My faith in the giving nature of mankind was briefly shaken.

My faith in the giving nature of mankind was briefly shaken.
By JOHN W. GOODWIN JR.
VINDICATOR TRUMBULL STAFF
YOUNGSTOWN -- For two days I felt virtually invisible.
About 3.5 million people in America are affected by homelessness each year. Homelessness for those two days this month affected me.
With so many facing the outside elements and daily challenges in finding food and shelter with no definite place to live, I had to see life from their perspective -- even if only for a short time.
My plan was simple: I would walk away from my home, car, family and friends with no access to cash. My story, for anyone who asked, would be that I had returned to the city to stay with a friend, but was put out after a disagreement.
For two weeks I did not get a haircut or shave. I smeared smudge marks about my face, using an eyeliner. I found older clothes that appeared well-worn and packed an old duffel bag with an emergency pair of jogging pants, a second worn shirt and a warm blanket in the event I was forced to sleep outdoors. Thus prepared, I hit the streets the morning of Jan. 3.
I ventured first into downtown Youngstown to gauge reactions of people I'd get close to while waiting to cross streets or walking down a crowded sidewalk.
Most people just seemed to look right past me. I walked past two people I happen to know, looked them both in the eye -- and neither paid one iota of attention. Maybe they were in deep thought or maybe they just don't pay attention to others on the street.
The few times I waited at an intersection for the light to change to cross the street, those who did notice me mostly offered a slight smile or nod of the head. They'd take a half step in the other direction and continue to wait. I was getting the feeling that my attempt at looking destitute was working.
Steering clear
Any question in my mind about my appearance was answered by a middle-aged woman walking across a parking lot in my direction. She reached the sidewalk about 20 feet ahead of me. The woman bypassed the sidewalk and walked in the street to put as much distance between us as possible. I smiled at the fact that this woman would rather face oncoming traffic than me.
It was just before noon and I was beginning to feel hungry. I decided to head to the St. Vincent de Paul Dining Hall, where I knew lunch was offered. I figured I could ask one of those working there where I could sleep that night.
I walked in and fell into line with others waiting to get a plate. Soon I was handed a plate of roasted hot dogs, sausage, scalloped potatoes, green beans and bread. The head server asked one question -- "What would you like for dessert, cake or apple pie?" I took the pie, but I too had a question, "Where can I find a place to sleep?"
I was directed to a man named "Skip" who gave me directions to the Rescue Mission of Mahoning Valley on Martin Luther King Boulevard. I already knew where the mission was located, but Skip even offered to let me call ahead to see what time I would be permitted into the shelter. I thanked him and took a seat in the far corner of the room.
It took me less than 15 minutes to finish off the lunch, but since it was cold and uninviting outside, and since I had nowhere to go, I decided to hang out for a while. The staff offered seconds to those who might still be hungry. Some took plates to go while others took loaves of bread from a table at the center of the room.
I spoke briefly with some people sitting close to me. One man proudly told me that the blue winter jacket he wore was purchased used 10 years ago. He figured it would last another 10 years.
Back outside
Eventually I made my way back into the cold. I knew the dining hall did not serve lunch on Wednesdays. I would need money for food for the next day -- I had some panhandling to do.
Asking strangers for "spare change" on the street is no easy matter. I walked past more than 20 potential givers all over downtown before getting the nerve to actually ask. My question was answered with a simple but polite "no." From that first attempt, I moved quickly from person to person, but after the first hour my faith in the giving nature of mankind was shaken.
Most people simply shook their heads while saying "no" -- never breaking stride. Some took two seconds to explain that they didn't carry cash or had left a purse or wallet in the office or at home. Others actually apologized for not having the spare change I requested.
It didn't take long before I began to realize that the more successful a person looked, the more likely it was that I would be harshly rejected. I also began to realize younger people seem to be far more generous.
My faith was restored by a 20-something man in a modest suit who responded to my request with $2 and a wish of good luck. Over the next hour I was given various amounts of pocket change. I finished my first panhandling experience with two aching feet, a sweaty brow and about $2.50.
No structure
A large part of my time as a "homeless" person was the complete loss of structure. Most of my days are filled with appointments and obligations. Now, I was on Federal Street in downtown Youngstown on a Tuesday afternoon with nowhere to go. I spent much of the time moving from place to place, enjoying a little heat before being told to move on.
Functioning without proper shelter requires some thinking outside the box. It was not very cold, but the sky was overcast. I scoped out a few doorways in the event of rain. I also figured I could go to the library or bus station to stay dry. As a last resort, one of the dollar bills I collected could be used to ride the city bus in an attempt to wait the rain out.
By 3:30 p.m. I was simply tired of walking. I stopped at a picnic table near the post office, lay my head on the backpack I carried and actually took a short nap. When I looked up, the sun was beginning to fade, and I figured I'd better head to the mission or find somewhere else to sleep.
I walked through the Rescue Mission front doors and told the two men at the door that I had nowhere to go and needed a place to stay. I was taken to a TV room, then to a table for intake. The gentleman doing the intake assessment asked for my name and what led to my circumstances. I told him the story I created, he shared his real life story and, much to my relief, let me know I would not need the emergency blanket tucked in my backpack.
Within a few hours I was fed, showered and given a bed in which to sleep. I was also given a brief description of the programs offered at the mission and told I could return nightly to sleep out of the elements if I was only willing to help out with cleaning up after meals or helping to unload trucks of donated items.
There, in bunk No. 20, with about three dozen other guys nearby, I slept. Most of the guys were nice. Some even helped with the little particulars such as the proper way to block the light from an overhead lamp with a towel while sleeping.
I realized each of those guys sleeping near me in what once was a gymnasium had some sort of story. Some admitted drug addiction, while others were working men who fell on hard times. One was a Youngstown State University student who had gotten into a disagreement with his mother and hit the shelter instead of staying at home.
More panhandling
I was up by 5 a.m. and walking down MLK Boulevard before the sun had come up. I spent the money I made panhandling the day before on a McDonald's breakfast sandwich and figured, for better perspective, I would give the panhandling thing a second try. My efforts netted about 50 cents after several hours of hit-and-miss begging.
Before heading out on this experiment, I had heard it all: "Panhandlers make more money than some working people." "Those guys only beg because they don't really want to work." "Why don't they just get a job?" None of this, by my experience, is accurate.
I can't think of many other experiences more humiliating than begging strangers for spare change. It hardly seems as if it would be a selected lifestyle. I managed to "earn" about $3 in two days of begging -- not exactly a living wage.
One man staying at the mission mentioned getting a job in the city. Virtually every man within earshot wanted to know what the rate of pay was and if there were any other openings. These didn't sound like guys who did not want to work.
I decided to return to my car late Wednesday afternoon -- tired, cold, hungry and looking forward to collapsing in a chair at home. That's when it hit me: I could never truly understand what many of those I encountered go through or what it means to be without a home, because through this entire assignment in the back of my mind I knew home for me was only a few hours and a short drive away.
jgoodwin@vindy.com