Portraits
/ M. He
was wired, on crack or might as well-- his 3-month welfare motel stay up next
week and he was coming to our office for options. He settled on one after
10 minutes: was going to get his gun, blow everyone away downstairs, at
drug rehab center, then come up to get Lois and me and finally turn barrel
on himself. No more worries about homelessness, drugs no more counselors
to answer, cops to fear, no more god to feel guilty about in morning. Lois
left office suddenly, so this case all mine. I wasn't sure whether he really
had a gun and if so whether it was on him. I tried focusing him on healthier
housing alternatives--but there weren't any. He'd been kicked out shelter
for 6 months and had about used up his 3 months of welfare emergency shelter
motel aid staying at Route 1's cardboard welfare motel. More we talked,
angrier he got. I contemplated calling for help maybe even the police,
but was afraid if he had gun on him he'd use it right there. I asked about
his family--there was nothing about family to keep him hooked to this world.
His wife left with son, parents' location unknown. Just thinking about
wife leaving enough to convince him further murder-suicide the only honest
way out of this fix. I asked about jobs, what dream job would be. That
angered him cause it required reading and he'd never learned to read. That's
easy. I could teach you to read, I said. Would you do that?
he asked & started weeping. Sure, and we set up a weekly schedule
as he cried all the way out the door. When he left, I asked his counselor
downstairs to check on him tonight--wasn't sure that was appropriate social
work protocol but thought it better than calling police. He never showed
up for reading lessons. When his motel stay ran out the next week, he
threw a brick through window downstairs, tripping alarm, and sat on the sidewalk
waiting for cops to arrive to take him to only warm bed for which he was
still eligible under Central Jersey's social safety net.
Eliot
Katz 10/2000 |