Bongo Thompson: A winter’s tale in Browne’s Addition

As I prepared for bed after 3 a.m. on a frigid night in Browne’s Addition, I heard someone cry in pain outside. I looked toward the street and saw a figure stumbling around in the road. I put on my sweatshirt and a mask, snatched up my phone and went to see what was the matter. As I stepped out into the bitter air, I saw them on the opposite corner of the intersection and called out. They began stumbling toward me.

I saw the victim of this bone chilling night – an elderly homeless woman named Gail. In her, I saw what can only be described as misery incarnate. A frayed, paper-thin overcoat barely covered her hunched shoulders while leaves and twigs clung to her pants – leftovers from the night’s harsh journey. Yet the haggard state of Gail’s clothing couldn’t hold a candle to the woman wearing them. Her hands shook, uncovered in the frozen air. Her face was intermittently covered with wrinkles and bruises, from where I didn’t ask.

Gail spoke of her anguished march. Her day started at a hospital where she was being treated for a condition I don’t know; it could’ve been for her arthritis–painfully visible as she struggled to stand in the cutting weather. Perhaps Gail needed refuge from the weather. Whatever her reason for seeking help, she had been asked to leave the hospital earlier in the night. Gail made her way to a Salvation Army shelter but workers at the shelter found empty beer cans in Gail’s bag and, for the second time that night, she was asked to leave. Gail wandered the night in search of shelter. She tried finding an alley to slumber in, but without her sleep medication – forgotten at the shelter – Gail could find no solace in a night’s rest. She trekked through the dark aimlessly until arriving at my front door.

I pulled out my phone to try to call the Salvation Army, hoping I could convince them to accept Gail back. I called two locations – Gail didn’t know the address – and I was twice greeted with voicemail. Having lost hope that I could contact the shelter and hearing Gail’s tormented shrieks, I dialed 911. The dispatcher asked me where I was and why I was calling, getting panicked answers in reply.

After these initial questions, when I asked for an ambulance, she suggested sending the police. I replied emphatically – absolutely not. I wasn’t about to see Gail executed by some racist hall monitor with an itchy trigger finger. After agreeing to send medical help, she walked me through – without a modicum of vocal inflection – what to do if Gail began vomiting blood. The dispatcher was clearly accustomed to, and unfazed by, stories like Gail’s. From there, I was told to call back if her condition worsened and I hung up.

I could barely see the ambulance when it arrived; my glasses had become fogged from my panicked breathing. Two paramedics got out and checked in with Gail. As they went over the options, I realized the futility of the entire exercise. Faced with remaining in the Siberian cold, Gail reluctantly accepted the only help that could be offered to her – an ambulance ride back to the hospital that had hours earlier kicked her out.

Gail let out a tortured yell as she stood, her agonized legs trembling. She was helped into the ambulance, where last I saw her. I walked back into my apartment as the clock approached 4. The warm air greeted me, serving as a welcome respite from the merciless cold I’d suffered for a fraction as long as Gail. I closed the door and took a seat, my head in my hands, wondering hopelessly what would become of Gail and the hundreds more just like her.

Dear reader, I implore you, please do not look upon the downtrodden with anger or contempt but with compassion, for we have the power to offer a helping hand to those in need. Mayor Woodward and our city council have the power to end homelessness in Spokane if they’re willing to stand up. Governor Inslee and the legislature have the power to guarantee housing for every Washingtonian if they’re willing to stand up. Congress and the newly elected Administration have the power to eliminate homelessness and bring to an end this disgraceful legacy of poverty and anguish if they’re willing to stand up. Together, we have the power to demand a more humane society for all. I ask you now, are you willing to stand up?

Bongo Thompson lives in Spokane.