This op-ed appeared in Street Roots in April.
Me, cleaning the sink after someone has showered at the Sunnyside Methodist Church.
If you had told me back in December that I’d soon know all the homeless people in my neighborhood on a first-name basis, I would have laughed. But not only is this true; I have a dozen of their names entered into my phone. I’ve delivered a home-cooked dinner to one guy after his eye surgery, I helped one fellow apply for a spot at Agape Village, and on Easter Sunday, I bought a cot for an elderly houseless guy who’d told me the day before, “I’m too old to sleep on the ground anymore.”
All because of the shower project that the Sunnyside Neighborhood Association launched at the Sunnyside Methodist Church in January.
Let me explain. Last December, I joined a Sunnyside Neighborhood Association Community Committee to do outreach to the unsheltered folks who had just relocated to Sunnyside Park. They’d moved there, in part, because the city had just “swept” Laurelhurst Park, and Sunnyside was the park nearest to Laurelhurst. Sunnyside Park also had two streets that did not face residences, which I later found most houseless folks are quite conscientious about. We invited Raven Drake from Street Roots’ new Ambassador Program to help us make contact with our unsheltered neighbors. John Mayer, executive director of Beacon PDX, was also there to facilitate introductions.
The first outreach was the most awkward. But after that initial round of “knocking” on folks’ tents and having conversations about the weather, it got easier. As a neighborhood association, we were trying to figure out how to best help these folks while they are living in a park so close to us. So we asked them, “What do you need?” A thin 30-something woman in a colorful scarf and puffy jacket said laundry would be nice, because she hadn’t washed her clothes in a long time. Someone else said he hated how messy the camp had become — but they had no way to dispose of trash once they’d collected it into trash bags.
We started with a volunteer-led trash pickup, with several residents taking truckloads of trash to the dump, paying the fees themselves. I took on the “hygiene coordinator” role and was responsible for calling the city’s Homelessness and Urban Camping Impact Reduction Program to get a porta-potty installed near the park as well as ensuring that someone was collecting and disposing of needles safely and properly.
One day, I got a call from Matt, a Sunnyside Neighborhood Association board member, saying that the Groves Church, the congregation now at the former Sunnyside Methodist Church, had said we could use their showers two days a week. Soon, my fellow committee member Ash and I were off to Ikea to buy white towels and bath mats.
In very short order, I became known as “the Shower Lady.” I wrote up a list of protocols for volunteers and for people using the showers.
I’d show up at 1 p.m. on Saturdays at the park, when Beacon PDX provided lunch, clipboard in hand, and ask folks when they wanted a shower. Another committee member, Jenna, who is an elementary school teacher, printed up adorable “Shower Reminder” tickets that I scribble a person’s appointment on so he or she would have a visible reminder. Someone at the church donated more towels; Jenna and her husband Daniel did a Costco run for shampoo, body wash and clean underwear; someone else donated a hair dryer. We were off and running.
I’ll be the first to admit that I had no idea what I was doing when we started this pilot. But with the help of a few great volunteers (many of whom are still volunteering on a weekly or every-other-week basis) and with the support of the Sunnyside Neighborhood Association Community Committee, the “shower ministry,” as I call it, has become a reliable service for people experiencing homelessness in our neighborhood. In fact, the Groves recently gave us a third day: Saturday.
It’s humbling to be able to offer such a basic service as a warm shower and know that it’s making a difference in people’s lives. Each person who showers leaves the church with a lighter step. For most of them, this will be the only shower they have this week. Every single one of our houseless neighbors thanks us for being there and for the shower. (It’s not lost on them that most Neighborhood Associations are full of upset neighbors who just want them to go “somewhere else.”) I periodically get texts from some of my houseless friends saying, “I appreciate you and what you’re doing. Thank you.” Just today, one of our regulars, grateful that we didn’t leave early because he didn’t show up at the appointed time, texted me and my other volunteer, “I love you guys.”
Getting to know my unhoused neighbors has enriched my life. I’ve learned to expect the questionable advice from one fellow who arrives by bike and always tells my co-volunteer and I that a daily shot of whiskey will keep COVID-19 at bay. Another regular arrives early just to chat with me about his day — or sometimes his past. A former meth addict, he’s been clean for a year and is living in a doorway, trying to stay safe and warm (and sober). He says he’s a loner, but he’s gregarious and clearly craves company. He’s been homeless for 17 years and has finally decided that he can’t live this way anymore. He wants a roof over his head. Then there’s the 40-something man who had never been homeless until 2020, when the bar he owned shuttered and his wife divorced him. He used to play bass in a rock band, and I bring him my back issues of Rolling Stone to read. I used to walk past houseless people on the street, feeling incapable of helping, let alone engaging. But getting to know these folks who come for showers makes me see them — really see them. Now, when I go running in the park, I say hello to the folks I know, sometimes even stopping for a chat.
Some people are punctual or even early for their shower appointments and don’t need reminders. Others are no-shows, not even texting to let me know they’re not going to make it. Others don’t have phones, so can’t tell me if something has come up to wreck their plans for their day. It’s OK — we volunteers have learned to roll with it. It’s not like we have to make an appointment to have our showers. We can have them whenever we like.
Some take short, military-style showers — in and out of the facility in 10 minutes. My favorite, though, is when people sing while they shower. One guy brings his radio, elevating his shower to a musical experience. We can hear his melodious voice drifting up the stairwell and it always makes me smile.
Finally, knowing more of my houseless neighbors has made me feel safer in my neighborhood. Perhaps that’s not surprising; we tend to fear the unknown.
When you don’t know individual houseless people, you are more likely to make assumptions about “houseless people” as a group. And, I think, you are more likely to lose touch with the humanity of each person. As I’ve gotten to know the individuals who come for showers, I realize how delightful, soulful, hilarious, creative and sweet they are. I can’t fix all of their problems or even get them housing, but I can help them get a warm shower. And for that I am grateful.