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© Spring 2003 A publication of The Wyoming Coalition for the Homeless NASNA member 907 Logan Avenue Cheyenne, WY 82001-5247 307-634-8499 fax: 307-634-9089 email: wch@vcn.com Page down for table of contents |
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of Joel Alfassa who passed away April 23, 2003. |
IN THIS ISSUE:
StreetViews is published by the Wyoming Coalition for the Homeless, Views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily those of the Wyoming Coalition for the Homeless, its staff or board. Copyrights revert back to the author upon publication. WCH is a 501(c)(3) all volunteer non-profit agency depending upon the community for funding. © 2003. Articles from other papers are published with permission of the paper listed with the article. **In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. section 107, this material is distributed without charge or profit to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving this type of information for non-profit research and educational purposes only.** by Bridget Reilly "All he'd wanted was a shower. But in jail--that was not where he'd expected to have it! What had gone wrong? He had the money to get a motel room for the night. He'd already bought and paid for, and delivered the metal, to have a rear bumper made for his Toyota. What had gone wrong? He was trying to piece together the events of the prior 30-35 hours or so. It was mostly a blur of anger, memories, and feeling lost. "Why had the motel clerk refused to rent him a room? The clerk had said, "No credit card, no room." He felt he was being discriminated against because he was homeless (living in his Toyota.) He'd tried to explain that he had not had a shower for two months. It was a hot August day. He really needed to get off the street, just for a mere 24 hours, and get clean. It didn't seem to be that big of a deal. He had the cash money to rent a $26 room, but the clerk said no. What could he do but leave? "The next thing he could remember was eating lunch at Rick's Pub, trying to calm himself down. And the next thing was the sun coming up and he had a gun in his hands. What had gone wrong?! "He knew something really bad had happened. So he drove to his father's house--that's where the gun had come from. When he got to the house it was obvious that something was wrong. His father was hiding, with a pistol, in the shed. What happened? "After calling the sheriff and turning himself in, he was even more afraid. But it was only about a 45-minute ride to the fail. So far the cops had been cool, just talking and being polite. He'd know the charges in a while. But for now he'd just enjoy the shower." The above narrative, written by my husband John, is a true story; it's himself he refers to in the third person. The incident he described took place on August 3rd, 2000. The reason for it, or I should say the immediate trigger, had to do with outrageously unjust treatment we had both received when we'd tried to buy a home in Oakridge, Oregon a month earlier. At that time I had been homeless for nine years and John for fifteen years. Now we were homeless for yet another month after the homebuying fiasco. And the last straw for John was when he tried to rent a motel room for one night after receiving his August SSD check, and he was refused only because he was a homeless local. That was what finally drove him over the edge, resulting in the scenario in which he vented his rage on his father. I can well believe that he only partially remembers the incident, that he was dissociating at the time, as I saw the condition he was in just prior to it. The two beers he'd had at lunch would not have been enough to send him into an alcohol blackout; the dissociation was clearly a function of his mental illness. We did manage to buy another house in Oakridge, and moved in just a month after the August 3rd incident. But a criminal prosecution was underway by this time, which would cast a dark cloud over our first two months of home ownership and marriage. John ended up getting a reduced punitive sentence (two weeks in jail and three years; probation, as opposed to the mandatory minimum of 13 months in prison) only because he "agreed" to a plea bargain. If he had tried using a mental defense and insisted on a jury trial, he could have gotten the maximum sentence of six years--at least according to what his public "defender" said. So he never got a fair trial in which he might have had his say, told his own side of the story. The police report contained a few statements that pointed very clearly to the real source of the problem--if anyone had cared to see what these fact were really saying: "...J. McCulloch told me that he had been mentally assaulted by his parents for 40 years.........J. McCulloch added that he went in and took the gun and walked down the hallway, sat next to his dad, got mad at him so he shot the rifle into the wall to get his dad's attention for all the turmoil his parents gave him..." But in lieu of a mental health court (no such animal yet exists in Oregon), this evidence could not even be considered relevant! The case instead went to a standard criminal court that could only take his actions out of context and apply the usual punishments for them. So John's plea bargain was the price he paid to remain in the homeowner class he'd just graduated to--meaning he got a felony conviction added to his record just so we could keep our home! He was convicted without a trial for a crime in which the victim didn't intend to press charges and didn't wish for him to be punished. The state was not required to press it either. This was a private matter and should have remained so, to be resolved among the family members as they saw fit. But the head District Attorney chose to make it a matter for the court because it was such a juicy case. All John's father could do then was to drive downtown and beg the D.A. to be lenient with his son. The same State of Oregon was quite happy to take our sixty dollars for a marriage license, but would not step aside so we could have a hassle-free wedding and honeymoon. So for the last two weeks of October my newlywed husband was conspicuously absent from the other half of the bed. This case, occurring as it did at such a critical juncture of our lives, tuned me right in to the corruption of our "criminal justice" system. I was appalled at the shabby ways we were both treated while in the midst of trying to buy a home and plan our wedding, and at the way John's case was clearly being used by others for purposes that had nothing to do with the public safety and everything to do with money and the promoting of prosecutors' careers. It also pointed up the need for a more appropriate way of handling crimes that stem from mental illness rather than being conscious acts of malice. That was why, besides writing a series of articles on this subject, I also wrote to State Senator Tony Corcoran saying we need to establish a mental health court in Oregon.) I had a story about this in Boston's Spare Change News in May of 2001.) Tony responded, saying he was interested, but wouldn't be able to introduce a bill into the legislature until the 2003 session, as they only meet every other year. Well, now 2003 has arrived. And this past November Tony was in Oakridge for a town meeting, so I took the opportunity to remind him of his promise. He said he still thought it was a good idea, so we'll see what shapes up. March 28, 2003 TIME TO PAUSE time and time again time and time again i'm looking for time to pause people keep rushing by words keep rushing in and out time and time again thoughts keep rushing in feelings keep rushing through time and time again time and time again time and time again time and time again time and time again Morgan Brown Montpielier, VT Madness draws me warmly close unto itself- even when I had nowhere else to turn; so commonplace a circumstance this did become, that I finally chose to remain, forever, here. Nothing bad ever happens to me while I'm in these dimensions of profound beauty, passion, clarity, freedom and existence few dare to venture toward, let alone dwelling among, unaware this isn't something to fear. The only exceptions that spin such transcending journeys into dreadful experiences, they otherwise wouldn't be, come via violent reactions, against any wanderers, by those never seeming to understand what it is truly like for us there. So next time someone you know or love heads into various
directions unknown, don't try to stop or hinder them in their
pursuits, for it is a peaceful, safer, fertile plateau once reached:
besides, usually they'll return, much better off, on their own, I swear. hearing voices certain people hear voices sometimes: some are often as rude, negative, angry, mean, harm, wounds, maiming, ill health and tormenting when enough time, effort, consideration Clouds halo the mountain peaks. Pond Wind blowing through the trees. Moonstruck Moon light sky. Embraced by clouds, silhouetted like a silver lining. Star filled sky. Horizons of city lights. Back dropped by majestic mountains like a fortress. Echoing the greatness of the Invisible Creator...but ever present, with the beauty and wonder of the Artist handiwork God, the Creator of heaven and earth. Standing in awe, moonstruck under moonbeam light. Running on Empty I was hungry. I may be homeless, not hopeless or worthless! Street People Mother's crying over their young. Blank looks on faces Hitchhikers stick out their thumbs. A train whistle blows Town bells chime. Moral Infinity.... Sometimes in the quiet moments there are many Do the images of the past really seem so strange? Familiarity is our common ground, and the chosen We cannot change who we are, only what we say or do. Shallow Tears The angels soaring throughout the night shallow tears run down by face when time Time stood still in that lonely town, or it seemed Shallow tears run down my face when time She was here, but now she is gone, My Dear Fellow Women, Take a moment to gaze into the mirror of life In your search for meaning and answers in YOUR life, KNOW that in this universe and in this time, you have a place When times come that you are lonely or afraid, or when You have the power to forge ahead in ANY diversity, and to Each morning when you wake know you are blessed; and No matter what is right or true, you cannot change others; so With Love Always grom Whether by apoplexy or by cognition, aposiopesis grom One must be vigilant and excogitate the usage of the noun |