Spring has sprung - certainly here in So. Cal., where there’s a heat wave this weekend. I’m sitting here typing this shirtless in my cut-off bib overalls.
Spring is known as a time of re-awakening, when all things living come back to life at full force. As wonderful and beautiful as it is, sometimes, as I point out in the following column published in the Claremont Courier this week, this abundance of life is a bit too much.
I will add or reiterate that the bee guy was super intense - scarily so. I thought he would go off on an anti-gay rant when he started off his spiel by saying, “All animals are meant to procreate. Those that don’t, die off.” Later, on his second visit, he told my attendant that a bee sting might do me good. A very intense, weird
man.
NIMHP - NOT IN MY HOUSE, PLEASE
Who knew that bees need more water, more hydration, than any other animal?
Wow! I didn’t.
I learned this fascinating factoid when the bee guy came to my house, and I asked why the bees were dying. He said that it was lack of hydration. That, and that they were smashing the windows, trying to get out.
Yes, the bees were trying to get out - of my kitchen. Or, as the bee guy said, they were heading towards the light. There had been dozens of bees coming into my kitchen over the previous two days. Most were quickly dying, which was enough of a nuisance, but there had still been plenty buzzing around, making life unpleasant and somewhat dangerous.
This is why the bee guy was at my house. I wanted to know why the bees were in my kitchen. After all, I never had had bees in my kitchen - or anywhere in my house. More to the point, though, I wanted the bees out of my kitchen, out of my house, and I wanted them to stay out. Like they always had.
It’s not that I have anything against bees. Sure, they are annoying and can be dangerous, even quite dangerous, but they play a crucial role in nature and make lovely honey, and I agree that the recent massive bee die-off is alarming. But, please, I don’t want them in my house.
But, as happens with disturbing frequency, when the bee guy came to my house, the bees weren’t coming in. Unlike the previous two warm afternoons, when the bees were coming in at a steady pace, it was a cool and cloudy morning, and there wasn’t much bee activity. After looking around a bit, the bee guy surmised that they were getting in through a couple air vents. He went on to explain, among many other things like the hydration, that, like humans, bees look at an average of twelve different places before choosing a place to live.
Again, who knew? “It’s really an amazing thing,” the bee guy said.
He guessed that the bees didn’t like my house and had decided to move on. It looked like he was right until two days later when it warmed up again, and the bees came buzzing, if not roaring, back into my kitchen.
I called the bee guy again, and he said he would come back the next afternoon - a good time, I thought, since it was more likely that the bees would be more active (even if dying once they were in my kitchen) at that time.
Sure enough and much to my relief, when the bee guy came for the second time, there were plenty of bees buzzing about, including in my kitchen. Better yet, he saw them going in and out of a small crack in the wall, a crack that he hadn’t seen before. He plugged the hole - no long lectures this time - and I haven’t had anymore bees in my kitchen.
This is good, because having two cats, along with two caged parakeets, in my house is enough. After having one cat in many periods of my life, having two for the last eight years or so has really shown me, as if I didn’t already see, that we’re owned by our cats (if not all our pets) rather than owning them.
These two cats that rule the house are brothers, both extremely affectionate and with a definite foot fetish, that I got as found kittens. (I still have the Courier classified ad stuck on my fridge.) At the time, I didn’t know their distinct personalities and how correctly I named them. Elijah, with light champagne stripes, is rotund and voracious, likes to bully but is really a huge baby, spending most of the time when he’s outside sticking close to the house and loudly crying. I think he is jealous of Irie who, with his darker orange stripes, really reflects the term from reggae music meaning “positive” and “happy,” being adventurous and sleek, if not sneaky, having the run of the neighborhood and maybe the town.
They do get into spats with each other, but it usually means they want food or out. Usually. At least they don’t bring live birds into the house, as one of my old cats, Sam, was wont to do, and at least they’re not fighting opossums under my bed.
This is what happened to an old friend of mine here in Claremont years ago. She had a cat door in her back door and was awakened one night by her cat and an opossum in a loud, vicious fight under her bed. My friend sat up on her bed and frantically called the police and was told, “Lady, we don’t come out for opossums.”
Years later, I found out that that was wrong. I was living in an apartment here in town and had a roommate from England. He had never seen an opossum and panicked when he saw one one night out on the patio and called the police. Before I knew it, I was lying in bed at 11:30 looking out the window at two officers rooting around the patio with flashlights.
At least the opossum was outside. One another occasion at the same apartment when I had a different roommate, I was having a birthday party. Some friends and I were playing Uno or something at the kitchen table, and the sliding glass door was open in the summer. My cat - another cat named Professor (he really was a genius and quite dapper in his black tux) - came in from the patio, loudly making an announcement. It turned out he had brought his own guest - a baby opossum. And it turned out that it wasn’t dead. It was, of course, playing opossum.
I probably don’t need to say that that was the end of that party.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Disabled by shame
This kid needs to be in school. Not only is there no reason for him not to be in school, it is all the more reason for him to be in school.
That was my immediate reaction when I read Steve Lopez’s column a few weeks ago in the Los Angeles Times. Steve Lopez is one of my heroes, an inspiration to me - a sharp, insightful columnist who writes with passion as well as compassion. With this column, however, he didn’t go quite far enough.
The column was about Jose Chojolan, a junior at Fairfax High School in Los Angeles. Although he is quiet and shy, Jose is likable and smart, determined to go to college - preferably U.C Irvine. As his marine biology teacher, Jennie Jackson, is quoted, “Jose is probably one of the most humble, hard-working, reliable students I have ever known.”
That is, when he’s in school.
Jose hasn’t been in school since January, and he doesn’t want to. “He can’t quite imagine returning to school,” according to Lopez.
That’s because he now uses a wheelchair, having been paralyzed from the neck down after suffering a blood clot in his neck. He did visit the school recently but didn’t stay long. As he told Lopez when Lopez visited him at Rancho Los Amigos Rehabilitation Hospital, “I didn’t want them to see me,” referring to his fellow students.
The column is about the students at Fairfax raising thousands of dollars for Jose’s family, who had been living in an inaccessible second-floor apartment and has lost income from taking time off to care for Jose. This is truly awesome.
But I keep thinking about the guy I wrote about a couple years ago who was found by friends in a nursing home decades after thinking he had died. I wish Lopez not only had written about how sad and ridiculous that Jose and his family are left relying on the kindness of students and strangers rather than the state. I wish mostly that Lopez had written more about the shame that Jose feels about being disabled, the shame he has learned to feel, the shame that is now what’s really paralyzing him.
After all, there’s a big sign in the window of his hospital room saying “We Love Jose,” signed by his fellow students. Think about it. He needs to be in school.
That was my immediate reaction when I read Steve Lopez’s column a few weeks ago in the Los Angeles Times. Steve Lopez is one of my heroes, an inspiration to me - a sharp, insightful columnist who writes with passion as well as compassion. With this column, however, he didn’t go quite far enough.
The column was about Jose Chojolan, a junior at Fairfax High School in Los Angeles. Although he is quiet and shy, Jose is likable and smart, determined to go to college - preferably U.C Irvine. As his marine biology teacher, Jennie Jackson, is quoted, “Jose is probably one of the most humble, hard-working, reliable students I have ever known.”
That is, when he’s in school.
Jose hasn’t been in school since January, and he doesn’t want to. “He can’t quite imagine returning to school,” according to Lopez.
That’s because he now uses a wheelchair, having been paralyzed from the neck down after suffering a blood clot in his neck. He did visit the school recently but didn’t stay long. As he told Lopez when Lopez visited him at Rancho Los Amigos Rehabilitation Hospital, “I didn’t want them to see me,” referring to his fellow students.
The column is about the students at Fairfax raising thousands of dollars for Jose’s family, who had been living in an inaccessible second-floor apartment and has lost income from taking time off to care for Jose. This is truly awesome.
But I keep thinking about the guy I wrote about a couple years ago who was found by friends in a nursing home decades after thinking he had died. I wish Lopez not only had written about how sad and ridiculous that Jose and his family are left relying on the kindness of students and strangers rather than the state. I wish mostly that Lopez had written more about the shame that Jose feels about being disabled, the shame he has learned to feel, the shame that is now what’s really paralyzing him.
After all, there’s a big sign in the window of his hospital room saying “We Love Jose,” signed by his fellow students. Think about it. He needs to be in school.
Friday, April 6, 2012
They like it hard
“There are no adult children, only adults who act like children... Your son may be 24, but he is not a child, I hope.
“Obamacare and the nanny state treat people like children. They can drink, drive and vote, but they are not responsible enough to pay their way...”
So spouts off a letter-writer not too long ago in the Los Angeles Times, referring in the already enacted provision in the healthcare reform law that allows children to stay on their parents’ health insurance until 26, in yet another incredible example of a conservative shooting themselves in the foot - literally. Come Hell or high water - especially so, in fact - they are determined that people be responsible for themselves and not get any help.
Even though they may very well need the assistance, the Tea Party types are waiting with baited breath for the Supreme Court to strike down the healthcare reform law. In the name of liberty, they insist on self-reliance and taking care of one’s own business, even when there is clearly a way to make life easier and better for all. In the name of freedom, the demand that nobody gets it easy, much less a free ride - and all the more so if they have to pay for it.
As the letter writer concludes, “Covering adult children costs someone or something. Nothing is free. Even lunch from a Democrat.”
This might - might - be arguable, if not understandable, but it often seems that conservatives want things to be even harder than they already are. It is as if life isn’t worth anything unless it is a complete slog and a complete fight. And they’ll bend over backwards and twist the truth to see that this happens.
Consider what is now going on in Lancaster. I have written a few times about this town in the desert northeast of Los Angeles and its mayor, R. Rex Parrish, who favors praying to Jesus at City Council meetings. I have written about there being a federal investigation into surprise inspections of Section 8 housing, often accompanied by armed officers, in the city. These units are usually occupied by blacks and Latinos. Now, the city has sued Section 8, claiming it coerces minorities to move to Lancaster rather than, say, L.A. It posits that this is unfair to minorities, despite the fact that housing in Lancaster is more affordable and less dense.
Talk about twisting truth and logic! In the name of fairness, conservative Lancaster is out to make things harder, if not downright impossible, for people.
“Obamacare and the nanny state treat people like children. They can drink, drive and vote, but they are not responsible enough to pay their way...”
So spouts off a letter-writer not too long ago in the Los Angeles Times, referring in the already enacted provision in the healthcare reform law that allows children to stay on their parents’ health insurance until 26, in yet another incredible example of a conservative shooting themselves in the foot - literally. Come Hell or high water - especially so, in fact - they are determined that people be responsible for themselves and not get any help.
Even though they may very well need the assistance, the Tea Party types are waiting with baited breath for the Supreme Court to strike down the healthcare reform law. In the name of liberty, they insist on self-reliance and taking care of one’s own business, even when there is clearly a way to make life easier and better for all. In the name of freedom, the demand that nobody gets it easy, much less a free ride - and all the more so if they have to pay for it.
As the letter writer concludes, “Covering adult children costs someone or something. Nothing is free. Even lunch from a Democrat.”
This might - might - be arguable, if not understandable, but it often seems that conservatives want things to be even harder than they already are. It is as if life isn’t worth anything unless it is a complete slog and a complete fight. And they’ll bend over backwards and twist the truth to see that this happens.
Consider what is now going on in Lancaster. I have written a few times about this town in the desert northeast of Los Angeles and its mayor, R. Rex Parrish, who favors praying to Jesus at City Council meetings. I have written about there being a federal investigation into surprise inspections of Section 8 housing, often accompanied by armed officers, in the city. These units are usually occupied by blacks and Latinos. Now, the city has sued Section 8, claiming it coerces minorities to move to Lancaster rather than, say, L.A. It posits that this is unfair to minorities, despite the fact that housing in Lancaster is more affordable and less dense.
Talk about twisting truth and logic! In the name of fairness, conservative Lancaster is out to make things harder, if not downright impossible, for people.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Sliced bread - and the pits
I recently got a keyless lock on my front door, and I’ll tell you, it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.
For the longest time, I wished I could have some kind of automatic door - something like the remote control unit that I was given in college to open the door to my dorm and hall. After I got out of school, my father made a key holder with a small piece of wood. I could handle it well enough, but it was always a challenge, a test, to get the key into the keyhole, especially if I was cold. Yes, it always felt good, like a victory, when I got the door open, but it was a pain, and that it took a few minutes or sometimes more pissed me off.
I kept thinking of those keypads where you punch in a code to open a door. Wouldn’t something like that work? But then all of my attendants would need to know the code, and maybe one of them might let it slip out to someone they knew.... More to the point, though, didn’t something like that cost thousands of dollars? I always thought there was no way to afford what I wanted.
This became an actual problem when I got my Vmax speech device a couple years ago. With it mounted on my wheelchair, unlocking my front door was all but impossible. Soon, I left the door unlocked when I went out on my own with the Vmax. Although my neighborhood is relatively quite quiet and safe, I knew this was unwise, if not asking for trouble. It only got worse when, because it was just easier, I began leaving the door unlocked - just this one time - when I left on my own without the Vmax. An occupational therapy appointment last year was no help at all. (I suspect I’m far more independent than any of the other patients seen.)
So, last month, when I complained about this after I returned home to find that an attendant had inadvertently locked the door, it was suggested I look on-line for a keyless door lock. Well, it turned out - hello! - that there were plenty of them, and I found one that, like many, was under $100, probably because it wasn’t marketed to the disabled (the picture in the ad and on the box when I got it showed a woman at a door with her hands full with a baby and a shopping bag). I ordered it on a Wednesday and, with standard postage, got it on Friday.
One of my attendants, who happens to be quite handy with such things, installed it easily that evening (I had also been worried that installation would be another big cost), and my life changed. The unit works on the dead bolt (I no longer use the door knob lock) and works just like a remote car key, with the fob taped onto the armrest of my wheelchair. There is a satisfying buzz and click when it works, and it even works when I’m in my van in the driveway.
I have to say that, for a day or two, I felt sad and even guilty about not experiencing the thrill of victory in unlocking the door with the key, like I was being lazy and giving up, but I’ve been much more thrilled with it now being so much easier to unlock the door. Like I said, the best thing since sliced bread!
But what about my attendants? How do they get in when I’m not here or when I’m in bed? Do they each need a fob, which I have to order at extra cost? No. As I was reminded, there is a back door that they can use and for which I got them keys. Hello!
Unfortunately, I have been unable to use the Vmax, to have it on my wheelchair - the reason I got the keyless lock - for nearly three months. Unlike sliced bread or the best thing since, this is the pits, and the reason is even more so.
My wheelchair broke down when I was out on January 6. Yes, Happy New Year and Happy Epiphany! Having witnessed my doctor signing a prescription for the new chair, which I can tilt back with the push of a button, back in October and having been told that I should get it in January, I called the vendor to see if I would be getting it soon and was told that my doctor’s prescription hadn’t been received. Why didn’t I know about this?... After making a scene (and later finding out that my doctor had signed the wrong form when I saw him in October), it was straightened out, and we are now waiting for Medi-Cal’s approval.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t get my chair fixed, because Medi-Cal is (hopefully) funding the new one. I have been using a wheelchair which I’m very grateful I have access to, but not only is it not the best for my legs and back, its frame is different and can’t accommodate the mount (which costs hundreds of dollars, being, unlike with the keyless lock, marketed for the disabled) I had for the Vmax. I had been told that the new mount for my new chair could fit on the chair I’m using, but when I received it last month, it turned out that it couldn’t.
So I’m enjoying some good sliced bread - or the best thing since - but I’m also having my share of pits.
For the longest time, I wished I could have some kind of automatic door - something like the remote control unit that I was given in college to open the door to my dorm and hall. After I got out of school, my father made a key holder with a small piece of wood. I could handle it well enough, but it was always a challenge, a test, to get the key into the keyhole, especially if I was cold. Yes, it always felt good, like a victory, when I got the door open, but it was a pain, and that it took a few minutes or sometimes more pissed me off.
I kept thinking of those keypads where you punch in a code to open a door. Wouldn’t something like that work? But then all of my attendants would need to know the code, and maybe one of them might let it slip out to someone they knew.... More to the point, though, didn’t something like that cost thousands of dollars? I always thought there was no way to afford what I wanted.
This became an actual problem when I got my Vmax speech device a couple years ago. With it mounted on my wheelchair, unlocking my front door was all but impossible. Soon, I left the door unlocked when I went out on my own with the Vmax. Although my neighborhood is relatively quite quiet and safe, I knew this was unwise, if not asking for trouble. It only got worse when, because it was just easier, I began leaving the door unlocked - just this one time - when I left on my own without the Vmax. An occupational therapy appointment last year was no help at all. (I suspect I’m far more independent than any of the other patients seen.)
So, last month, when I complained about this after I returned home to find that an attendant had inadvertently locked the door, it was suggested I look on-line for a keyless door lock. Well, it turned out - hello! - that there were plenty of them, and I found one that, like many, was under $100, probably because it wasn’t marketed to the disabled (the picture in the ad and on the box when I got it showed a woman at a door with her hands full with a baby and a shopping bag). I ordered it on a Wednesday and, with standard postage, got it on Friday.
One of my attendants, who happens to be quite handy with such things, installed it easily that evening (I had also been worried that installation would be another big cost), and my life changed. The unit works on the dead bolt (I no longer use the door knob lock) and works just like a remote car key, with the fob taped onto the armrest of my wheelchair. There is a satisfying buzz and click when it works, and it even works when I’m in my van in the driveway.
I have to say that, for a day or two, I felt sad and even guilty about not experiencing the thrill of victory in unlocking the door with the key, like I was being lazy and giving up, but I’ve been much more thrilled with it now being so much easier to unlock the door. Like I said, the best thing since sliced bread!
But what about my attendants? How do they get in when I’m not here or when I’m in bed? Do they each need a fob, which I have to order at extra cost? No. As I was reminded, there is a back door that they can use and for which I got them keys. Hello!
Unfortunately, I have been unable to use the Vmax, to have it on my wheelchair - the reason I got the keyless lock - for nearly three months. Unlike sliced bread or the best thing since, this is the pits, and the reason is even more so.
My wheelchair broke down when I was out on January 6. Yes, Happy New Year and Happy Epiphany! Having witnessed my doctor signing a prescription for the new chair, which I can tilt back with the push of a button, back in October and having been told that I should get it in January, I called the vendor to see if I would be getting it soon and was told that my doctor’s prescription hadn’t been received. Why didn’t I know about this?... After making a scene (and later finding out that my doctor had signed the wrong form when I saw him in October), it was straightened out, and we are now waiting for Medi-Cal’s approval.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t get my chair fixed, because Medi-Cal is (hopefully) funding the new one. I have been using a wheelchair which I’m very grateful I have access to, but not only is it not the best for my legs and back, its frame is different and can’t accommodate the mount (which costs hundreds of dollars, being, unlike with the keyless lock, marketed for the disabled) I had for the Vmax. I had been told that the new mount for my new chair could fit on the chair I’m using, but when I received it last month, it turned out that it couldn’t.
So I’m enjoying some good sliced bread - or the best thing since - but I’m also having my share of pits.
Friday, March 9, 2012
The homeless with us
The following is my column which appeared in Wednesday’s Claremont Courier. I will add that the memorial walk and service on Sunday for the five (known) homeless men who have died in Claremont was one of the most remarkable and powerful gatherings I’ve been to in Claremont. There were about 50 people there, and, while that may not be many, there was strikingly clear, passionate and eloquent talk about the shame of what this community has done and not done with the homeless.
SEEING CLAREMONT AS A SAFE HAVEN
Gregory Tolliver says he won’t rest until he doesn’t have to keep an eye out for the Phil Greenes in Claremont. He says he will keep speaking up until he knows for sure that no more Phil Greenes show up dead in front of City Hall.
That’s the thing. There are a bunch of Phil Greenes here in Claremont. And Mr. Tolliver and the other Occupy Claremont activists say that we are fools not to acknowledge this.
Phil Greene was the homeless man who was found dead at the doorstep of the City Council chamber one morning in January. He was found dead by Mr. Tolliver, who had spoken with Mr. Greene the night before and had, as he had for the previous month and a half, slept in a tent in front of the chamber. Although his and the other tents are no longer there, Mr. Tolliver and the other Occupy Claremont activists are still making noise and working on behalf of the homeless and others in Claremont struggling with poverty and losing homes.
The activists point out that, while they share the name of the national Occupy movement, their focus is very much on Claremont, and homelessness in Claremont is a primary concern.
Homelessness in Claremont. The fact is that Phil Greene wasn’t the only homeless person living on the streets of Claremont. Not only that - he wasn’t the only homeless person to be found dead on the streets of Claremont.
This past Sunday, in the afternoon, a community-wide service was scheduled at the Claremont United Congregational Church, preceded by a procession through the Village. It was a memorial service for Phil Greene and four other homeless people who died in Claremont over the last four years. That’s five people who died, homeless, on the streets of Claremont in the last four years.
It just so happened that Phil Greene died right at the door of City Hall and right when the Occupy Claremont activists were there. This is probably the only reason why we knew about him. This is no doubt why his death was front-page news.
There were four other homeless people who died in Claremont during the last four years that we didn’t know about, that didn’t hit the front page. But these four deaths shouldn’t really be a surprise, because, as Mr. Tolliver and the other activists have discovered and have reported, there are about 28 homeless people living just in the Village area, within two or three blocks of City Hall.
This is only about a six or eight-block area - a very small, tiny area. It doesn’t include all of the rest of Claremont. There may well be at least a few other homeless people living in Claremont.
But, as with the three others who died, we don’t know about these 28 homeless people living in the Village and the others who are probably living in the rest of Claremont. Most of us don’t see them.
Why don’t we see them? Why are Claremont’s homeless people invisible?
The primary and most simple reason is they clear out during the day. They get up early in the morning and head towards Pomona where they can get services - food, healthcare, perhaps a shower. They return here at night to sleep.
Part of the reason for this is Claremont’s anti-camping ordinance. They don’t want it obvious that they are “camping” here, that they are breaking the law.
Even so, they feel safe here. Claremont is no Pomona, no big city. Claremont is known as a safe, quiet place.
For a homeless person, being safe is what it is all about. A homeless person is constantly on the lookout for a safe, out-of-the-way, “invisible” place. For someone who is so vulnerable and who has nowhere to put clothes, blankets, medicine, cash and, yes, cellphones and watches (after all, homeless people do have lives and the things that that requires), finding a place where they won’t be bothered, where they won’t be hurt and robbed, is critical.
There were those killings of homeless men in Orange County earlier this winter. It is easy to see this as a case of easy pickings, with the men literally being stalked. But, as has been pointed out by the Occupy Claremont activists, it is also the fact that two dozen - that’s 24 - homeless people have been assaulted just in the Village during the last year.
What can we do about this? How can we make these people here, many of whom are mentally ill and need medical help, safer? How can we be sure that there are no more Phil Greenes in our midst who end up dead on our doorstep?
Or do we want to do anything about it? Would we rather just ask how we can make them go away, like with a no-camping ordinance, so that they are someplace else and not here?
These are some tough questions, and it appears that the answers are at least as tough. Nearly ten years ago, the Los Angeles County supervisors came up with the idea of having five regional centers throughout the county where the homeless could go for shelter, food and services instead of ending up on L.A’s notoriously crowded and dangerous skid row. However, there was such an outcry from those who didn’t want the homeless in their area, who said that the services would attract the homeless, that the idea was quietly shelved.
At about the same time, which was also when the City established its original camping ban, a group of Claremonters met a number of times to see what could be done for the homeless here. They eventually came up with a monthly meal program, done in rotation at several Claremont churches. I haven’t heard of these meals being stopped, but neither have I heard much about them going on.
The message is that Claremont shouldn’t attract the homeless. At least, not too much.
And, other than monthly meals, it appears that, in a painful irony, there is, as with Jesus, no room at churches. Several Claremont churches have been asked to open their facilities - rooms, restrooms, even showers in one or two cases - for the homeless to use. But something always comes up about liability. Or something.
SEEING CLAREMONT AS A SAFE HAVEN
Gregory Tolliver says he won’t rest until he doesn’t have to keep an eye out for the Phil Greenes in Claremont. He says he will keep speaking up until he knows for sure that no more Phil Greenes show up dead in front of City Hall.
That’s the thing. There are a bunch of Phil Greenes here in Claremont. And Mr. Tolliver and the other Occupy Claremont activists say that we are fools not to acknowledge this.
Phil Greene was the homeless man who was found dead at the doorstep of the City Council chamber one morning in January. He was found dead by Mr. Tolliver, who had spoken with Mr. Greene the night before and had, as he had for the previous month and a half, slept in a tent in front of the chamber. Although his and the other tents are no longer there, Mr. Tolliver and the other Occupy Claremont activists are still making noise and working on behalf of the homeless and others in Claremont struggling with poverty and losing homes.
The activists point out that, while they share the name of the national Occupy movement, their focus is very much on Claremont, and homelessness in Claremont is a primary concern.
Homelessness in Claremont. The fact is that Phil Greene wasn’t the only homeless person living on the streets of Claremont. Not only that - he wasn’t the only homeless person to be found dead on the streets of Claremont.
This past Sunday, in the afternoon, a community-wide service was scheduled at the Claremont United Congregational Church, preceded by a procession through the Village. It was a memorial service for Phil Greene and four other homeless people who died in Claremont over the last four years. That’s five people who died, homeless, on the streets of Claremont in the last four years.
It just so happened that Phil Greene died right at the door of City Hall and right when the Occupy Claremont activists were there. This is probably the only reason why we knew about him. This is no doubt why his death was front-page news.
There were four other homeless people who died in Claremont during the last four years that we didn’t know about, that didn’t hit the front page. But these four deaths shouldn’t really be a surprise, because, as Mr. Tolliver and the other activists have discovered and have reported, there are about 28 homeless people living just in the Village area, within two or three blocks of City Hall.
This is only about a six or eight-block area - a very small, tiny area. It doesn’t include all of the rest of Claremont. There may well be at least a few other homeless people living in Claremont.
But, as with the three others who died, we don’t know about these 28 homeless people living in the Village and the others who are probably living in the rest of Claremont. Most of us don’t see them.
Why don’t we see them? Why are Claremont’s homeless people invisible?
The primary and most simple reason is they clear out during the day. They get up early in the morning and head towards Pomona where they can get services - food, healthcare, perhaps a shower. They return here at night to sleep.
Part of the reason for this is Claremont’s anti-camping ordinance. They don’t want it obvious that they are “camping” here, that they are breaking the law.
Even so, they feel safe here. Claremont is no Pomona, no big city. Claremont is known as a safe, quiet place.
For a homeless person, being safe is what it is all about. A homeless person is constantly on the lookout for a safe, out-of-the-way, “invisible” place. For someone who is so vulnerable and who has nowhere to put clothes, blankets, medicine, cash and, yes, cellphones and watches (after all, homeless people do have lives and the things that that requires), finding a place where they won’t be bothered, where they won’t be hurt and robbed, is critical.
There were those killings of homeless men in Orange County earlier this winter. It is easy to see this as a case of easy pickings, with the men literally being stalked. But, as has been pointed out by the Occupy Claremont activists, it is also the fact that two dozen - that’s 24 - homeless people have been assaulted just in the Village during the last year.
What can we do about this? How can we make these people here, many of whom are mentally ill and need medical help, safer? How can we be sure that there are no more Phil Greenes in our midst who end up dead on our doorstep?
Or do we want to do anything about it? Would we rather just ask how we can make them go away, like with a no-camping ordinance, so that they are someplace else and not here?
These are some tough questions, and it appears that the answers are at least as tough. Nearly ten years ago, the Los Angeles County supervisors came up with the idea of having five regional centers throughout the county where the homeless could go for shelter, food and services instead of ending up on L.A’s notoriously crowded and dangerous skid row. However, there was such an outcry from those who didn’t want the homeless in their area, who said that the services would attract the homeless, that the idea was quietly shelved.
At about the same time, which was also when the City established its original camping ban, a group of Claremonters met a number of times to see what could be done for the homeless here. They eventually came up with a monthly meal program, done in rotation at several Claremont churches. I haven’t heard of these meals being stopped, but neither have I heard much about them going on.
The message is that Claremont shouldn’t attract the homeless. At least, not too much.
And, other than monthly meals, it appears that, in a painful irony, there is, as with Jesus, no room at churches. Several Claremont churches have been asked to open their facilities - rooms, restrooms, even showers in one or two cases - for the homeless to use. But something always comes up about liability. Or something.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
It gets around
A very long time ago - when I was in high school, I think - I went to a small film festival here in Claremont and saw a short documentary called “The More They Know.” I remember it featured a man of small stature - a dwarf, as we used to say - who was a ranger in Yosemite National Park talking about how, after their initial shock and amused or bemused puzzlement, people quickly came to respect and admire him in his job. I don’t recall other people in the film, but the point was that when people get to know disabled people, the more comfortable they are with them.
I thought of this when I read an article in the Los Angeles Times about how it is turning out to be easier for people to accept and perhaps support same-sex marriage when it is presented as a matter of love, family and commitment rather than a matter of equal rights. Not only did the article point out that it is harder for people to say no to people that they know in their families or among their friends or even from T.V shows as more and more come out, it cited the recent case of Wade Kach, a Republican lawmaker in Maryland, where same-sex marriage was approved, having a change of heart when he happened to sit by the witness table during a packed committee hearing on the issue.
“I saw with so many of the gay couples, they were so devoted to each other. I saw so much love,” said the House of Delegates member, who is one brave Republican. “When this hearing was over, I was a changed person in regards to this issue.”
(It occurred to me in reading this article that the rebuttal to the inane argument that allowing same-sex marriage will lead to polygamy and people marrying children and even animals - hey, I’ve seen such an argument being made - is to simply have marriage laws state that “marriage shall be between one man and one woman, one man and one man or one woman and one woman.”)
The message was essentially the same when I saw Dan Savage, who started the “It gets better” video project, speak last week at Claremont McKenna College. (I had a ticket to see the wonderful actress and documentary-playwright Anna Deveare Smith speak at Pomona College, but I’m glad I went to see Mr. Savage instead.) Mr. Savage, a gay man who writes a very popular sex column from an alternative paper in Seattle, spoke with much passion (and more than a little humor) about how many queer youth are rejected by their families and churches, sometimes resulting in suicides, and how the “It gets better” videos, now numbering in the thousands and easily accessible on-line, offer them encouraging role models when they otherwise don’t or can’t, often literally not being allowed to, have access to them.
I have mentioned before how Claremont McKenna College is known as the conservative college in Claremont yet, at its Miriam Miner Cook Atheneum where Savage spoke, has done a remarkable job in hosting diverse speakers (I have written about RuPaul speaking there). When a young woman asked how heterosexuals can have healthier, safer sexual encounters, Savage, who strongly echoed my long-held belief that the anti-gay crusade is really a crusade against having fun and pleasure with sex, advised couples to ask each other the simple, magic question, “What are you into?” Think of all the trouble that would end.
Yes, the more they know....
I thought of this when I read an article in the Los Angeles Times about how it is turning out to be easier for people to accept and perhaps support same-sex marriage when it is presented as a matter of love, family and commitment rather than a matter of equal rights. Not only did the article point out that it is harder for people to say no to people that they know in their families or among their friends or even from T.V shows as more and more come out, it cited the recent case of Wade Kach, a Republican lawmaker in Maryland, where same-sex marriage was approved, having a change of heart when he happened to sit by the witness table during a packed committee hearing on the issue.
“I saw with so many of the gay couples, they were so devoted to each other. I saw so much love,” said the House of Delegates member, who is one brave Republican. “When this hearing was over, I was a changed person in regards to this issue.”
(It occurred to me in reading this article that the rebuttal to the inane argument that allowing same-sex marriage will lead to polygamy and people marrying children and even animals - hey, I’ve seen such an argument being made - is to simply have marriage laws state that “marriage shall be between one man and one woman, one man and one man or one woman and one woman.”)
The message was essentially the same when I saw Dan Savage, who started the “It gets better” video project, speak last week at Claremont McKenna College. (I had a ticket to see the wonderful actress and documentary-playwright Anna Deveare Smith speak at Pomona College, but I’m glad I went to see Mr. Savage instead.) Mr. Savage, a gay man who writes a very popular sex column from an alternative paper in Seattle, spoke with much passion (and more than a little humor) about how many queer youth are rejected by their families and churches, sometimes resulting in suicides, and how the “It gets better” videos, now numbering in the thousands and easily accessible on-line, offer them encouraging role models when they otherwise don’t or can’t, often literally not being allowed to, have access to them.
I have mentioned before how Claremont McKenna College is known as the conservative college in Claremont yet, at its Miriam Miner Cook Atheneum where Savage spoke, has done a remarkable job in hosting diverse speakers (I have written about RuPaul speaking there). When a young woman asked how heterosexuals can have healthier, safer sexual encounters, Savage, who strongly echoed my long-held belief that the anti-gay crusade is really a crusade against having fun and pleasure with sex, advised couples to ask each other the simple, magic question, “What are you into?” Think of all the trouble that would end.
Yes, the more they know....
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Just a game?
Yes, Whitney Houston died, and Rick Santorum is the latest hot thing who isn’t Mitt Romney. The man who will likely be the next premier in China has been here touring the U.S. But the big news this month, really, has been a football game. The fact is that the Super Bowl on February 5 was the most-watched T.V program. Ever, that is.
This really isn’t a surprise. For the last two or three years, the Super Bowl has been the most-watched television show in history. It’s just that more people watch each year, and this year was no exception.
For as long as I can remember, the Super Bowl has been more than a big deal, all but a national holiday, with millions and millions of people going nuts and looking forward to and watching the game. Even those who aren’t football fans - although not all of us - tune in, and even the commercials are a big deal, not to be missed.
No doubt this is exactly the way the National Football League want it. No doubt it set it up this way. As millions and millions buy into this big show, the NFL rakes in millions and millions of bucks.
But as the NFL loads up with cash, from not only the Super Bowl but also its other games, there are NFL players who are hurting. Seriously.
Two Los Angeles Times sports columnists wrote about this a day or two before the big game. One, Bill Plaschke, wrote about the very serious problem of concussions and head and skull injuries suffered by the players and how the NFL has been awfully slow in doing anything about it. The other, Bill Dwyre, wrote about the NFL leaving retired players out to dry, often in crushing poverty (partly because of lots of medical bills, including for head injuries?).
As Plaschke pointed out, players are no longer allowed to return to a game after their heads have been knocked. No more slap on the back and running back onto the field, dizzy, after having their “bell rung” - a change that came only much pressure, including from a former player committing suicide last year by shooting himself in the chest so that his brain could be examined, and isn’t much talked about. Plaschke wrote about how, at a pre-Super Bowl conference put on by the NFL, hundreds packed a large ballroom to hear what was more or less a pep talk by Commissioner Roger Goodell while just a handful of reporters were in a small meeting room for a panel of physicians talking about head injuries.
Dwyre wrote about how retired NFL players, who attracted all those millions of fans reaping all those millions of dollars for the league, have had to fight, often unsuccessfully, for some sort of pension and healthcare, with the league seeming to have the motto of “Delay, Deny and Hope They Die.” He mentioned one retiree, Jungle Jim Martin, who another retiree found living in a trailer in a field and with a large sore on his face and a hole cut in his tennis shoe so that his foot could fit. Martin’s daughter said that he needed a better place but couldn’t afford the first and last month’s rent. The retiree who found Martin wrote a check on the spot to cover the payment. Martin died in 2002, but things are barely better now, with the NFL having started to pay its former players $124 a month.
This is a very important - indeed, tragic - matter that demands attention. But it doesn’t sell big-screen televisions or go well with Bud Lights and Doritos. And it takes rather than makes money.
This really isn’t a surprise. For the last two or three years, the Super Bowl has been the most-watched television show in history. It’s just that more people watch each year, and this year was no exception.
For as long as I can remember, the Super Bowl has been more than a big deal, all but a national holiday, with millions and millions of people going nuts and looking forward to and watching the game. Even those who aren’t football fans - although not all of us - tune in, and even the commercials are a big deal, not to be missed.
No doubt this is exactly the way the National Football League want it. No doubt it set it up this way. As millions and millions buy into this big show, the NFL rakes in millions and millions of bucks.
But as the NFL loads up with cash, from not only the Super Bowl but also its other games, there are NFL players who are hurting. Seriously.
Two Los Angeles Times sports columnists wrote about this a day or two before the big game. One, Bill Plaschke, wrote about the very serious problem of concussions and head and skull injuries suffered by the players and how the NFL has been awfully slow in doing anything about it. The other, Bill Dwyre, wrote about the NFL leaving retired players out to dry, often in crushing poverty (partly because of lots of medical bills, including for head injuries?).
As Plaschke pointed out, players are no longer allowed to return to a game after their heads have been knocked. No more slap on the back and running back onto the field, dizzy, after having their “bell rung” - a change that came only much pressure, including from a former player committing suicide last year by shooting himself in the chest so that his brain could be examined, and isn’t much talked about. Plaschke wrote about how, at a pre-Super Bowl conference put on by the NFL, hundreds packed a large ballroom to hear what was more or less a pep talk by Commissioner Roger Goodell while just a handful of reporters were in a small meeting room for a panel of physicians talking about head injuries.
Dwyre wrote about how retired NFL players, who attracted all those millions of fans reaping all those millions of dollars for the league, have had to fight, often unsuccessfully, for some sort of pension and healthcare, with the league seeming to have the motto of “Delay, Deny and Hope They Die.” He mentioned one retiree, Jungle Jim Martin, who another retiree found living in a trailer in a field and with a large sore on his face and a hole cut in his tennis shoe so that his foot could fit. Martin’s daughter said that he needed a better place but couldn’t afford the first and last month’s rent. The retiree who found Martin wrote a check on the spot to cover the payment. Martin died in 2002, but things are barely better now, with the NFL having started to pay its former players $124 a month.
This is a very important - indeed, tragic - matter that demands attention. But it doesn’t sell big-screen televisions or go well with Bud Lights and Doritos. And it takes rather than makes money.
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