Looking beyond the smell
description
I like to believe that I'm not judgmental, that I am open and
accepting of people different from me. But when my senses are
assaulted by the stench of week-old urine and stale smoke, I tend
to be a little judgmental. When I see a man who looks like his
skin hasn't touched water or soap in a year, I become afraid.
Afraid of what? I'm not quite sure. I think I've seen one too
many movies where the "homeless man" is the antagonist
or that he's a dangerous schizophrenic. I buy into that perception
and become superficial. But in the last few years, many homeless
men have to my church (mostly for the donuts, coffee and bathroom)
and I've come to look beyond their disheveled appearance and rancid
smell and see that, like most people, they have depth that goes
beyond outer appearance.
Take Bob, for instance. He looks to be in his mid forties, average
height and build, with shoulder length brown hair. From that description,
he sounds like your average Joe. But there are a few clues that
obviously set him apart. For one, the stench that surrounds him
is almost unbearable. It's a mixture of hot, festering garbage,
and urine, which is imbedded into every fiber of his well worn
army jacket. To stand next to him and not cringe, you have to
try to breathe through your nose and even then getting your lungs
to keep inhaling is difficult. His beard covers the majority of
his face; his crystal blue eyes stand out all the more because
they're about all you can see. It was his eyes that first led
me to believe that there was a story beyond that of just an "alcoholic
homeless man".
When I took a minute to talk to Bob, I learned his story: he fought
in the Vietnam War, came home to a country that vilified him and
soon he became an alcoholic. The horrors of war drove him to drink,
and drink, and drink. He had a good job and owned his own home,
but soon he lost both due to his drinking problem. You could tell
that what made the deciding factor in his life path was the war.
When he talked about the war, his whole countenance changed. His
eyes got a frightened look in them; his body became a little more
rigid and tense; his whole demeanor became that of a scared, wounded
dog. This caught me off guard because, as someone who has had
little tragedy in my life, I tend to think that people should
be able to "pull themselves up by their bootstraps";
maybe if they had tried a little harder they wouldn't be where
they are now. But suddenly I saw a sadness in Bob that I didn't
expect from someone so "inhuman". I realized that Bob
had more to him than his outside appearance, which was very dirty
and smelly.
Then there's Steven. He is also in his forties and at first glance
looks the same as Bob. But Steven wears work boots that are worn
almost through on the toes. His flannel shirt looks so tattered
that a strong wind might blow it apart. His blue, wool beanie
covers his gray, thinning hair and has a long gray beard that
looks like rats might live in it. He has dark brown, almost black,
eyes that are deep pools of mud. Where Bob's eyes told me that
there was a story, Steven's told me that there was immense pain.
Emboldened by my experience with Bob, the first time that Steven
came to church, I made a point to go over and talk to him, and
introduce myself. He was standing in a corner, by himself, looking
as if he was afraid to talk to anyone. I introduced myself and
he meekly told me his name, in a voice barely above a whisper.
I was shocked by the gentle, timid nature of someone who I had
supposed was hardened by life on the street. Over the next few
weeks, as Steven came out of his shell, I learned a little more
about him. He had been married, had a good job as a construction
foreman and had two children. All that changed when his youngest
child was tragically killed in a car accident; Steven had been
driving. He said that after that, he couldn't live with himself.
He felt an immense sense of guilt for his child's death. The guilt
drove a wedge between him and his wife and soon they divorced.
In the midst of all this, he too turned to alcohol. Soon he lost
his job when he was caught drinking at work. What struck me about
Steven as he was telling me this was the tears in his eyes. I
was shocked at the depth he showed to a mere acquaintance. Steven
said that he occasionally works, when he's in a "good cycle"
and I see him every so often at church. Sometimes, when there
are kids running around the building, laughing and giggling at
nothing in particular, I see a few tears running down his dirt
stained face.
I say all this not to say that I now feel sorry for all the homeless
men in Concord. I don't. I think there is a vast majority of men
who are there because of no tragedy other than they picked up
a bottle and couldn't put it down. But I am less likely to judge
them because, thanks to Bob and Steven, I know that there is much
more under the surface than just stench and filth; there's a human.