Making Fun of the Homeless

I sat at Thanksgiving table as the disrespected (somewhat shamed, even) Elder of a group of Gen-X Thirty-Something's who, it seems, (I exclude the hosts who struck me as a sweet and kind couple with their first child) have perfected the cynical, sarcastic, edgy phony self-deprecatory manner many 30-somethings I meet seem to possess as the personnae and face they wish to present to the world. Many of them make more money in a year than I have ever made in my entire life--in fact, when I looked at my latest social security benefits mailing I realized that the most I have ever made working 40 hours a week since 1976 was $12,000 a year--that was slogging away at Borders in Tucson, doing the Retail Shuffle. This particular group, which included my two daughters and several of their long-time friends, are all hip and plugged in, the winners of their generation it seems. My own two daughters are in this club--the Club of Winners--one is going to be a Neurosurgeon and the other is starting her own salon here in Logan Square at age 36. As a mother I want to be proud of them--after all, they are doing what any mother would want for her kids--self actualizing, acheiving and being successful! On the other hand, as a spiritualized human on the planet earth, I was ashamed of them. As a dedicated lifetime Reject From the Club I found them to possess the very characteristics that made me reject the Club in the first place. They, along with the other sibling society, hip and cool and RICH gen-X'ers at the table, spent a good twenty minutes ridiculing, rapping and raging about the homeless. My youngest daughter even told a story about how homelessness has now become a "profession" and there is one woman near her apartment that gets her nails done and makes $30,000 a year begging on the street! If this is true, I doubt it, but even if it were true, this is the exception rather than the rule.

Of course, the elephant in the room was that here sat their mother and the oldest member at the table, someone who had just got out of a shelter and was mind numbingly homeless for nearly a year and half! Here sat their mother whose rent is being subsidized by the generous if resentful older daughter--the same daughter who had warned her mother on the walk to the Thanksgiving dinner: "just stop asking me for things, all right! I'm starting a business! I don't have time for your problems! I can't tell you where to go to find things or what to get and I am already helping you out with rent--I can't help you any more!" As this lecture went on I flashed on my grandmother from Russia, the always miserable and complaining white-haired Clara Ostrovsky from Russia ( a distant cousin of the playwright Alexandr Ostrovsky) who was totally co-dependent upon my father and his money and his noblesse oblige. In addition, before he died, my grandfather, who was a cockney Jewish baker from Stepney Green in London, was essentially in and out of work his whole life, and when the depression hit, my father, who was a young, brilliant man in his 20's, became the major breadwinner for the family and stayed that way his entire life. The fact that he encouraged me to become toally dependent on his money for his own purposes is what I am working on in therapy today. But here we are in the present--the failed Jewish American Princess (me) has been relegated to the position of the shamed idiot who knows nothing. But then again, in Zen we say that knowing nothing is the beginning of consciousness! However....there I sat listening to these young people laugh and make sarcastic comments about the homeless--knowing full well I was one of them! I finally broke in and informed them of an NPR story I had heard last week about a medical doctor whose entire practice is dedicated to solving and healing the medical problems of the homeless on the streets of our cities in this so-called great country of ours. It is estimated that there may be 10 million homeless people in America--(that could be a low estimate)--enough to fill a city--more people than we have in Chicago! There are many reasons for homelessness but many of the most dire cases, the ones we see on the street, are riddled with mental and physical illness, filled with shame, humiliation, hopelessness and grief, not to mention sorrow, regret, misfortune, wretchedness--doesn't the Stature of Liberty say something about this? Isn't this supposed to be the country where the poor, the meek and the humble can find safe haven? Where did we ever get that life is "of the money, by the money for the money?" Is it in "God we trust" or is it in "money we trust" because if so, we're FUCKED! As recent events in the financial world are telling us, if we put our faith in money as a source of power, we will lose every time. Every civilization has fallen because of a faulty value- structure--we are no exception. At any event, I told this story, hoping my daughter the soon-to-be-doctor and a Pisces, might activate the dormant compassion inside of her, but there was no compassionate reply. The doctor, I told them, literally takes up residence on the street in order to gain the trust of the homeless so he can treat them. Many of the street people have multiple physical and mental problems and these problems deteriorate exponentially the longer they are sleeping out in total exposure. In order to unravel the causes of homelessness, we have to unravel our own consciences. And this will take a miracle it seems.

This doctor, not a young man, literally sleeps on the street and has learned the detailed ins and outs of street culture and etiquette, which, as he describes it, is complex. The people on the street are rightfully paranoid about strangers and have certainly been abused, hurt and attacked in the course of their years on the street, and therefore are wary of people claiming to "help" them. A lot of help is condescending and humiliating--this doctor has none of this. His only sincere desire is to address first of all, their physical ailments which are numerous and multi-tiered owing to non treatment for many years, and then their mental and emotional deficits, which are also numerous and complex. He has no drive or campaign to "rehabilitate" these people in the traditional sense of social work--his one desire is to give them a sense of self esteem and perhaps a small sense of empowerment and primarily to address the physical problems that plague them. Many of these people suffer from diagnosable mental illnesses which can be treated with psychotropic medication to some success. In addition they have heart disease, diabetes, cancer, AIDS, TB, Hepatitus and other ailments that make their lives miserable and dangerous. Before any of these people can be taken off the street their most glaring physical problems need to be addressed. In some cases he said, maybe 30%, he and his crew have succeeded in medicating someone for all their illnesses, both physical and mental, and have found them subsidized housing. Once a homeless person experiences a place to live that is warm and clean, is surrounded with concerned therapists and social services that meet his/her most basic needs, it is actually possible for this person to begin to address the basic issues of existence and move forward in life. The road to homelessness is long and the road back is certainly not short or easy, but it can be done. The crushing grief and loss of self esteem can be debilitating, but with the right resources and time, a homeless person can become a person once again. I know this road because I am traveling on it.

No one could have predicted that moi, Allison Fine, the daughter of a successful contractor, from a "good family" would end up here, but I did. I was not and am not an alcoholic or a drug user--my biggest sin was going back to school in my 50's and sinking all my money and savings into an education that proved to be a practical bust. True enough, I became a much better writer, I learned how to be a director and theatrical dramaturge, I can teach and read and write like nobody's business! I just didn't count on meeting up with the wall of opposition concerning my age and stage in life. I've passed 50. I am expected to fade away with grace. I didn't, I won't. I can't. That makes me different from the people I see and often feed on the street. They've given up. They've lost hope. I look at the Barack Obama poster on my wall everyday--the one with the fabulous portrait of his face looking up with HOPE written in bug letters on the bottom--I look at this poster and allow the feeling of hope to wash over me. We will not always be a cynical, nasty, judgmental, mean-spirited culture. This kind of mentality cannot last--it eats at the fabric of our humanness and feeds on itself. Eventually it will destroy itself and the only thing that will be available to rebuild things will be pragmatic, realists with ideals, hope, and dare I say it, LOVE. Earth will never be Heaven--I think it's Hell down here, but while we are in this school room, let's try some new lessons!

After the last suicidal blog I thought I would post the antidote. The antidote to despair is always to focus one's attention away from the self and out towards others. After a stellar Thanksgiving dinner at the home of Aileen McMillan and Chad Gerth and their adorable little toddler Luella, in the company of my two daughters and several of their friends, I had a renewed sense of life and hope. Without question, as the elder of the so-called clan, I am expected in some senses to "roll over and play dead.." in other words, move aside and let the young ones through. Well, I remember saying to my therapist quite recently how I had handed the torch to my children quite some time ago (more than a decade ago, in fact) and now I want the torch back! It ain't over until it's over! I am just not ready to settle into elder status--I feel like there is still a good fight to fight, another battle to be won, more passionate forays into the battleground called life. And yet, and yet--here I am marginalized. I had an interesting discussion with a young woman at the Thanksgiving dinner in which she revealed how gender is just a "non issue" now out in the world, in jobs, in everything--women can pretty much do and be whatever they want without much flap. I pointed out that it was thanks to me and my generation who fought long and hard to pave the way for their relative ease of movement! She conceded this. I then took her on another journey and suggested that in 20+ years age will no longer be an issue--women (and men) will be going back to school in their 50's and 60's (as I did) getting all kinds of degrees and learning experiences and jumping into many different exciting careers late in life and no one will blink an eye! I told her that now, however IT AIN'T SO. I also shared with her my interview with a job recruiter from the University of Chicago last fall who looked at my resume, chock full of experience and education and said: "So, what do want to be when you grow up?" in a voice laced with contempt and sarcasm. I ripped the resume from her hands and walked out. The young woman I was talking to asked me what did this mean? I told her it meant that people are still expecting people, especially women (after all, Costa Gavras is in his 70's and still making socially relevant, high budget films) to roll over and play dead after 50! I told her that I am sure her mother has mentioned this as well. She said no, her mother is "more content." I looked at her and said, "I will never be content." That was the end of the conversation but it is not the end of the dialogue! Perhaps she will remember it when she reaches 60.

Age After Beauty

Aging: something that carries with it the burden of facing the following: releasing dreams and expectations that may never get fulfilled, letting go of outer beauty, noticing the body falling apart, watching yourself become marginalized, seeing yourself in the eyes of young people who dismiss you and think you are irrelevant and stupid, seeing yourself in the eyes of young people who admire you because they feel safe with you, realizing that once and for all you will never, ever be a contender again for anything in the world that really matters..knowing that ultimately none of this matters and such as it is, your life is more about the inner than the outer. Being forced to live an outer life that has nothing whatsoever to do with who you are, what you feel and think and what you have to give. Having no place to give what you have to offer. Looking at pictures of yourself and realizing that 1) you are incredibly fat--beyond recognition 2) you have acquired grimace lines around the mouth because you spent 2 years from hell, four months in a shelter and 1 and half years homeless and those lines were earned as you faced the worst fear, anxiety and depression of your life 3) you look peculiar, somewhat strange and totally unattractive--an eccentric with absolutely nothing to recommend her. All of this just continues to point up the delusion of age. The sadness of growing older and knowing that in your particular life you will never be considered interesting or important or fun. That no one will find you attractive because you look perpetually angry and depressed. Because you are perpetually angry and depressed. Because you are bitter. Because your heart has been broken. Because you have not had a love relationship in 13 years. Because perhaps you never will. Because your life is an isolated one without much contact. Because if this does not change you will continue to harbor daily thoughts of death and suicide.

Almost There

Recent events on earth, especially here in the US, especially here in Chicago, have had the animals strutting their cages with frustration one moment, depression another, high flying elation at Grant Park followed by a terrible sense of impatience the next. I walk around downtown Chicago every day and marvel at the strumpet of sound, the clash of energy, the rumbling sounds of the El and cars and sirens and notice, now, since Barack gave his incredible speech Nov. 4, a plethora of secret service men in their black suits, black messanger bags slung over their soldiers, talking incessantly on their black berries as they stride swiftly down State Street and Michigan Avenue. I duck into H & M looking for deals but I am always thinking: what's happening next? When will this ever end? Not just me, mind you, cause this is the question on many people's lips. It's the Economy Stupid is the phrase I hear over and over again as I park my ass in the phone room of the Goodman Theatre where I am telemarketing subscriptions and trying to raise funds. The Goodman is stellar, the work we do is fantastic, it's all for a worthy cause, but who has the money? More than half the people I talk to have lost their jobs, some have lost their health, their houses and their jobs! Is President elect Obama going to be able to pull us out of this? Do we need to make that major adjustment some of us on the perpetual bottom have been praying for: a major shift in values? Maybe, Maybe. But whatever happens, shift or no, there's going to be a lot of weeping, wailing and knashing of teeth before it's over.