There but for the grace of God ...

On a freezing dawn a couple of weeks ago, I wrenched my old body out of bed to attend a doctor's appointment in Hayden. After the task on the icy morning was accomplished, I stopped at a local drug retailer to purchase my prescription. As I entered the parking space I noticed an elderly woman sitting against the wall hugging a big dog that looked as though he was both her bodyguard and contented companion. She clutched a tattered old bag that probably contained everything in the world she owned. For an instant, our eyes locked in a distant stare. I'm not sure if it was because I was not feeling well or the momentary sense of indifference we humans too often share, but I looked away as if I didn't see her.

As I entered the store my thoughts focused on how cold it was outside and the woman's weather worn face and the counterpane collection of blankets she had wrapped around herself and her furry friend. While waiting for my prescription I debated in my pondering if I should purchase some food and such for the woman. Then the pharmacist called my name and I am embarrassed to say I purchased my drugs and headed out the door for home.

As I rounded the corner to the parking area, I saw a young man kneeling next to the woman and her dog. He was giving her some groceries and dog food. As I passed them I could hear some of the conversation they shared. The young man asked her if she had shelter at night and as he petted her dog he also shared some pleasant normal chit chat.

As I was extremely touched by his compassion and as well equally ashamed of myself, I stopped him as he was getting into his truck. I told him that taking the time to extend the respect of a visit with the woman and her dog was the most wonderful example of human kindness I had witnessed in a long time. His name is Robert Czapla, a local native son all of 20-plus years of age and a recent volunteer in the US Army Reserve. He gave me a smile and said, "There but for the Grace of God go you or I." Then he climbed into his truck with his mom and headed out into the freezing morning. I looked up to the sky and as the breeze iced my nose and cheeks, I said some prayers for this amazing young man.

A couple of days later during another freezing morning, I slowed my daily errand rush and stopped to talk with a couple that was huddled against the wall of a supermarket. They appeared to be in their late 50s and they also had an old ruffled dog they were hugging. What started out to be a 10-minute chat developed into a wonderful and informative two-hour visit. They have been living on the streets for two years and have been a couple for half that period. Within 20 minutes of our exchange we were joined by three friends of the couple who also live on the streets. During our conversation, I learned a great deal about how people can end up on the avenues of our cities, how they survive and most importantly how much pride the majority of them have. I returned home that afternoon a much richer man with a bounty of new knowledge but most of all with the warmth in my heart from making several new acquaintances.

While sitting in the cozy comfort of home, I began to ask myself some challenging questions about my recent experiences. Where do these discarded people go for support? I discovered that government and charitable agencies give them food and sometimes shelter but many times they are treated badly within the benevolent bureaucracy. So these unwanted folks gather on the streets where they give each other social and physical support they can't find elsewhere. Many people with disabilities including the mentally ill and countless veterans end up on the streets where they are accepted and cared for by their "street families." They told me of one old veteran who has lost the full function of his arms. "Somebody is always there to help him eat and get around," someone said.

I'm not saying that all of these people are kind souls. The street community tolerates their share of criminal manipulators. I met one of them on another supermarket sojourn and the evil energy emanating through his stare sent a daunting chill into my bones! But the percentage of the malicious homeless equates to about the same we endure in our so-called normal society.

I believe that most of these people would like to change their lives, but they don't have the knowledge or the tools to accomplish this. They didn't volunteer to be homeless and poor and as most of us know, sometimes things happen that are just out of our control. It breaks my heart when I hear people shout out the windows of their SUVs at the homeless, "GET A JOB!" The truth is that many of the homeless people work at some type of job and most of those have the so-called permanent/part-time jobs - the underemployed. Unskilled and semi-skilled labor can expect wages of $7 to $8 an hour and because of the ever increasing American corporate "bottom line" methodology, most are kept well under 30 hours per week. Try surviving on that kind of income... you may find yourself living on the street as well.

The next time you are in one of the conglomerate retail or food establishments, take a close look at the people working there. If some of them have a despairing look behind those compulsory smiles, it is probably because they are poor and maybe homeless. Please think about that before you shout, "Get a job!"

I don't profess to have the answers, but it seems to me that there is something very wrong with a society that has so much wealth, yet reduces countless Americans to living on the streets. I was taught that all Americans shared the basic human rights of housing, food, and medical care, especially if we fought for our country or worked diligently for most of our lives. Instead we elect our leadership and allow them to spend excessively on reactive measures like building more prisons and escalating law enforcement in preference to education and vocational training.

Remember the adage recited by the wise Robert Czapla, "There but for the Grace of God go you or I," reminding us all that the average American family is one to three paychecks away from homelessness.

Julius Pekar is a Post Falls resident.