Earlier this month, I drove past the newly constructed fence located at the corner of Martin Luther King Boulevard and Franklin Street. The fence was erected to keep out the dozens of homeless people who had staked out a tiny piece of land there that they could call home. The city removed them with no promise of permanent housing. The fence is a reminder that they are no longer welcomed there.
The day I drove by the fence I was on my way to visit a friend I have known for 35 years. When we first met, I was a recent college graduate working at a drop in center for homeless people at the corner of North and Calvert streets called Project PLASE. I clearly remember meeting James for the first time. He was homeless, delusional and angry. He told me that if he didn't get something to eat he would turn into a dog. I had never met anyone who was in psychiatric crisis and had no professional tools to address his immediate needs. All I had was the safety of the drop in center to provide James with a place where he was welcome. James began to show up every day. Sometimes just for a few moments. After many months, James began to trust me and I learned about his amazing life story.
During the late 1970s, hundreds of long-term psychiatric patients were released from state hospitals in a process known as deinstitutionalization. With the advent of new anti-psychotic medication, it was believed that long-term psychiatric patients could prosper in the community. A life of independence was thought to be within reach for those who had spent years confined to state hospitals. Unfortunately many patients were released with little more than bus fare to the closest city, and as a result many of them ended up in the streets. This was the beginning of the modern homeless epidemic in America.
James had spent years at Crownsville and Spring Grove state hospitals. He told me about his hospital buddies and memories of growing up in East Baltimore. I learned about his family and his deceased mother.
There was no plan for permanent housing or psychiatric care when James arrived in Baltimore in the summer of 1980. As a result, he quickly deteriorated. James lived on the streets and occasionally at the Baltimore Rescue Mission, which was one of the few places the homeless could stay in 1980. I helped find James a rooming house to live in on a street less than a half-mile from the newly built fence. I saw him blossom immediately as a result of having a secure and supportive home. His landlady provided James and the other residents with support and structure. He found a part-time job at a sandwich shop and continued to meet people who became part of his widening support network. In 1984 James was an honorary usher at my wedding. He looked dazzling in his three-piece suit.
For the past 20 years, James has been employed at BWI airport working the overnight shift. He is responsible for cleaning a section of the waiting area for passengers. He is a dedicated and hard working employee, and he loves his job. He takes the light rail to work every day. His greatest accomplishment recently was quitting smoking after more than 50 years. It is the first thing he mentions to me when I see him. At the age of 72, James is a highly functioning person. He continues to live on the same street with the same landlady. This stability has been the difference between a life of chronic homelessness and a life full of meaning and purpose.
The paths to homelessness are complex. The paths out are few. Supporting someone in crisis takes time. James' story shows what is possible with steady guidance, support and love. The mayor's recent decision to delay evicting the homeless under the JFX without a plan for permanent housing offers some hope. Surely we can do better than putting up fences.
Edward L. Donnellan Jr. is a teacher at Gonzaga College High School in Washington D.C. His email is eldonnellan21218@gmail.com.