The guy on the street

Slabtown resident calls for deeper look at homeless crisis

Joe McAvoy says politics should not get in the way of a solution to the crisis at hand.

I heard him before I saw him. Rosie and I were enjoying our 5 p.m. “‘constitutional”—my Old Fashioned and her bowl of water—at a sidewalk table outside of McMenamins Tavern & Pool.

An explosion of slammed brakes, skidding tires, broken glass, scraping metal and rolling aluminum cans caused us to jump reflexively. Rosie crawled under my chair. A man was swirling, swearing and swinging his arms in the middle of the intersection at Northwest 23^rd and Savier streets. A witness told me that the guy decided to cross diagonally from the southeast to northwest corners without bothering to check traffic.

He almost got hit and his caravan of bike and supermarket cart filled with empty bottles and cans went over. It was a mangled mess. The assemblage of bike and cart lay prone on the street. The cans and bottles scattered in a wide circle like a bag of dropped marbles.

Traffic was stopped in all four directions. The guy pounded his fists on the hood of a car whose driver had beeped, swearing and threatening the woman behind the wheel before turning his attention to anyone and everyone observing this mini tragedy unfolding in front them.

His words were profanity-laced and his behavior menacing. I looked away when his eyes found mine. I didn’t want any part of him. In September of 2022, a wild-eyed man attacked me while I was walking Rosie and my son’s dog, Junie, on Northwest Raleigh near Wallace Park. My hands were preoccupied with the dogs’ leashes when he coldcocked me on the side of the head me as we strolled by. When I fell to the ground, he kicked me hard in the shoulder. I was still bruised and sore when the police responded to my 911 call and police report a full two days after I made them.

So, yeah, I’m wary. The urge to help the guy pick up bottles and cans was far outweighed by that experience and all the others that I see repeatedly played out on our streets these days. There was no way I would leave Rosie leashed to the table alone.

I wanted the guy gone. I didn’t care where to. The cars veered around the mess causing more expletives and swinging fists from the man until his rage subsided. He got everything repacked and rode north.

Rosie and I returned to our somewhat compromised blissful recapping of the day—my writing with her head resting on my knees or feet, for the most part. I felt the presence of someone or something nearby. The guy was standing next to his bike about 10 feet away from me on the sidewalk. He must have looped back when I stopped following his departure from the scene on the other side of the street.

I braced for an attack.

“Can I pet your dog,” he asked.

I hesitated. If I allowed him to pet Rosie, maybe he’d go away. If he got too close, maybe he’d hurt one of us. There was no real time to consider the pros and cons.

“Sure,” I said.

I was anything but sure. Be ready, I told myself.

He knelt on the sidewalk, petting Rosie’s coat for over a minute. His scalp and hands were scabbed, his skin red and scratched raw, his fingernails caked with dirt and his clothes ripped, stained and reeking of urine. I just wanted him gone.

I wasn’t prepared for the moist eyes when he looked up at me. “More love than I’ve felt in a long time,” he said to me.

Yeah, it sounds melodramatic and made up. But those were his words. I can’t unhear them. After a few more minutes, he got up and rode away once again. No thanks, no goodbyes. Just pedaled off into the concrete sunset of a beautiful Portland evening. I never got his name.

The mayor won his election with the promise to get the homeless off the streets within the first year. I voted for him. It didn’t occur to me that anyone misunderstood what the “homeless problem” was in Portland. Lack of a bed isn’t the primary issue here. The growing population of mentally ill and drug addicted people on our streets is the problem. Misdiagnosing the obvious will lead to “solutions” that are bound to fail. The mayor wants to concentrate these people into massive shelters smack dab in the middle of our once thriving neighborhoods. His solution puts them back on the streets during the day. No treatment, no sanitary facilities or medical support. Just like today.

We may see fewer tents but the tragedy unfolding before us on the streets will continue. Let’s be honest; at best, there is significant risk that the mayor’s plan will fail; at worst, it will be a disaster of catastrophic proportions. There are lives in the balance. An economic spiral looms if we don’t.

We’ve got to get it right the first time.

This isn’t a political issue. It is a pragmatic one. But politics are getting in the way. The “left” prefers that the mentally ill and drug addled remain on the streets to rub our noses in it. They talk about rights and the Constitution. They call those who object to shelters in the middle of our neighborhoods NIMBYs.

The “right” just wants them out of sight and out of mind. Don’t get me wrong. There are volunteer efforts out there; caring unsung heroes (from all sides of the political spectrum) who roll up their sleeves and do our dirty work every day without recognition or financial reward. But it’s not nearly enough.

Any solution to this problem must be comprehensive and driven by the powers that be. It’s going to take decisive and, probably, divisive action. It’s gonna be expensive. It will invite some constitutional scrutiny. We can’t wish the suffering on our streets away. We can move away, I guess. To Lake Oswego or Beaverton or Idaho or whatever. But these individuals are worth saving. Portland is worth saving.

Mr. Mayor, your solution lacks depth and credibility. The drug addicted and mentally people will not be healed on our streets. Security and livability issues are at critical inflection points. You will hit the metric that you won your election upon, but you will not solve the real problem unless you define it as more than “homelessness.”

That guy on the bike who gave me a momentary look into his tortured life isn’t merely homeless. He’s either mentally ill or drug addicted or both. And fully human. A bed for the night will do little to help his real issues, and if that’s the entirety of your fix, he and the city will degrade further.

That old guy at the table with his dog isn’t an entitled white male NIMBY. He, like many out here, feels helpless and unsupported, wary at politicians who are afraid to make tough decisions that take the WHOLE problem into account and citizens who sit in their self-righteous corners screaming at each other.

Your city, Mr. Mayor—and mine, and ours—is suffering. Deeply. Vera Katz and Bud Clark are turning in their graves. Get a spine. Go back to the table. Sharpen your pencils. Be fearless. Miss your one-year goal. Get a real plan that addresses the whole problem. Withering criticisms will be directed at you. Ignore them as best you can. Do the right thing for those who suffer on both sides. Fix Portland. All of it. Many of us out here will rise to help you.

Please listen.