A Detour Through Portland

I had the most interesting little detour on my way to the Oregon Convention center this past Spring. My husband and I have one car. Since I am the one predisposed to public transportation, when our schedules conflict, I take the metro/bus. So I took my route one morning to volunteer for the vaccine effort and got off the bus to switch to the metro. At the metro station there was a man talking to himself very loudly as he raided the train station's trash cans.

For those who don't live in Oregon, I will provide some context. Oregon offers a ten cent deposit for cans and bottles returned for recycling. It is not uncommon to see the homeless lugging around two large trash bags of uncrushed cans and bottles near the front of a bus. The cans can be scanned by something reminiscent of a vending to produce cash or coins at recycling centers (more info on those here). It is a pretty consistent source of income for the enviromentally concious, fiscally savvy or homeless Portlanders.

It is less common to hear a man screaming to an imaginary ex-girlfriend Monika while he collects said cans, but then again I don't spend a lot of time downtown.

I was grateful when the train pulled into the station. It quickly sped away from the man ranting at the woman who wasn't there. I got about four train stops from my destination when the metro stopped.

I heard the conductor announce: "There are some people on the tracks." There was a slight accent to the train conductor's voice that I couldn't quite place. He was clearly agitated, especially, when he added "I am not opening the train right now as it is not safe to let you off. The police have been called." After about ten minutes sitting, the train conductor walked down the train to open the furthest door from the commotion.

Everyone on the train filed out en masse onto the sidewalk besides and walked along the direction the train was supposed to be taking us.

That was when we saw 2 police cars blocking the intersection where two cars were very much smashed together on the metro tracks. Even if we walked to the next train stop, we knew it would be hours before the tracks were clear.

Google maps had no idea though. I spent the better part of half an hour fighting with it trying to find a bus route, rather than train route, and ended up just pulling up walking directions. I was already late, but I hoped once I was a little further away from the Metro, then Google Maps would find an alternative route.

I miss having paper public transportation maps, but having arrived in Oregon in the era of Covid, I'm not sure what's normal. So I'm stuck learning how to navigate an unfamiliar city with GPS signals that do not always read location, height, or direction correctly when walking by foot between tall buildings.

Walk I did. I was a couple blocks away from a bridge crossing the Willamette River when I was approached by a man with slight panic in his voice. I was walking quickly, because I was late, and the man kept pace with me as he talked.

"Excuse me, could you call 911?" He said.

"What's the matter?" I asked, taking in his appearance and my surroundings for the cause of his distress. He wore a red shirt that was of decent quality had a slightly shaggy afro that was less maintained than the shirt. Though I saw nothing so obvious as the car crash that morning, the man was clearly upset.

"I think someone's following me," he said. "I'm scared they're going to come after me." He was on that edge between truly panicked and trying to talk himself out of panicking.

I have spent some time in places with people who struggled with different behavioral health difficulties. Immediately my mind opened two possibilities: either someone is really following him and threatening his life, or he has a condition that increases his level of anxiety and paranoia so he thinks someone is following him and threatening his life.

There was the third, albeit cynical, possibility that this was a ploy to obtain something valuable such as my phone. However, the wide look in his eyes and shallowness of his breath was enough to convince me that, either way, he needed help. I whipped out my phone and dialed 911. Up until this action on my part the man had been keeping pace with me as we walked towards my destination. However, I slowed down as the emergency dispatcher answered the phone.

I relayed the situation to her calmly. The dispatcher asked if I saw anyone around that appeared to be following him. I stepped away to admit, "Not that I can see."

"Thank you for doing that for him," the dispatcher said. I gave her his description and the intersection we were located at. The dispatcher asked if I could convince him to stay there, while she contacted the police.

Somewhat shocked that someone had actually listened to him, the man reluctantly nodded and leaned against the building. His nerves were palpable, but he waited while I was on the phone with emergency services. I tentatively asked his name. The dispatcher assumed he wouldn't give the name and was surprised when he answered.

Around the time the 911 operator told me that a squad car was on his way, the man tried to take it back. He grew jittery and tried to say it was nothing.

"I wish there was a way to get help to someone immediately when they need it." He mumbled, more to himself than to me. He began a long string of philosophical musings about the length of time it takes to get help while we waited for the cops to arrive. It amounted to, he genuinely wanted the police involved when he approached me, but now that they were on their way he didn't think it merrited their attention. Part of this was because we had stayed at the intersection where I made the phone call and no lurking stalker had approached.

I asked if he wanted me to wait with him, just to make sure he was alright. After a little bit of banter as I tried to keep him calm, he decided I was suspicious too, and ran across the street away from me right before the squad car drove past. I wasn't sure the protocol there, but I was already very late. I saw he was lingering in the park across the street and so I continued on.

It appeared waiting for the bus, or walking took equal time. So I walked across the bridge over the Willamette river and following the directions took some stairs down. This is where my google maps got very confused. Apparently there are two stairs down from this bridge? I got very lost walking around the waterfront park and stumbled onto a homeless man and a statue in essentially the same pose. I asked the man for directions and permission to take his picture.

Homelessness in Portland is a very visual thing. I walked past three distinct encampents on my accidental soujourn. One shack I saw looked like it's own tiny home complete with a makeshift garden on the highway enramp. I thought about taking pictures, but that shack was someone's home.

I still had to get directions from two other people before I finally found my way to the Oregon Convention Center. I checked in considerably late for my volunteer shift. I began working, but the morning nagged at me. It felt like that whole morning had been the city screaming at me THIS!!! This is what you should be working on!!! Homelessness.

Still it's hard for me to know where to start.

I intend to contribute any earnings from this and follow up articles to well crafted organizations that are making a difference. I want to answer the following questions. Why does Portland has such a pervasive problem? What organizations are functionally helping the homeless community? How can I help, like actually help, rather than posturing?