This past winter was one of the hardest that Atlanta had ever seen. During the flooding rains, icings, and snow and wind storms, I worried about my homeless lady friend. Weeks went by and I thought maybe she’d found a shelter and was no longer on the street.
Eventually I saw her again, and I asked her where she’d been. She shrugged. I asked her where she lived when the weather got cold. She pointed to one of the tent cities under a nearby overpass. I asked her if she would go to a shelter if I could find her one. She shrugged, it seemed that she hadn’t considered going to a homeless shelter on her own and was resigned to life as she knew it.
I did some research, expecting to find at least a few shelters downtown. With all downtown’s homeless, I was sure that someone, some non-profit or church group saw the overwhelming need and had a safe place for homeless people to live in the winter months.
I also thought that homeless shelters would be built in central locations near public transit and other government social services.
I was wrong. There was a men’s shelter downtown, but they had a hard time staying in compliance of city ordinances. This economic crisis hit them hard. They had no water for a while, and were, at least briefly, shut down. There was one shelter for women and children, but it was at least 10 miles from downtown. I can’t imagine why a homeless shelter would be built in the suburbs away from public transit. I’ve never even seen a homeless person in Atlanta’s mostly wealthy suburbs.
I must admit that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of chauffeuring my new friend to a shelter. And who knew if she’d even get in or be willing to stay? She was used to downtown, and with her mental problems I wasn’t sure how she’d adapt to the ‘burbs.
I called the shelter anyway, and learned that she would have to call first and go through their intake process before she could be driven there. (Call how? On the magic payphones that exist downtown that don’t take any money? Or was she supposed to whip out the cell phone that she could afford on her homeless salary?) The person that I talked to at the shelter didn’t think that my homeless friend had a good chance of being admitted as the shelter mostly catered to women with small children.
Still, I gave my homeless friend the number to the shelter along with a bag of chips that I’d saved for her. While we were huddled in a walkway, she asked me to cover her while she adjusted herself. Out of one of the folds of her clothes, she pulled out a little change purse. I saw a couple of one dollar bills and a few quarters and dimes. She was so protective of her money, and she knew just how to hide it. I can’t imagine the harshness of the life she lives. She not only has to deal with the whims of the weather, she also contends with the brutality of her fellow humans. Yet, I could tell she was comfortable with her current surroundings and those with whom she lived under I-75. Somehow, I didn’t think she would be calling the homeless shelter in the suburbs.






