Tenants

You probably know that Nightwatch has 24 permanent senior/disabled tenants.

About half of them come downstairs to eat at night -- part of the deal. They get a permanent apartment, shared kitchens and bathrooms upstairs, plus the late evening meal at 8:45, before the homeless hoardes descend.

So I see "E" and ask him how everything's going. "Oh well," he says with a twinkle, "they say the first 100 years are the toughest."

Cold night outside city hall

It was wet and cold -- duh, it's March in Seattle.

Real Change Organizing Project hosted a camp-in on the 4th Ave. side of city hall. Ben and I went, representing Operation Nightwatch.

My tent had a sign, which was often photographed:

"Mr. Mayor, this tent is worth more than $25 and belongs to Rev. Rick Reynolds. Hands Off!"

$25 is the threshold the city decided on for throwing homeless stuff away when they feel like it.

There were the usual speeches, including a barn-stormer by Rev. Rich Lang. Can't we get a decent speaker system for these events? Yuk.

Dinner was served by Rev. Pat and Rev. Kristi, with Rev. Joshua L. providing hot chocolate. Kudos to Operation Sack Lunch for the Lasagne chefery.

Ben, Pete & I dropped in on the Nightwatch shelter staffed by Compass Center workers at the Millionair Club. (got that?) Plus a little Belltown walk-about.

We hit the sack about 11:00 pm. Egad, what noise. People yakking, homeless people wandered through, but the main thing was the traffic and noise of trucks, buses, police cars. It really didn't settle down til about 3 a.m. I got up about 2:30 to use the sanikan, there were still groups of chatters. At least it wasn't pouring. Every so often it rained, but we stayed dry in our tent.

But it was chilly, and I had a sleeping pad, bag, all my clothes, jacket, and hat. At 6:30 am Ben and I struck camp, drove to CJs Restaurant at 1st & Cedar and had a hearty breakfast.

It's gonna take a weekend to dry out the tent though. All wrapped up in the car as I write this.

If you took pics, would you email me?

Rick

Homeless Sex Worker

She was so excited. "Katie" had a new job.

Katie and her family had been staying in an apartment that Operation Nightwatch maintained for these kind of situations. It worked pretty well; the family (Mom & Dad, and four kids) were cramped, but at least they had a place. The dad worked really early in the morning for a bagel company -- he had decent enough skills too, pretty facile with the computer. His wife was very large and lively.

"What's the new job?" I asked.

"I probably shouldn't tell you."

What?

"I got a job as a phone sex operator! And I found out I'm really good at it!"

It was hard to know how to respond. On the one hand, it was horrible degrading disgusting work. On the other hand, her family would have enough resources to move on to the next stage -- ultimately moving into their own house.

I looked at her with compassion. "Katie, I know it won't be forever."

"I know, " she said, eyes downcast.

Guys, if you ever want to laugh -- watch those late night TV ads for phone sex services, and picture a 250 pound, 5 foot tall mother of four. It will cure you, fer sher.

Rick

Tenting tonight

100% Chance of rain. Great.

Feel free to join us. We're camping out tonight outside city hall, to bring attention to the stupid way we're dealing with homeless people.

There are over 2,600 people without even basic shelter in Seattle/King County. Actually, the number is much higher, but that's who we found outside in late January. They had no place to go because the shelters are full, and who wants to be institutionalized anyway?

I'm gonna be there with my big old 5 person tent, extra knit hats and gear. Dinner at 6:00 followed by speechifying, singing around the (virtual) campfire, smores (oh, wait, I need a microwave for that, forget it).

Call or write for more info. Rick

Mountain of Blankets, hooray!!!

Our much awaited Mountain of Blankets arrived yesterday, courtesy of the Department of Defense.

Special shout out to Ken Alhadeff and Rep. Brian Baird, who burrowed into the DOD to figure out why it was a messed up order.

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So, we had no idea what 3,000 blankets look like; IT IS A PILE!

Thank you to the crew that unloaded the semi-truck. Tent City 3 Guys, along with Board member John F. and former Board member David T. Plus two Millionair Club workers and the Nightwatch boys (me and my peeps) and Matt from ROOTS.

On Counting Homeless People

We've got lots of energy, we're out with our friends at 2:00 in the morning.

It feels an awful lot like college prank stuff.

Except it's not.

It's deadly serious, a crying shame, that we have to go through this. If I sound jaded and sick of the whole thing, maybe I am. I wonder what would happen if I refused to count homeless people?

This year the Compass Center is hosting the event. Why is little old Nightwatch still up to our ears in this thing? We figured out the other day that the Compass Center is 14 times bigger budget-wise than we are. Yet, here is the entire Nightwatch admin staff busy all night.

OK, I'll quit bitching. Loads of people are chipping in on this thing now. Just once I'd like to read about it in the paper in the morning, over a cupa joe.

End of an Era

It was my last night at "Dravus Street Bar" (all names changed to protect . . . oh who knows) -- last big blowout is Saturday night, and you couldn't get me there if you paid me and picked me up in a limo.

So of course tonight I met a coupla nice guys -- one a retire cop (where the heck has he been? We could have used him the past 9 months). He told me he started drinking there 35 -40 years ago. We swapped names, he told me I couldn't be a good priest since I turned down his offer of wine. Shout out to Dean Quall, retired SPD officer who was on the Nightwatch board about 14 years ago. Maybe I met him once. Other friendly face was a property owner in the hood who stops off on his way home (Lynnwood) after painting or whatnot on his apartments.

He said something I had never heard in 25 years of bar ministry:

Bartender: "You want another one?"

Patron: "Nah. Two is my limit."

Way to go. This shall be my final memory of the Dravus Street Bar. A lot happened here in a short time for the Nightwatch ministers.

Indulge me a longer-than-usual reflection.

"Milk Maid" is the glue (besides booze, I mean) that held the place together. She's worked here longer than she cares to admit, maybe 25 to 30 years; she hates to hear that. And sometimes she quit but always came back.

Milk Maid was sad about what was going to happen to the whole screwed up-dysfunctional-alcoholic-addict family that circles around Dravus Street. Her flock is being scattered, and she worries about them; she will miss many of them. But then, some of her favorites have been 86'd out of there in the past six months.

Her nightmare commute to Bellingham will end on Saturday night/Sunday morning. Imagine driving to Seattle from Bellingham every day to pour beers and mix drinks for that crowd. Oh yeah, she cooks a mean burger, they say. Never ate anything there.

Part of what she left me: Angostura bitters -- good for what ails ya. Compassion for the hard-bitten. The impossibility of one person to manage such a place. Never a growl escaped her lips, even when trying to get better behavior from one of her kids.

I wonder what is next for her.

She gave me her phone number on a coaster, and told me I better explain it to my wife. I don't think Lorri will mind. I'm going to call her early next week to find out how the closing party went, and probably on Thursday night for awhile -- my night to be in there.

It feels weird -- there were some brutal crimes, ugly scenes -- hookers picking off guys who 10 minutes prior had asked for prayer; lock downs, when girlfriends were huddled at the bar. "W" trying to figure out what to do, having come home to find his stuff locked up by the landlord; "T" getting busted for living in a parking lot in Ballard in her van, even though there were no drugs; the crazy old lady who drank coffee and sat in the corner -- conversations with her were stream of conciousness webs that lured you in; the exotic dancer shimmying around the room, fully clothed and looking like an example of plastic surgery gone sadly awry; "H" getting it on to "Jungle Boogie" his gapped toothed smile and incredible bulk seriously impressive in dance; "J" the young pool hotshot who I mysteriously ran into in Chinatown -- cryptically telling me he doesn't "do that" anymore; PFC "J" and his drunk motorcycling death wish; passing out popsicles; going around the room with Father Kim fixing all the malfunctioning beer lights when we were the only two people in the bar; the end of smoking inside; Milk Maid's tangle with the falling equipment in the kitchen; "K-J" and pal wanting a Bible & rosaries (eek, too late on the extras). Not to mention the whole Danny Westneat, Seattle Times, following me around on the stormiest night of the year saga; "DB" spewing venom and insanity and then making peace in a most-lovely righteous way. Whew. I know there's a bunch I missed. Sorry to run on so long.

I'll miss the people, but not the place. God keep them close. Rick