The Connected Homeless

THE CONNECTED HOMELESS

The frail, addled, tattered beggars along the streets of cities and under overpasses still exist although they’re not as visible as they once were. However, lately I’ve been noticing a different class of homeless people. I had always thought that one of the tragedies of being homeless was that during a time of wired technology, the homeless were disconnected from the rest of society: they were out of touch of television, radio, telephones, stereos and even the early Web. The rest of us were listening, watching, calling and emailing while the unfortunate who had no home and thus no plugs and modems to connect them to anything outside their makeshift shelters or vehicular homes were missing out on the greater world. Thanks to wireless technology, that aspect of being homeless is changing; the homeless now can retain filaments to the rest of us.

Because rents have risen so rapidly in my area, I’ve encountered a better-dressed contingent of homeless people. These are often single men who have jobs but can no longer afford rent. (My former neighbor who had been separated from his wife for five years recently moved back into her house because he could no longer afford rent, but single men don’t have that option.) I first noticed this type of person when I found one sleeping on the bench beside the tennis court where I practice early in the morning. He was stretched out asleep in the shade of the overhanging trees. He wore clean khaki pants, white tennis shoes with thick soles and a long-sleeved blue plaid shirt. On the table next to him rested the detritus of last night’s meal: a drained Gatorade bottle, a crumpled chip bag and clear cellophane that had contained a sandwich. He was approximately my height and weight. I set my tennis gear down heavily, so he would know I was present. When I did so, he grunted, and drew his left arm across his face to check the time on his wristwatch. Seeing that it was 8:30, he sat up, rubbed his head, stood and slowly walked away. As he did so, he pulled a cell phone out of his shirt pocket, punched in some numbers, and I heard him say, “I overslept. I’ll be a little late.” Another time I met a man going for a job interview. He had just emerged from a stand of trees and was wearing black street shoes, blue casual pants and a striped blue T-shirt, but hooked to his belt were a cell phone on one side and a pager on the other in case someone wanted to get in touch with him. He was combed and clean-shaven and wafted the essence of cologne I had sniffed at the toiletry counter in Macy’s. Over his right shoulder he carried items on hangers: a nicely pressed blue suit, a tie, and a clean white shirt. Over his left shoulder was strapped a small canvas bag. Since he knew he’d be walking and riding buses on a hot, humid day, he had planned a worksite change and freshening up.

Homeless families are also being consoled by the new wireless mobility. When I jog I move through a wooded area that encompasses about two square miles. I know that homeless people often camp in the woods because I’ve seen laundry hanging from lines strung between trees and seen the furtive movements of those hoping not to be noticed, but lately I’ve been hearing muted strains of music and conversations. Once as I ran, I noticed a young man walking ahead of me cut between two trees and head down a path toward some taller, fuller trees; in his hand he carried a bag of Arizona teas dripping with condensation. My return trip brought me nearby the taller trees, and there sat a high tent with plastic windows opened to catch the breeze, and inside were a young couple, reading, chatting, drinking cold tea and listening to an iPod. Imagine this: an entire family on the street: the father talking on his cell phone, the mother going over items on a palm pilot, and the children playing video games. I saw such a family. They had piled their personal belongings into two commandeered grocery carts and were slowly pushing up the street. The father was reassuring someone (a relative? a friend? an associate?) that they were ok and that they would find shelter soon.

Every generation seems to have its youthful wanderers who hit the road, traveling for adventure or enlightenment. The new generation has one advantage over the old: wireless technology. I see them at the park or during my runs or along the street. In some ways they remind me of my youth. They still wear tennis shoes, jeans, T-shirts and caps and have backpacks. Other aspects have changed: less hair but more tattoos and punctures. However, now they are additionally plugged into iPods or video games and communicate with their peers or families via cell phones or text messages. Maintaining a thread to the greater world makes for a more reassuring trek. Even though homeless, they can call the police if trouble threatens them, and they can make arrangements and call home easily.

Of course, wireless technology can’t solve the major problems of the homeless. They remain without the safe, secure comfort of their own bought or rented shelters. On the streets they encounter the usual dangerous characters: thieves, thugs, flimflammers, pimps, perverts and pushers. They’re at the mercy of the elements: cold, heat, wind, rain, snow. They have no barrier against other creatures: reptiles, insects, rodents and canines. But there’s some comfort to be able to listen to favorite music as one curls against a wall to rest or to check messages from buddies along the road or to know that if a need arises, one can call and find help. Those wireless amenities, which maintain links to the greater world, help hold the soul together and help the homeless feel a little more connected to the rest of us.