Ellen Pavlacka's Blog
PRoP - Part II / 01.14.10, 05:53 PM
Apologies for posting the second half of my PROP blog more than a month later than the first half. Aside from not meaning to publish the first half when I did, I also like creating unreasonably large amounts of suspense.
At any rate, after getting off the subway and heading into Philly, I headed to Rittenhouse Square, a quaint little park and a hot spot for homeless folks to hang out. I sat there for a good while, watching people pass through with destinations in mind, brisk paces, unmoving gazes, blue-tooth conversations going, and expensive coffees in hand. After awhile of just soaking in the breath of Philly that fall morning, I got up and walked around for a while. Finding a man handing out fliers advertizing a small business to make a little bit of money, I parked myself nearby and watched him be dehumanized. No one wanted the fliers, and instead of looking him in the eye and saying “no thank you, I won’t shop there and don’t want to waste paper” everyone chose to act as if he wasn’t there at all. I’d been those people my entire life.
Mr. Flier man took a break at one point to smoke, and within seconds had three guys around him asking for a cigarette or a light. I wondered what kind of message this sent to him about his choices in life.
I got up after about 15 minutes of watching and continued on until I bumped into a man panhandling in front of Dunkin Donuts. His name was Curtis. And he told me that he stands out there and tries to raise $25 every day so he can pay off his $125 rent. He told me about his fight with alcoholism and crack and the hard fight that welfare has set before him. He wanted so badly to turn his life around and do something new. Curtis was raw, real, and beautiful.
After talking to Curtis, I headed to the subway for some warmth and rest. I found a cozy, somewhat concealed alcove and snuggled up on the floor. I half slept, half listened to people walk by. For the half hour I lay there, no one’s pace slowed, no one came near, and no one stopped their conversation to mention my presence. I felt invisible.
After sufficient time to thaw from the chilly weather, I found a nearby McDonalds, stood in front of it, and started in on the one thing I was most hesitant to do.
“Do you have any spare change so I could buy something to eat?” I got mostly “no’s” in the form of pretending I didn’t exist and walking by with no acknowledgment whatsoever except the slight but hugely obvious body language shift to that of discomfort. The ones that at least looked me in the eyes offered dignity with their rejection. The two people that gave me money were both men and both acted as if I were a burden – an unwelcome intrusion into their day.
After awhile, I reached my goal. My lunch consisted of a McDouble and water. There was a whopping 42 cents left over.
Back to Rittenhouse Square. I sat down next to a homeless man on a park bench. He immediately asked if I had any change. 42 cents later, I asked his name. Michael. We ended up talking for over two hours. He told me that he was an alcoholic, which had driven him to the streets, but after those two hours, he wasn’t Michael the homeless alcoholic. He was Michael, an undiscovered treasure.
He told me about his life growing up – his schizophrenic mom and drug-addicted dad, how mean they were, and how they and his younger sisters grew up in Queens. He told me that they don’t have contact with each other anymore. He told me that before he moved to Philly he lived in Westchester County near the Brandywine Lake and how it was beautiful but he hated it because he lived there by himself and was lonely. He told me that he loves Rittenhouse Square because it’s so beautiful and he gets to see and interact with people. He said he loves history and politics and knows a lot because he reads the newspapers and has read all the historical plaques in the city. He loves to read, especially about colonial America, and he absolutely has an obsessive love for William Penn. If he could worship him, he probably would.
Michael lived with a girlfriend for five years and hasn’t been with her for two, but when he did live with her, she had 20 cats. He said he loves animals, the squirrels in Rittenhouse are so friendly, and he loves cats so much more than dogs. When he started talking about the 20 cats, he began to cry because it took him three weeks for them to warm up to him and trust him before they finally would cuddle up to him. He thinks they really taught him how to relax.
Michael really loves to cook and really likes John Lennon because he had a sucky life and could write things like “my life is terrible, I just want to die” in a beautiful way. He gave me panhandling tips and told me about this awesome deal at the University of Pennsylvania where they give out really good food and you can get seconds and even dessert. He thought I was homeless like him and told me not to go back to Camden because Philly had so much more to offer.
Michael showed me how deceiving surface level views of people can be. I could’ve just given him my 42 cents and continued on, letting him fill the position of “lazy beggar” in my mind, never getting to see into his soul. I’m done with doing that.
PRoP taught me more about dignity, brokenness, and the equality of humanity than anything else I’ve ever experienced. It brought the heart of Jesus’ ministry to the poor and oppressed brilliantly to life.
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