What would it cost to save this guy?

How much would it cost to save this guy?

The guy who lives in this tent has been camped out on the sidewalk under the Orleans bridge for well over a year now. He’s almost a mascot to the people who walk by on their way to work, or maybe to the East Bank Club, a fancy gym a few hundred feet west of his humble abode. They slow down, check out his digs, leave a buck, and continue on their way, proud of their charitable souls.

His digs have improved over the months/years, from a couple of blankets to a small enclosure to a truly fancy tent that any out-backer would be proud to own. Maybe someone donated the tent, maybe he bought it with the stray quarters and dollars and occasional five-spots that passersby dropped along the way. In truth, none of that matters.

He is living on the sidewalk.

He has been living on the sidewalk for as long as anyone remembers.

He will continue living on the sidewalk forever.

Well, not really forever, because he will die first.

He could pass on as the result of untreated illness or a sore that gets infected without a stash of Purell on hand. Maybe he’ll die from starvation or spoiled entrees from a dumpster.

He could simply freeze if the city enforces its rule against “placing items that are an obstruction on the public way.” Streets and Sanitation posted a notice that they were going to remove the tent on December 22—Merry Christmas!!—but they haven’t followed through on it. Yet. 

Maybe he’ll be attacked and suffer the same fate as the Walking Man, another fixture of Chicago’s streets who was set on fire last May while sleeping on the same street, just five blocks east of here. Walking Man—turns out his name was Joseph Kromelis—died in December, reportedly due to complications from the attack.
 
It’s too late for Mr. Kromelis, but what about this guy, the one in the fancy tent on Kinzie, the one who depends on the kindness of strangers and also faces scorn and threat? He knows he’s hated by some of his fellow citizens, he knows he's at risk, and his tent now includes a plea for a more lasting solution than spare change.

“I know I’m hated and not wanted here,” the sign says. “Help me leave this area. Frost bitten hands. So much pain. Help me to never be here.”

So, what would it cost to save this guy?

What would it take to get him into an actual apartment, or a room, with running water and heat and, maybe, a toilet? What would it take to get him clean clothes and to prep him for re-entry into a world that’s been just outside his flap, but disconnected, for so very long? What would it take to get him a job that he could still do after months/years of isolation? Could it be done for $10,000? $20,000? Could his life be saved, turned around, for the cost of a semester in a fancy pre-school?

It’s easy for us to talk about people in groups, because it frees us from the need to come up with solutions. It’s much less messy to talk about the homeless, instead of focusing on this homeless guy. It’s so much easier to shame people for saying homeless instead of the much trendier unhoused, than it is to bring one person in from the cold. But none of that actually does any good. And so...

What would it cost to save this guy?

This guy.

This guy who is pleading to be saved.

“Frost bitten hands. So much pain. Help me to never be here.”
 
 

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