After you finish your volunteer shift at Project Homeless Connect, record your observations from your experience here as a comment. Record everything you remember from your day and include as many details as you can. Be as descriptive as possible. As you conclude, reflect on what was significant about your experience.
IMPORTANT: Please do not use people’s real names. Use initials or pseudonyms. We want to preserve the anonymity of the people you interacted with.
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As I reflect on my experience at Project Homeless Connect, I remember first getting into line with one of my friend, I remember when we finally saw the clients that we'd be with for the remainder of the day she said that " a lot of these people don't look homeless." I thought that this comment was significant because it prove how salient stereo types about homeless people are, I imagine that most of the DU students and staff were thinking the same thing my friend thought: these people are just regular people, just like any one you'd see going to work or school, on the light rail or the bus. That was even my first impression at the Mother's Day Tea Party for The Gathering Place; and at the same time I feel like the stereotype coupled with the fact that you would never know a homeless person from a housed person on the street makes them a forgotten population in America, one not to be dealt with or infringed upon. Thankfully though, there are events like Project Homeless Connect in Denver that act as an opportunity for people to see, finally and truly see, people experiencing homelessness.
ReplyDeleteI was paired with a middle-aged African-American man, which made it an extremely different experience than that of The Gathering Place. He was very friendly, we laughed as he teased me about looking more like I was in middle or high school rather that in college. He automatically knew what services he wanted to hit before the day was out--medical, cloths, and veteran's assistance. He kind had this patriarchal vibe about him, calling me "baby" and constantly making sure that I was comfortable, that I ate, and other things. At the same time, however, he would joke about how he wished I was older because he like pretty, sweet, and intelligent women. It was kind of weird. It was also weird that he asked me for a dollar to buy a soda (which we figured out was actually four dollars and he would not allow me to spend that much money on an Orange Fanta). I ended up giving him change for bus fair, which was no problem but I guess I didn't really expect it. Although he creeped me out at times, he was a cool guy. I also tool in another client who only wanted to get his blood pressure tested and a renewed identification card. He was very known and very friendly with many people we ran into. Both of the clients stopped to talk to multiple people, workers and clients alike.
I think the most significant thing I took from this experience was how many homeless people want or need medical attention, simple things like checking their blood pressure or getting tested for diabetes. I was kind of inconvenient, however, that they had to make an appointment for a doctor's consultation. The line for hair cuts was frustrating too, reaching a peak of a one hour wait. Still, like many things in life, if you don't get there early, you'll miss your chance at getting service; many places were starting to close up by the time I got my second client.
A part of me didn't want to get too close or know too much about my clients, mainly out of fear that I wouldn't be able to handle the hardness in their lives, harsh realities that I've never had to deal with. At points I felt I could break down into a soft sob forgetting what I was there for and letting the sadness of a lifestyle that I've never known sink in. Perhaps that's the reason why people turn the other cheek to homelessness; perhaps knowing that someone does not have the means to go get a hair cut or the luxury of getting their sore, tired feet massage is just too hard for people to handle.
Field Notes:
ReplyDeleteBoxy gold shirts everywhere—rows and rows of square green seats—big black box by home plate—color-coded pastel forms—brown boxes of baby clothes—white boxed lunches—check this box please; we are in the line here.
Richard wanted food stamps, clothes, and a watch. "That's all," he said. We walked from section A to section L: "I once had box seats by home plate," then he laughed. He needed State ID to complete the food stamps application; sun damage, from living in a tent on the Platte River, changed him from the man on the photo ID. We waited for confirmation from the women in purple. Richard looked up at the Cafe menu and smiled, "Double Bacon Cheeseburger….soon I'll be able to get senior coffee from McDonald's, and you know, I'm looking forward to it." The woman said he should check his card today after 5 p.m. He shook my hand, thanked me, and left.
We first took Nicole and Samson to child services; they had an 8 month old daughter. Nicole was discharged from the Army for PTS and a depression disorder. She needed to see housing options; she was having another baby and her transitional lease only allowed two people to live in her apartment. (She was already housing three.) Samson needed to get an instate ID to get a job; his ID was from California. Nicole needed baby clothes for the baby due in June. Samson needed insurance. Nicole wanted a haircut. Samson needed to visit job services. This line. That line. And we didn't manage to get anything but baby clothes.Then Nicole would say, "We keep getting blown off. Are you sure you want me to fill out the survey?"
I couldn't wait to get home; I felt terrible about that because Peter Warren seemed to be just getting started.
Project Homeless Connect was a very interesting and fun experience. I arrived to Coors’s Field to have trouble finding which Gate was Gate A. I walk down the stairs to check in and get my clipboard. I met some friends in line and had fun talking with them right before the event started. I was paired up with a nice African American woman. She brought her daughter with her but her daughter was about the same age as me and needed assistance, so she was paired up with another volunteer. Angela knew what she wanted; she needed to first and foremost find a way to get help into an apartment. Luckily, Angela had taken a job and started Monday.
ReplyDeleteAngela also needed to get her birth certificate and a Colorado identification to be able to say who she was. The lines for housing were not too bad and Angela made good progress getting intake screenings done. The lines for birth certificates and ID’s were the longest but that is expected in a lot of cases; the lines were slightly shorter than those at the DMV. She was very amazed at how nice I was being and how willing I was to help her. She was not uncomfortable telling me information so that I may fill out the proper forms and it seems that she enjoyed my company.
I enjoyed volunteering at PHC because it actually gave me a chance to meet a new person who enjoyed my company. I enjoy helping others and I am glad that we got all the services that she needed and came for. Angela did say that “Colorado has the most resources for the homeless,” and she was “very happy to see that they have this [PHC]. “
First part:
ReplyDeleteThe alarm clock went off, and I hit snooze for another five minutes. Finally, I got out of bed and quickly tried to get ready. My dorm room was covered with the clothes I had been trying to pack the previous day. Uh-oh. I had packed my Project Homeless Connect shirt, mistaking it for my gold DU shirt. As I dug through my suitcase, trying not to wake up my roommate, my anticipation for the day ahead of me boiled up and down. I found it. I sat down in my car, I glanced over the directions one last time. I drove there nervously glancing at my watch. I was late. Finally, I parked, only to learn that this was not Lot A. After I had parked in the correct parking lot, I was still skeptical about my tardiness. I glanced in the direction of Coor's Field. There was a long lone of gold shirts; I was relieved. As I walked up to it, I saw my friend Brendan who was volunteering as a Greeter. Another whiff of assurance passed by me. I was instructed to sign in and get a clip board. At the clip board station, I saw my classmate, Nicole. More relief. I was grateful not to wait in that long line alone. I looked down the line to see many of my DU peers. I almost felt like I was on campus.
I was at the beginning of line. “ You go with them, it needs to be one volunteer per adult.” I was paired up with a women who had a little girl at the end of her left hand. My co-volunteer, Kim, was talking to a boy that looked about the same age as me. After introductions, Kim and I instantly started asking our clients questions. I scrolled down the list of questions with my client, Vanessa. Sometimes I felt silly asking a question, like when Vanessa did not at all look like a criminal. At this point, most people would have been surprised that Vanessa, and her two and half year old daughter were homeless because they definitely did not look like it. However, I had already made this realization at The Gathering Place, so Vanessa truly seemed like a client in my eyes. My nervousness peaked at that moment, but was instantly relieved as we entered the breakfast area. Once again I saw my friend Brendan. He brought me a bar, after I realized I hadn't grabbed any food because I was concentrating on getting my client food. We all sat down at the table, and I made sure to position myself next to Vanessa. I asked her the rest of the questions, and after she finished her meal, she filled out the rest of the forms. Meanwhile, Leah had been hording all the food on the table, not ready to let it go. She was almost afraid to finish anything because then she wouldn't have it anymore. So, instead she convinced her mom to let her eat half of everything, so the rest would have to be saved for later.
Second Part:
ReplyDeleteAlthough Vanessa initially wanted to stay together with her son and Kim, she soon realized that this wouldn't work time-wise as Kim and I read the list of stations needed to be visited. Vanessa's priority was housing. She had been living at her mother's cramped house with her four children for a year and a half. Throughout the day, she reiterated her mother's insistence that Vanessa move out. As we walked around the housing section, I was surprised to find separate booths of different organizations. We had to walk up to each one to see what it was about. Unfortunately for Vanessa, different barriers kept her from applying to many programs; having a son over the age of 21, having sons in general, not being abused, and so on. Nevertheless, we continued to keep trying. My reassurance was solidified as I saw my classmates, fellow residents, professors, and my boss, As we were walking, something soft and small kept brushing my right hand. I looked down to see Leah trying to hold my hand. Her mom soon realized and let out a gasp of shock. She explained that homelessness had taken a toll on Leah, and consequently, Leah was very shy, and didn't attach to people very quickly. Every time someone admired Leah, Vanessa would express her joy and disbelief that Leah had taken to me so quickly.
After getting some clothes, we went to get lunch after meeting back up with Kim and Shane. As we ate, we discussed how the day went. I felt a little bad that Vanessa did not accomplish what she had come here for. I, as well as Vanessa, was relieved, however, to hear that Shane had gotten his tooth and back fixed. After bidding good-bye to Vanessa, Shane, and Leah, I peered out to check if there were anymore clients. There wasn't. As I drove back to campus, I thought about Vanessa, and how kind she had been to me. I definitely could see how much love she gave to her children, and I really hope that despite all the difficulties she encounters trying to find housing, that soon, she will be able to move out of her mother's house. I saw, firsthand, how hard it was for the homeless to utilize the resources and supplies we try to provide to them. I was actually with Vanessa as she explained to different organizations that she had a job, was very willing to work, did not have any other problems. It was ridiculous that her main barrier was that she was not currently in a shelter. In fact, she refused to live in a shelter solely because she did not want her children to experience that if they did not absolutely have to. This experience solidified the fact that the system is flawed for homeless people to get out of their current state.
Sorry it's really long. First Part:
ReplyDeleteI made my way up the stairs, me in my bright yellow volunteer T-shirt, passing people in everyday wear heading down to get in line. Classified by our clothes, classified by the system. At the top of the stairs I met my client, Spring. She was in an electric wheelchair and I noticed that both of her legs had been amputated below the knee. She wore sunglasses and a black pin striped derby hat. Spring came with her friend, who she refereed to as her mother, an African American women a little older who was also in a wheelchair. I later found out that Spring was 50, and described herself as a Native Hawaiian who someday wanted to have her ashes spread over the ocean in Honolulu. Once we made it up the elevator to the medical center, I slowly found out that she was a diabetic with high blood pressure, taking multiple medications, vision problems, and had been diagnosed with depression among other things. She has prosthetic legs at home and goes to physical therapy every other day to gain her muscle back and work on walking with the fake legs. (I think they had been amputated in 2006, because of the diabetes). She was pretty funny, a bit quiet at times. I found that there were a lot of silent moments while we waited in line for the various services.
Spring was pretty happy that there were so many things being offered, but there were times when instructions such as where to stand, or how to check out, what services were where, or where the elevators were, slowed down our progress. Still, we were able to get a lot of help from the medical services upstairs, apply for food stamps, a new birth certificate, and a social security card downstairs as well as get some clothes and sheets. She is a Lakers fan. I'm not exactly sure of her housing situation, because she seemed to answer differently depending on where we went. I found out from my friend, who was the volunteer for Spring's “mother,” that Spring was staying with her, but she described herself as homeless and even told someone that she spent the night on the streets the night before.
Second Part: Walking around, it was how I expected PHC to be in one way. There were all different kinds of people! Old, young, people with disabilities, people who were dressed really nicely, people who had homes, were in shelters, were on the streets. Spring saw a lot of people she knew, and they were all happy to see her, ask her how she was doing, where she had been staying. She made a comment along the lines of “you have to come to something like this to see all your friends”.
ReplyDeleteAnd I saw a lot of my friends there, and lot a people I wouldn't have expected to see. I know one of the frats made it mandatory for their members to volunteer, which I think is great. I decided that even if they may not be into it at first, and you may run the risk of having them be “shitty volunteers”, I feel that there are very few people, even if they didn't want to be there, who would be a “bad volunteer” unless they are a complete jerk. Because I think once you get there and start talking, everyone can learn something from the experience.
It scared me. When we were getting checked in to go up to Medical, I overheard so many people saying that under mental health problems, they were depressed. My mom has been diagnosed with depression, among many other mental health problems. She doesn't have a job, she's pretty much unemployable. And I guess I know that if her dad didn't send money, she could easily be homeless. I would like to say that my dad, even though they are divorced, would never let that happen. But who's really to say? Or what if she hid it from us like Grace in “Tell Them Who I Am”? It's totally possible. Or what if my dad wasn't around? I'm really just one step away from the same situation. And its scary. I know everyone says that “it could happen to anyone” and even though I know that, I really felt it at Project Homeless Connect. And I know that all those diseases are in my genetic make up. My mom was adopted, so we don't really know where she gets it from, but I can't deny that I get seasonally depressed and I know that there's a chance those kinds of things can develop as you get older. And its scary. And I don't think we do enough for them. And its hard because I just hope that if I was ever in that situation, someone would do something more to help me.
Part 1:
ReplyDeleteI was born to be a volunteer. I have the kind of personality that just loves to connect to people, that wants to really understand their problems and what they need. I really want to help, I really want people to be okay. I feel great about what I do. I'm not afraid to go the extra mile to help people and to get their questions answered and needs met.
So if I were to look at project homeless connect as a function of how much good I did then yes, the day went great. My client had a broken wrist, and I took him to medical and he saw a multitude of nurses, got it bandaged, got a referral to go to a hospital to get some x-rays. He got some free clothes. In other ways I suppose some things didn't go so well; he wasn't qualified for food stamps, and he didn't want to wait in line for dental. But he kept telling me that he was really greatfull that I came down and did this, that I was helping him out. I had the dream client, that everyone was hoping to get. He was really nice, outgoing, wanted to chit-chat, knew exactly what services he was here to get, even seemed to know where to go to get them. I felt like I hardly had to do any work. Honestly, when I first met him I was relieved.
So yeah, on the outside he was great, I was great, everything about this situation was great. He was getting everything he needed. But on the inside I was awful.
My client had one other issue, that he was really eager to share with me. He was a chronic alcoholic. You see he had always been a bit of a drinker, but it had gotten a lot worse after he broke his wrist (about 3 weeks ago). Since he couldn't afford to go to the doctor he was drinking a lot more to ease the pain. And he was feeling pretty bad today. He was pretty hung over, and as the day wore on he was feeling sicker and sicker. Needed a drink.
I could rationalize all of this of course. You don't have a lot of choices when you are homeless, you have to make due with what you can get, this isn't his fault. But I could just smell it on him. And it made every part of me want to scream. Because that had been my life to long. Watching my mom have the shake, smelling that smell. And it just made it all to close, to real. I could've handled anything that day but that. I just kept thinking, why did he have to be an alcoholic?
Part 2:
ReplyDeleteAnd I could tell he just wanted to talk about it. He wanted someone to listen. He kept talking about how hard it was, needing that drink. He would laugh about it, try to make it a joke. But it isn't a joke for me. I couldn't listen. I just kept thinking. "If you could just be anything else. If you were a drug addict this would be easier for me. If you were mean to me or struggling with mental disorders or something this would be easier for me. I just can't do this." Because I wanted to be nice to him. More than anything I wanted to be nice but I couldn't because all I could think about when I looked at him, when he talked to me, when I smelled that smell, was all of the things that my mother has done to me. All of the abuse, all the shouting, and the fact that she had made me homeless.
He left before we could eat lunch because he was feeling sick because he hadn't had a drink in so long. He told me again how greatful he was and was gone. I broke down. I thought about getting another client. I went down to the line and saw a women I had interviewed at TGP. I thought I could see if I could be her guide. But she was standing with all of these men and I could think were these awful shallow things about "What if they have been drinking too? What if the next client is just as bad or worse? What if your issues get in the way of helping her too?" so I just left for awhile. Took sometime to get myself composed.
I spent the rest of the day working the table for Pioneers for Public Health, a club that I am in at DU. We gave vision screenings to people. I guess this was easier for me. It wasn't personal, you just stood there and told them to read the chart. I felt like I did more good there, just because I didn't have to worry about all of my feelings. I just helped, made sure people could see, gave them glasses. At least I saw the good I did there. And it was easier.
I know I did good. I know that the people I worked with were greatful. Even if it was just for one day. Even if it was tiny and won't really change anything. I know I did some good. But I still crawled into bed and watched crappy TV and cried for the rest of the afternoon when I got home. What can I say?
Waiting in line early in the morning to get paired with a person in need of PHC’s services I looked over at what I had in store. Everyone in the line for the homeless seemed to be dirty men, and I was starting to get nervous. Then a man named Alan walked up to me with a toothless smile across a stubble ridden face. We talked as we walked from the food station to the one at the other end of the Coors Field meant for dentistry, stopping in the middle to swipe a good looking back pack out of one of the clothing boxes. “I need a new backpack, I been using my girlfriend’s”. Alan had walked in carrying a bright pink back pack that some how didn’t seem to match his character. We sat in line after line to finally be sitting in a first aid room transformed into a crude dentists’ office. Alan, a man who had told me all about how he had worked on dangerous fishing boats all year from Seattle to Alaska, sat in a little green chair ringing his hands and darting his eyes dreading the second they sat him in one of the many dull gray dental chairs to yank two of his few remaining teeth from his mouth.
ReplyDeleteAlan walked out of the first aid room with a plastic bag covered in smiles and full of toothpaste and other necessities, and the red backpack he had so proudly spotted, but his triumphant mood had disappeared after the loss of two of his teeth in the makeshift dentists’ office. I heard a mumble come from next to me; “shebter” Alan said out of a clenched and raw mouth. The rest of our stops that afternoon were plagued by Alan’s bleeding mouth. Communication with the people in purple shirts at the shelter and watch tables got difficult, but everyone of the volunteers sympathized with Alan and left him with wishes for better health. After we had grabbed a watch for Alan and his girlfriend we tried to head up to get his wild gray hair trimmed, but after hearing that it would be at least an hours wait he seemed to have found his cheerier spirits again; “An hour! Ha! I’ll just find someone with some scissors”. We walked back to grab Alan a lunch to go, then we said goodbye and walked through checkout. Alan marched off with his new red backpack, food for later, two less teeth, a new watch, a few new shirts and new socks.
After leaving Alan with a “good luck” I jumped right back in line to be paired with another man; Elmo. Elmo strolled in wanting one thing, help with the taxes he had gathered in a plastic bag. I tried to get him to grab himself a lunch, but he was determined to get his taxes taken care of. I; however, got my wish and snagged him a lunch from one of the many purple shirts trying to distribute them throughout the building. Elmo ate his food while his taxes were looked over and explained to him, then he strolled off again with his plastic bag and a new pair of pants he swiped off a clothing table on his way out.
I decided it wasn’t overly late so I jumped right back in line to be paired with two friends with Leslie. They wanted to stick together, so Leslie and I tried to take one each while still remaining a group. We got the two food, took them through the tables of clothes while they grabbed this and that, then we had to split up for just a bit while myself and my partner headed up to the medical station for what was only supposed to be a blood pressure test, but turned into a hypochondriac’s dream. We stopped at every table and got every test possible done, while Leslie and the other friend walked off to look into this or that. On top of getting her blood pressure taken, my client made sure to have her vision, BMI, and blood sugar looked at, and as we walked back towards the stairs she looked longingly at the men and women with needles sticking out of all kinds of body parts in the acupuncture portion of the medical area. The four of us walked over to the US Bank table to open a bank account, then went back for a second round of lunch. The two walked out of coors field with multiple lunches, bags of clothes and a couple of tote bags filled with this and that necessity attributed to their gender.
The cars whisked by on I-25 as the mountains sat in the distant view. “This is the Louisiana/Pearl station. Next stop: University of Denver,” the automated voice said. I was almost back – back to reality, back to the fast-paced week that was sure to follow, and my memory of the day’s events would soon fade away. The mental and spiritual high that I had left Coors Field with as I saw my client give me a friendly wave goodbye would soon dissipate into the chaos and self-centeredness of daily routine.
ReplyDeleteI arrived and waited in line – eager to get back and commence with an endless list of things to do before the upcoming week and this was just another thing on the list. I saw my would-be client approach the volunteer who was in charge of directing us all to clients. “Charlie, this is G.S.. G.S., this is Charlie. He’s going to be helping you today.”
He seemed somewhat removed at first, but was friendly nonetheless. He didn’t look homeless (and, in fact, he wasn’t in the traditional sense as I would later learn). He had his Sony camera over his shoulder and sported a nice watch on the wrist. We went through the list, the majority of which he indicated he did not need to visit. So we continued to the lunch line and made our way around to the array of services and chose from a few that he had already indicated he wished to visit – vision check (and he did receive eyeglasses) and the line to obtain a birth certificate.
I was told to go in as a “helper,” but I soon realized I didn’t want that title. I felt that it was too patronizing, too self-righteous – as though I were providing this great service. I was angry. As the medical services volunteer spoke in a patronizing tone to my client, I wondered, do they not see the “Vietnam Veteran” hat? Do they not see that there is clearly more to be learned from this man than they can ever hope to teach him? That was my first glimpse that I was not the one to be helping. Rather, I would come away learning something from this man – more so than he could ever be gaining from me, and more than he could ever have expected to teach me when he was told by someone from the Veterans Assistance office to come down and receive some help.
For me, the most interesting moment of the day was experiencing the transition of roles. As I sat down with my client, I realized that he was not literally homeless as defined on the sheet in front of me or in society’s view, and it was evident that he was reluctant to be placed into the same pot as many of the other clients around him. He was eager to share that he had his own photography business, and he was even more excited to inform me that he surely was not homeless, but was a veteran and had been encouraged to come down and check things out. That was the turning point in our relationship for the day. What had started out as a relationship of tension and me encouraging him to take advantage of some of the services he clearly did not wish to visit, had turned into more or less of a mutual friendship and one in which I was beginning to learn from him just as much as (if not more than) he was learning from me. It related back to the overall question with individuals who really are homeless – once we begin to see these individuals as more than a label, as more than homeless, then we can really move on and make some progress. My client had become more than ‘homeless’ – he was a mentor; he was a veteran; he was human.
I got up way too early on a Saturday morning. I mean that might be the first time I have been up at 6:00 AM since high school, and I was shocked that the sun was already up. Anyway, I got up early to stand in line by 7:30 AM. But this wasn’t any line. I wasn’t waiting to buy DU season hockey tickets, or going snowboarding, which are both two very acceptable reasons to get up early and wait in lines; I was waiting in line to be paired up with a homeless client to act as their guide through Denver’s Project Homeless Connect 9.
ReplyDeleteThe waiting was the worst part of the day. All I could think about as I stood in line was I had absolutely no idea how to go about being part of client services. To cut down on some of the anxiety I was feeling I decided to ask the couple, in their mid 40s, in front of me if they had participated in previous Project Homeless Connect events. Bad idea. The man was fairly cranky, granted, it was 7:45 and I had just downed a very large diet coke so I might have had a little more energy than he appreciated that early. He snapped about how this was the third Project Homeless Connect that he had been to, but he only came because “this woman” [he shoved a thumb in his wife’s direction] made him. It was pretty clear he didn’t want to be there. The woman didn’t really have anything positive to say to me either; our conversation was mostly so that she could throw unsubtle jabs at her husband. They didn’t do anything to ease my anxiety, so I called Alex to find out where in the line she was waiting, I didn’t want stand with those two anymore. I made my way up to the front of the line (yes, I cut the line at a volunteer event…oops) to wait with Alex, Devon, Leslie, and Hadley instead.
Eventually I was paired up with my first client of the day, *Russ, a 50 year old, white man who was fairly quiet during our exchange. He seemed more content to just walk at a brisk pace without much conversation. We started out our morning with a light breakfast, I first made sure he wasn’t diabetic and didn’t have pressing dental needs, during which I proceeded to get to know him. Russ was born in Denver and has spent his entire life here except for nine years in which he was living on the East Coast in the Maryland, DC, Virginia areas. He went east to assist his sister in getting out of an abusive relationship and to help back up on her feet. For a couple of years she did well on her own, but eventually returned to the abusive relationship. Instead of staying out east to witness the affects of his sister’s choice he returned to Denver in 1994. Since 1994 he has struggled with finding a steady job and maintaining housing. Russ’s situation turned for the worst about a year ago when he was not able to work any longer due to physical and mental health conditions. For nine months he bounced from shelter to shelter and relied on friends, and for the past three months he has taken up residence on a sidewalk about a block away from Coors Field. Currently he lives off of Social Security checks and food stamps.
ReplyDeleteDuring breakfast Russ explained that he has everything that he needs except for some nice shorts, and a good pair of sandals. Since the clothing was supposed to be the last stop as the clients left Coors Field I convinced Russ to walk with me through the main concourse and see if there weren’t any services that could be helpful to him. He walked a brisk pace through the hoards of people and I scurried along behind him asking questions about his life and his experiences. He would grunt or mumble a few words about what I had asked but mostly preferred not to be pestered. We eventually ended up at Medical where Russ finally found some services that were helpful for him; he actually has very bad eyesight and needs glasses and a pestering sore was cleaned and wrapped. His vitals were taken as well, which confirmed that he is as “healthy as an ox,”…except for one or two things. With our trip to Medical completed Russ was anxious to get back to the clothing and out of Coors Field. At the clothing section we found that there weren’t really any shorts available for men. Russ took it all in stride and proceeded to look for sandals, but I was really upset. Russ had come to Project Homeless Connect with one goal, to get shorts and sandals, and there weren’t any shorts available. I felt like I had let him down because I wasn’t able to get him the one thing he had needed. I think Russ sensed my disappointment because he patted me on the head (he was really tall, like 6’5”) and told me that he appreciated my help and he would be able to survive without shorts for a few weeks until another clothing drive was available. After all, not having shorts wasn’t the hardest thing he had ever dealt with. We finished up the morning back at the same table that we had started out at. Russ had one more cup of yogurt and took an apple with him for the road. We were processed out and I walked Russ outside of the building to say goodbye; we shook hands and Russ smiled and thanked me for helping him. I was a little taken aback by the genuine thanks I was given. Although I had done nothing more than walk with the man through a concourse and talk with him he showed a great appreciation for my time.