An Afternoon on Skid Row

Posted on November 24, 2009
Filed Under Daily, Life With The Boss, Life in L.A. | 9 Comments

I wrote a post a few weeks ago about my experience seeing Skid Row for the first time. A few days after writing that post, The Boss told me that another office in his organization planned on distributing food to the homeless there over the weekend, and he volunteered to lead the efforts on behalf of the team he works for in L.A.

There were about 30 volunteers who made 200 sandwiches, and packed brown paper lunch bags with chips and fruit.

“If you see someone hand out a white box,” one of the volunteers shouted to the large group. “Follow up with a brown paper bag immediately. We want everyone to get a sandwich and snacks.”

I spoke to a volunteer from Union Rescue Mission who said Skid Row is made up mostly of addicts, and prostitutes. For the most part, it’s the drugs that keep them from living a normal life. And even though there is a shelter with life-saving resources located on the same street that many of these people shoot up on, it sometimes isn’t enough. It takes an addict to help an addict — that’s what they say, anyway.

There was a moment of chaos when word got out that volunteers were handing out food, and a large group of people came toward us at once. The volunteers moved fast to make sure everyone got a sandwich and a brown bag.
But then, the inevitable happened.
We ran out of food.

Some walked away quietly, most likely because they are accustomed to life’s disappointments, and the constant pangs of hunger that eat at their core daily. The hardest part of the whole day was watching a man running toward us with his wife who was noticeably ill. She was unable to walk fast, and he was clutching her hand tightly rushing toward the group. The worry on his face was apparent as he kept looking back at his wife — he didn’t want to let go of her hand, but he didn’t want to miss their chance at a meal.

Moments that like that pinch deep in your soul.

But there were moments that made you smile too. Like seeing a grown man open a sandwich and eat the turkey and cheese first. Maybe some childhood habits stay with us forever.

Or the moment of exchange — when a sandwich or brown paper bag is passed from your hand to someone else’s, and time stands still as you lock eyes with a complete stranger.

It’s that moment when you realize that all human life has equal worth.

It’s hard at times, when people look at you with such gratitude and vulnerability, to remember you’re not really doing anyone a favor. After all, it was not my favor upon these people to bring them food — their sustenance has already been written. My moment of humility came when I realized that God did me a favor by giving The Boss and me the opportunity to partake in such a kind gesture of humanity.

Mostly, my camera stayed focused on the volunteers’ faces. I used the zoom lens when I could, but I was surprised when a handful of people asked me to take their picture. It felt less invasive that way, though still not completely okay.

This man didn’t know I took his photo, but when I saw his face, I couldn’t help myself. Look at his body positioning. The way his shoulders are shrugged, just like a child’s when they’re on the verge of imploding with pure joy. Look at how he’s clutching his sandwich with both hands as if he can’t believe that it’s really his. Notice how the sun illuminates the crows feet next to his eyes, and how his smile and gaze are still fixed on the volunteer who has already passed.

These people are homeless.
That means they do not have homes.
And if you think about the gravity of that concept, it changes your perspective on life.

They have no place of comfort to sleep at night. They don’t stand before an open fridge and say, “There’s nothing to eat,” when rotten food was thrown out just the other day. They don’t know the warmth of a bed, the loving hand of a spouse brushing the hair off your face during a conversation, the phone call from a sibling or a parent asking you how things are going.

They have each other, they have this street, and for a little while, they had us.

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