I’ve not written about homelessness issues recently because the situation for homeless people seems to be about as bleak as the weather we’ve been having. The day shelter closed last month; the overnight shelters went to summertime (!) hours and summertime policies and local government remains intransigent with regard to those who choose not to seek shelter in the shelters. The rays of hope are about as common as rays of sunshine.

But there are rays of hope. We’ll be meeting tomorrow to gather more info about the needs related to providing medical respite. In the coming weeks, I’ve also got meetings scheduled with people from the VA. And all of those people who continue to do good work and care for the homeless continue to do what they do at great personal sacrifice, with courage and love.

Which brings me to a remarkable story that’s transpiring this week at Grace. On Tuesday, I learned that a guy had been hanging out in the bus shelter on the corner of W. Wash and Fairchild during the day. A couple of people (our staff and volunteers) had reached out to him. His legs have been amputated and although he has prostheses, he also uses a wheelchair. Apparently, it had been stolen and one of his prostheses was causing some pain or perhaps an infection. Because the day shelter had closed and he was virtually immobile, the bus shelter was pretty much where he could be. Folks brought him sandwiches and drink and someone finally called 911.

A police cruiser came. Again, I’m just reporting what I’ve been told second-hand. The patrolman apparently took him to a hospital to get checked out, knowing that he would be back in the shelter in the evening. But the homeless man told the police officer that his wheelchair had been stolen. After dropping him off, the cop drove to the St. Vincent’s thrift store, bought a wheelchair with his own money, and brought it back to Grace, where we stowed it for the day and made sure it was there when the man came back.

But that’s not the end of the story. This morning, the cop came back by to check on the homeless man; to make sure he had received the wheelchair.

Now, there are all sorts of things about this story that are gut-wrenching and offensive.  I will own up to Grace’s participation in the outrage.  Our only defense is, how much more do Madison and Dane County expect us to do? But there are also broken shards of light in this story, in the response of our (and Porchlight) staff and volunteers. But especially there is the witness and actions of a police officer, who went out of his way and at his own expense, to buy a wheelchair and make sure that the man who needed it got it.

I will be sending a letter to the mayor and to the chief of police about this incident, praising the officer (whose name I know) and asking them whether they have the heart, the political will, and the courtesy to reach out in similar ways and to change the structures that make tragedy like a homeless man without a wheelchair and a minimally accessible shelter a daily occurrence in Madison.

Oh, and by the way? How about somewhere homeless people could find shelter from the rain?

It’s an article on San Francisco, but it’s about every city in the US, too; including Madison.

In San Francisco, there’s drop-in center just for women:

Located in the Mission District, the drop-in center is basically two large adjoining rooms, the otherwise bare walls brightened by a single big-screen TV. When I visited Oshun, I found a diverse group of forty-five women, each sitting or sleeping in a chair surrounded by her belongings. Some had old suitcases with broken zippers, while others had stuffed their things into ripped garbage bags. The lucky ones found a spot near a wall. They’d at least be able to rest their heads by putting a blanket against the wall behind them. The rest had no choice but to let their heads hang.

Yet what choices do older homeless women have? Despite a spike in older homeless clients, says O’Connor of the St. Anthony Foundation, there are still precious few services to help women like Marcia and Dorothy. “If you’re a homeless woman, you’re guaranteed to be assaulted on the streets,” said Paul Boden, organizing director of the Western Regional Advocacy Project (WRAP), a West Coast coalition of homeless organizations. Boden, who was homeless himself at 16 after the death of his mother, also served as executive director of the city’s Coalition on Homelessness. “Women try to double up with guys to be safe, but they usually get beaten up by those guys, so their options are limited.”

One of the regulars at Oshun is an Argentine woman named Zulema. She’s a 65-year-old who, when I met her, had been sleeping in the plastic chairs there for six years. “I stayed in shelters for four months, but the process is inefficient and I never felt safe,” she said. “The shelters are very bad for women, especially older women.” She told me she had become accustomed to sleeping sitting up on hard plastic. “You have no control of your life at the shelter,” she said. “At Oshun, I can come and go.”