couple isolated incidents, but I feel like people in Oakland have been a little pricklier than normal.  And by “pricklier,” I mean that they’ve been giving me the middle finger and cursing at me lately.  My personal theory is that all of the talk in the media about the recession and unemployment puts people in a foul mood.  Whether that’s true I’m not sure, but it’s the theory that allows me to take it less personally.

The past two times I’ve taken a mid-day stroll to Starbucks I’ve had people ask me for money.  I politely declined both times.  The first time I was with two other people walking past Taco Bell and we told the man we didn’t have any money but that he should check out the free dining room at St. Vincent de Paul.  That only served to infuriate the man and he started shouting obscenities at us as we walked away.  Though, I guess I can understand--sometimes you really need a Chalupa and nothing else will do.  The other time I was walking back from Starbucks another man asked if I had any money and I said I didn’t, but this time the man didn’t even pause to let me tell him about the SVdP dining room before he launched into a mini-diatribe laced with a few choice racial slurs.

Also, a few weeks ago as I pulled off the highway and was stopped at a red light on Jackson St. when a man pulled up beside me, and decided to flip me the bird, apparently I hadn’t given him the proper amount of room to maneuver past me and make a right turn.  Oh wait, I did give him the proper amount of room, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to pull beside me and flip me the bird.

I won’t attempt to weave these stories into some sort of metaphor about social justice or any commentary on the state of Oakland.  I will only say that the next time you have the urge to curse at someone who won’t buy you a taco, or maybe another frustrating situation of greater significance, you should take a deep breath or two and maybe the world will be a better place.

Now for some SVdP news, I’d like to give a big blog shout out to my fellow volunteer, miss Lorelei Alvarez, who recently received funding for her graduate studies in social work at UC Berkeley.  Also, I’d like to say congrats on her two-year anniversary with her boyfriend Carlos--I give him two thumbs up.  What’s that I hear?  Oh yeah, the distinct sound of wedding bells!

 

Forty Acres and a Mule.

It’s been a while since I’ve written. At certain times this year I’ve felt like I’ve had a lot to say and at other times I’ve needed to sit back and wait for the bigger picture to emerge.

The other week I went and visited another JV in Sacramento on my day off and we went to her agency, also a homeless drop-in facility. I was helping hand out tickets for their dining room when I recognized a familiar face--it was a client at St. Vincent de Paul who hadn’t been around in a couple of months.

The man--in his late 50s with graying dreadlocks--let out a guttural laugh and said, “Hey, boy!” as he often called me. “You move up here, too?”

“I’m just visiting for the day,” I said.

“Well you should. There’s nothing but trouble in Oakland,” he said. I nodded my head in agreement. We talked a little more and he asked, “You still got the book?”

The book is Forty Acres and a Mule. It’s missing its cover, it’s water damaged and I think it was taken from the Oakland Library at some point. While I was managing the men’s center there was hardly a day he wouldn’t pop into my office and talk about the book. For the most part I’d just nod and smile, but I always enjoyed hearing him talk about it. He’d tell me about how he was going to head down to Louisiana and homestead himself up a little farm complete with cows, chickens and horses. He’d say things like, “You think I’m going to end up like the rest of these dopes? Nope, I’m going to get me some land. You better believe I’m going to get me some land.”

“Still got it,” I said as I handed him his lunch ticket.

His eyes lit up and he said, “Yeah, that’s right. I’m still going to do it, boy. I’m going to get a big ol’ place in Louisiana and I’ll let you help me farm it.

“That’s a deal,” I said.

Later in the afternoon he came back to the counter I was working at and asked to get change for a dollar so he could use the vending machine. I gave him ten dimes in return and he left sixty cents on the counter so I could buy myself a soda. I told him I was okay, but he insisted that I take the money whether I wanted something to drink or not. “Boy,” he said, walking away, “these pockets are full of money.”

I felt bad taking his money. I wasn’t quite sure what I should do, but I didn’t want to belittle his generosity so I went over and inserted the sixty cents into the machine and drank a soda while I talked with my former client a little longer.

After not seeing the man for a couple of months, I have to admit I secretly hoped he'd really moved to Louisiana and was hoeing up some craggy piece of swamp land. But mostly I was happy to know he was doing okay.

In reality, I’m fairly certain he never will homestead a piece of land in Louisiana or anywhere else. Though, maybe the dream or fantasy of setting up a little rural farm is the glimmer of hope that gets him by each day, and if that’s the case, I hope he never stops believing it’s possible.

Later on in the day after the homeless facility in Sacramento had shut down we were walking back to the JV house and along the way I spotted the man again. He was slouched on a bench, sort of staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. When he was living in Oakland I saw him around town a couple of times, and like many of our clients I see outside of St. Vincent de Paul, he never had quite the same smile, and he seemed lost in the world, lacking the confidence, or maybe bravado is a more apt description, that he exuded while in the men’s center.

We’d snagged a bunch of Girl Scout cookies from the homeless facility’s warehouse, so I jay-walked across the street and gave him a box of Samoas. He thanked me, but once again he seemed unsure of himself, demeanor completely changed. I told him it was nice seeing him again and that maybe I’d be back later on in the year. He simply nodded and forced a bit of a smile.

It was a reminder of the barriers that exist between “us and them” and how difficult it is to create lasting change. But I thought about it for a while, and maybe that’s okay. Perhaps making one man’s world a little better, slightly more bearable, for one day, or one hour, or even one minute is enough.




“The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth, dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive.” -Thich Nhat Hanh

Taking a look at Oakland.

I decided that it might be fun to upload a few pics of my neighborhood. Enjoy.

Here's the McDonald's next to my apartment.  Nothing quite like a double cheeseburger and McFlurry after a long week.

Here are some ducks hanging out at Lake Merritt, a popular spot for walking, running and even rowing.

If you look closely that's a young couple pushing a stroller down my street.  What is this, Berkeley???

This is a picture of the court house in downtown Oakland.

This is a street sign and I like sepia.  No other significance.

This is The Ruby Room--best bar in Oakland. Red lighting and cheap drinks. Enough said.

The Oakland Public Library. A great spot for broke JV's.

More Violence in Oakland.

For the second time this year violence in Oakland has made national news. Last Saturday, after a routine traffic stop three officers were shot and killed along with a fourth later declared brain-dead.

In the words of Yogi Berra: it’s like déjà vu all over again. There is a definite pattern in Oakland where something tragic occurs and the Mayor, Ron Dellums, or another leader talks about the need for change.

"In these moments, words are extraordinarily inadequate," Oakland Mayor Ron Dellums told reporters at a news conference Saturday night at Oakland police headquarters. "We come together in shock, in grief, in sadness and sorrow. Our hearts go out to the officers' families who are experiencing a level of tragedy that goes beyond our ability to comprehend."

"These folks leave their homes in the morning, with every expectation of returning," Dellums said, "but they did not."

Several of the articles touched on the fact that there’s a growing sense of hopelessness. People are aware that change is necessary—it’s the buzzword that sold millions of Obama t-shirts—but like all hollow rhetoric, it’s starting to lose its meaning.

I don’t know what needs to be done, either. I don’t think anyone does. I look around at all of the empty buildings in Oakland and wonder if there’s any realistic solution. Even the Tribune building, with its neon red sign that shines brightest above Downtown Oakland, is boarded up.

Last Thursday I watched an episode of 30 Rock where Liz Lemon, Tina Fey’s character, is dating a guy who has an inflated sense of self due to everyone around him catering to his every need and letting him win because he happens to be really good-looking. They refer to this as “living in the bubble.” Liz also falls into thie trap, but eventually she realizes she can’t continue to be dishonest with this guy. After pointing out several of his shortcomings, the guy becomes extremely frustrated and throws a fit. Eventually he apologizes to Liz and tells her she should come and live in the bubble with him. He confesses to Liz that it’s ironic how much he hated life outside of the bubble. Liz points out that it’s not ironic at all. He laughs and says that he likes the bubble because he can use word ironic however he pleases.

While I was watching that episode the signal kept coming in and out as a helicopter flew atop our apartment building. It turned out that a small convenience store about two blocks from our apartment was held up at gunpoint. The clerk and two customers were shot, but managed to tackle and subdue one of the gunmen.

That’s a little closer than I like my violence to occur.

It made me think of other bubbles in our lives, and one of those is distance, both physical and emotional, from the problems of the most marginalized in society.

One of the JVC houses is located in Berkeley, but they don’t work in Berkeley, most of them work in Oakland. Nothing against the people in that house and the work they do, but in some ways it seems to go against everything that JVC stands for. With that said, when I go over to Berkeley and I see college students, young couples pushing baby strollers, and old hippies in their diesel Mercedes, and a slew of Priuses parked along Shattuck Avenue outside of nice restaurants, I’m a little jealous. I’m able to let my guard down and relax.

I grew up in the suburbs, love the suburbs and will probably someday move back to the suburbs. However, I think it’s important to be aware of the luxuries and privileges we are afforded and often take for granted. When you watch the news and it becomes too graphic and violent you can change the channel, but when it happens down the street it’s harder to ignore.

At several points throughout this year living in Oakland has really started to annoy me and I've felt trapped, but at those times I’ve been able to get away, whether it’s been for a retreat or a visit to another JV house.  Though, I’m now starting to see the value in getting even a small sense of what it’s like for those who can’t escape the culture of violence and crime that pervades Oakland.



“Home is not where you live but where they understand you."

-Christian Morgenstern

B-i-n-g-o

Yesterday, I decided to sit in on the Thursday Bingo in the visitation center which is starting to draw a pretty good-sized crowd. Each week they pop popcorn and have a table of prizes ranging from soaps and lotions to dolls, underwear and razors. It’s fun to see how intense the competition gets for all of these fairly inexpensive prizes. My favorite winner was the guy who picked out a pair of pink slippers for his “lady.” After thinking about it for a little while, I realized it’s not about the prizes, but rather, it’s about a sense of accomplishment they receive from winning.

It made me think about the need to strike the delicate balance between necessary handouts and the ultimate goal of helping clients become self-sufficient. The clients as a whole at SVdP are certainly appreciative of the services they receive, but the pride and gratitude they have after helping themselves is on an entirely different level. It can be seen at the graduation for our transitional employees and the kitchen of champions. It can also be seen in the men’s center with the guys who like to earn their keep by sweeping up the floors or emptying the trash.

I guess the desire to be valued and capable is basic human nature. This week a guy who went through the December Homeless Court came in to thank me for my help and to let me know he’d recently found a job. It was a brief conversation, but it was genuine and true, and exactly what I needed to hear. Just when I start to question whether I’m doing any good at all, something like that seems to happen where I’m reminded that the work we do is indeed worthwhile.



"At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us." -Albert Schweitzer

March Madness

Today, six days into the month, I finally realized that it’s March, which of course signifies the arrival of everyone’s favorite season—no, not Lent—March Madness!

I think this is the surest proof that JVC, or at least the lack of money for cable, has had a significant impact on me. And while maybe I’m not “ruined,” there’s a good chance my bracket will be. Actually that’s probably not true, since the tournament no longer seems to have any rhyme or reason and picking winners based on mascots or uniform colors seems to be about as equally effective. Never the less, I normally pride myself on making informed selections, having usually watched at least one game from nearly every school in the dance, even the play-in game. I’m a junkie--my drug of choice is college basketball, that and the occasional highball.

Aside from the lack of cable, I’ve tuned out of this year’s college basketball season in part because my Hoosiers, with first-year coach Tom Crean, are in the midst of a historically bad year, currently sitting at 6-23. Though, we have a good recruiting class coming in, so I think we should be respectable next year and start to seriously compete in another year or two after that. And to all the haters, unless you’re Kentucky or UCLA we still have more championship banners hanging from the rafters (’40, 53, ’76, ’81, ’87). You might point out that it’s been over twenty years since we last won, and if you do the math you’ll realize that the vast majority of guys in this year’s tournament weren’t even born in 1987, but those are minor details…

I assume most of you (the four people who read this blog and aren’t related to me) are unaware of the events that led to this year’s disastrous season. Well, back in the year 2006 IU decided to hire a man by the name of Kelvin Sampson, who was already in trouble at his old school, Oklahoma, for making too many phone calls to recruits, but we hired him anyway. He promised that he’d follow the NCAA rules and do things the right way. To make a long story short, he brought in one NBA lottery-pick, a bunch of junior college thugs and a few other questionable recruits and also continued to make phone calls with reckless abandon.

Sampson knew how to coach, and his teams were relatively enjoyable to watch. Before he was forced to resign during last year’s season, the team cracked the top ten in rankings and was poised to capture a Big Ten championship, though there was always a nagging sense that we were doing things the wrong way. But despite it all, I continued to support Sampson and the team, because when it comes to sporting endeavors it’s always more fun to win than lose.

It’s not as if I supported Hitler and the Nazi party, but the two or three year ordeal has been a reminder and lesson in how easy it is to justify behavior that deep down you know is wrong.

I think there are many issues, especially related to social justice, where it’s easy to fall into similar thought patterns. It’s easier to say, “I’d never do drugs,” “they deserve to be homeless,” or “I’d never let my tickets spiral out of control,” than it is to address the root causes of the problems and the legal and social barriers that exist. That work is difficult, arduous, met with resistance and often painful. But at the end of the day, it’s the right thing to do and there is a certain reward in that alone.

Likewise, this season has been dreadful for the Hoosiers when judged by wins and losses, but not everything can be measured using results. Our team has been battered and bruised nearly beyond recognition, but they hustle and play with pride and our basketball program finally has its heart back, and in my opinion that counts for an awful lot.

Ash Wednesday

It has been a little while since I last wrote a blog. I think I’m running out of things to say, perhaps hitting the proverbial wall, which is probably natural in February at the midpoint of the JVC year.

This year so far has been simultaneously a blessing and a struggle filled with ups and downs. At times it’s easy for me to walk the streets of Oakland and wonder how things could be any worse and question whether I’m making any difference at all. This year hasn’t necessarily filled me with great optimism that things in Oakland will improve any time soon, but last Friday’s Homeless Court session held here at SVdP was a reaffirmation that my work here is meaningful. The thing I especially like about Homeless Court is that Judge Gordon Baranco isn’t looking for a grand apology or clients to grovel, only that they exhibit progress and a sincere understanding that it’s a one time chance to move forward with a clean slate.

As always my favorite part of the process is witnessing the spectrum of reactions the clients have after their charges and fines are dismissed, it ranges from one woman who fought back tears as she hugged her two-year-old son to the 21-year-old guy whose grin stretched from ear-to-ear as he bragged to me that his $5,000 in fines dismissed had been the most of anyone all day.


“You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”