Debra
On February 6, 2017, I was at the Brainerd, MN laundromat where for the first time I got to see what homelessness was really all about. These are the naked facts as they occurred that night with the only change to them being the names of the people involved. I was involved though. For anyone who chooses to read this, I hope you will be moved at all if not moved to action. In the end, you will find that this isn’t just a story about homelessness. This is a one night anecdotal story that in my opinion clearly writes a detailed equation of what makes up the homeless problem: police brutality and ineffectiveness, social workers with a heart but limited resources, and government agencies with resources and no heart.
Every weekend my Mom and I (and usually a sibling or two) go to the laundromat to do the week’s laundry. Do we have a washer and dryer? Yes. However, with my Dad on assignment elsewhere and 6 kids in the house, my Mom has found just dedicating an evening on the weekend is the easiest way to slay this chore monster at a well-lit and convenient strip mall location. As an experience, I don’t really mind. I usually get Wendy’s out of it, free entertainment in the form of my Mom’s jokes, and credit for being helpful. What kid doesn’t love credit? I love credit. Especially extra credit. The night of February 6, however, I got a dose of extra reality that I did not account for. That night, I met ‘Debra.’
Try to picture a beige room lined with washers and dryers on three of the four sides and down the middle of the room. Fill in the rest of the area with laundry folding tables, and you have a pretty good picture of the setting where Debra walked in as my Mom and I leaned casually against one of the tables. She was loud, and came right up to my Mom and I. My Mom straightened as the red-haired woman, thin, and clothed in blue jeans and a grey winter jacket quickly approached. Her mop of hair is what stood out to me the most as I took in her appearance and countenance. It was haphazardly piled in an up-do of curls that I couldn’t decide was neat or disordered.
“Can I borrow your phone? I need to call someone,” Debra asked my Mom.
“Sure, whom are you calling?” said my Mom. I remember confusion, wariness, and more confusion were my initial response to this woman. I kind of didn’t want her touching my phone—the one my Mom just volunteered I assumed in the moment to hand over to this stranger. “I’ll be happy to dial it for you.”
“My friend Patricia,” replied Debra. “I need to talk to her because I can’t get home to Pine Center unless I get some help! All I wanted was to see my kids, and they won’t let me, so I need to make just one phone call.”
To make this story short, my Mom did dial the number, and she did not hand over my phone like I expected. Instead, she held the phone and put it on speaker. Debra finished her conversation, and when it was over, my Mom did the opposite of what I thought would happen next. First, she spoke to Patricia herself and gave the woman on the other end of the line our phone number. Then, she offered Debra whatever help she could. To the best of my memory, this is how the conversation went.
“Hey! It’s cold out. I wouldn’t recommend staying on the streets. Sounds like you don’t have a place to go?”
To that question, Debra started to pace back and forth, become agitated, talk very quickly, and her voice louder. I don’t really remember everything she said because it suddenly became a jumble of facts that contradicted other things she had put forward as facts. Soon, it became clear to me anyway, that this woman didn’t seem to be mentally stable. That doesn’t mean that I experienced her as dangerous. Rather, it means that she appeared anxious, behaving socially unacceptable, and fidgety bordering hyperactive. My Mom then offered to call a friend who worked at the local Salvation army. For this story, I’ll call her Kristine.
Kristine was a social worker, and a longtime friend of my mother’s. When my Mom finally got a hold of her after a couple of dials, she did what even I have come to learn about her. She offered to help. She said that she had a small budget that would allow her to put Debra up in a hotel for the evening, but she would have to acquire transportation herself to get there. The police are often an option if she is willing to accept that help, Kristine offered. However, the Salvation Army cannot assume the liability for transport of the people they reach out to help. Another possibility might be Northern Pines Emergency hotline as they have the resources and budget to aid in this kind of a situation. Regardless of what method, Kristine said she was on her way to do the intake and get this situation with Debra resolved temporarily the best that she could. If Pine Center was ultimately where Debra wanted to go, Kristine on Monday could even provide bus fare.
Almost on cue when Debra got wind that we’d like to call the police to get her to the hotel she bolted, afraid. When my Mom called back to her, she said we were asking her to many personal questions, and she didn’t want the police. As it was a dark and snowy night, I didn’t count on my Mom saying we needed to get in the car and follow her. So, we did.
Debra hadn’t gone far. She had stopped at the convenience store across the street from the laundromat. My Mom told me to stay in the car, and thus the rest of what I am about to tell you is from what I heard happened next and from what I could see through the plate glass windows of the standalone building.
My Mom entered, and told Debra that we only wanted to help her. It was too cold for her to be out at night. She offered to buy her a pack of cigarettes, and offered to pray with her as Debra had made multiple references to her faith in our conversation with her earlier. My Mom explained to her that Kristine would be arriving shortly, and that if Debra wasn’t comfortable with the police then they didn’t need to be involved. But, not a few minutes later, the police did show up unannounced, and uncalled by my Mom or Kristine. We never learned who called them.
“I knew it! You called them!” Debra exclaimed, my Mom told me later.
“No, I promise you I didn’t. These police stop in here all the time for coffee and it wouldn’t shock me if they bought a donut or two! I swear to you, though, I didn’t call them and Kristine will be here soon to help. Don’t run off!”
“Sorry…I gotta go….” Debra apparently said as she eyed the police entering the convenience store, and cut a quick stretch to the door.
“Hey, are you the person who called,” said a tall officer to my Mom. I could only see from my vantage point, but later my Mom had told me what he’d said.
“No, I didn’t call you, and I don’t know who you are. We’re just trying to help this woman.”
And my Mom went outside, and would later be grateful to run smack into Kristine.
“Hey! You are a sight! Thank you so much for coming! Debra, this is my friend, Kristien and she—“
One quick shove from the back and my Mom fell forward. “Ma’am, you need to get out of my way so I can do my job.”
“You have no right or any reason to lay your hands on me.,.I’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant that!” my Mom told me she said. “I have great respect for law enforcement, but shoving me is over the top!”
Kristine, however, knew the police officer and greeted him warmly, effectively defusing the situation if not my Mom’s outrage. She hadn’t called the police, and saw that their presence was clearly upsetting a homeless woman in greatest danger from herself, but potentially a danger to others. We could help her, my Mom would later say in the car, but we’d have to cater to her needs as opposed to the needs of a community that frequently pretended it didn’t have a homeless problem.
Yep. My Mom was furious. A few more minutes, and Debra would be safely in a hotel. Instead, my Mom felt horribly guilty for unintentionally having Debra talk to the people she appeared to fear the most. Law enforcement.
My Mom got in the car, and we drove off as she didn’t want to stick around and get into it with the police. She wanted to help, but she wasn’t going to have an altercation with law enforcement herself. Worse, my Mom and I needed to get the laundry out of the dryers, but now we weren’t sure if it would be safe. If Debra was not taken to the hotel, she might return to the laundromat. We already saw her behavior was erratic. We weren’t sure if it would be violent as well.
We sat for a few minutes in a parking lot across from the laundromat and saw Debra come into it briefly, and then leave. Kristine called us as we watched from a distance, and told us that Debra had refused any kind of police transport, and any kind of help from the Salvation Army. Therefore, there was little more that she could do. My Mom told her that we were worried to go back to collect our clothes, and like the great friend Kristine just is she came over to help us get our stuff. She probably came over to commiserate about the situation too. When they get together, they talk. And talk. And then talk some more.
We went home, my Mom a bit tearful and despondent. I knew she’d really wanted to help Debra. And now, we had no idea where she was. We believed her to be cold, however. Alone.
In just a few hours, however, our cell phone would ring. And…it would be Debra.
