People In Skid Row

Yesterday, May 22nd, I again was in Skid Row for my volunteer work with the Union Rescue Mission. Fortunately, I was requested to man the bread station, and not the lettuce or the chopped tomatoes, the stewed diced white meat or the corn. All of these require the servers to move fast for the trays to get into the hands of those on line. We have white bread, raisin bread, and rye bread, so I often asked which one would they prefer to have. This allowed me to look at everyone and observe those who already were eating. I also have the opportunity to tell them to enjoy their meal and that 'Jesus loves them'.

Young and old Asians, African-Americans, Hispanics, and Caucasians were represented. Sane, insane, shabbily dressed, and formally dressed were there to be served lunch. There was even a guy, who was wearing a clean coat and tie, so opposite to a guy, who wore a dirty pair of shoes and a black plastic trash bag to cover his upper body.

Certainly, homelessness doesn't excuse any nationality. Sometimes, it hits someone, because of extravagance and addiction; many times it victimizes someone, because of job loss and unemployment. Nevertheless, the one that touches me most, besides those hapless children, are those with mental instability.

I can't help myself, but to sympathize for those I saw staring blankly at their food, talking and laughing as they talked either to their food trays or to imaginary someones beside them. Most of the time, they were the last ones to turn their trays in. Others don't even have the time to finish their food before the security officer would announce that their eating time is up.

But you know what; you cannot underestimate homeless people. Even though most don't observe cleanliness, many still do.

In between service, servers have to clean tables. We were supposed to dispose our old gloves, washed our hands properly before wearing another clean pair of gloves. In one occasion, one of the lady volunteer inadvertently forgot to dispose her latex gloves. She immediately went to her station, because the next serve was about to begin. Immediately, a homeless lady called the attention of the supervisor to report it.

So, when you're on Skid Row doing some volunteer work, forget the idea, for once, that they sleep on a card boards, tattered tents, or plastic tarps at nighttime. Many of those who don shabby or showy dresses cannot just be taken for granted.

And if you have time or a dime to spare, open up your heart or pocket to help URM and other agencies on Skid Row. Yesterday, URM run out of disposable plastic gloves. All the agencies are non-profits; thus operating by faith. Come on. Let's help them a little.

The dining hall and the food counter in this clip are that of the Union Rescue Mission.

ON L.A SKID ROW: Homeless People is Worth My Time

I have been hearing on the radio and seeing on TV the Skid Row of Los Angeles. However, I never have seen it first-hand. Living in Pasadena, a very progressive suburbian city of Los Angeles county, yet haven't gone to Skid Row? That's ludicrous!

Call me hypocrite! Label me so insincere to the academic discipline that I spent so much time on. What happened?

The news about Skid Row gave creeps and chills; too risky for me to dare. I thought that those count of 84,000 homeless people in Los Angeles county, many of them are in Skid Row, were scarier than living and interacting with the Ata Manobo tribe of so. Philippines, who were considered by the early Philippine historian as the fiercest warriors of Mindanao. I was so intimidated.

Watch this clip from You Tube and see what I mean.



Nevertheless, while I started brainstorming on my first novel, Skewed Triad; No More: The Novel, I thought that Skid Row would be an excellent setting for a badly disfigured Filipino-American woman to regain completely her self-confidence and self-worth. Consequently, I mustered courage to visit and observe the "Third World" of Los Angeles,The Skid Row.

The traffic at the freeway was heavy that Thursday morning, so I decided to take the Metro train, Gold line. Pasadena to Union Station, the main hub, was only half an hour ride. At the Union Station, I walked two stairs down to take a subway Metro that took me to Pershing Square right at the Los Angeles financial center.

Believe me, just three blocks from Pershing Square, I already smelled the stink of a slum area, saw the roguishness of many untidy street people, and felt that I was rooted off the great city, despite those tall buildings. I slowed down starting to observe. Many were standing and talking in the street, especially near the buildings of non-profit organizations serving three-square meals a day and offering home and shelter to fortunate homeless families and individuals. Some people were yelling at each other; a few were walking erratically. Others were involved in some transaction of some sort.

I continued my walk for a few more blocks and I felt I was one of them. The smell became normal; the sight became ordinary, yet strange. I started to empathize with these less fortunate. I began to think of doing some volunteering in one of the soup kitchens. I went inside the building of Union Rescue Mission. After a talk with a Volunteer Supervisor, I decided to be a server at lunch time on Mondays and Fridays. Join me in this adventure at Skid Row in my next blogs.