Heart of the homeless

EDITOR’S NOTE: This article is the first in a two-part series on homelessness in Costa Mesa. The second half will appear next Sunday.  

It was sometime during the afternoon when I started to get really nervous.

The winter storm showed no signs of relenting. I might be outside all night.

I had planned a couple of weeks before last Friday to go homeless in Costa Mesa for a night and I couldn’t back out.

“You sure you don’t want to reschedule this?” my boss asked.

“I can’t. The homeless can’t reschedule when they’re homeless. I have no choice.”

The night before, I went over to the Salvation Army thrift store on Harbor Boulevard to get a backpack so I would look more authentically homeless.

“Honey, we’re sold out of those. This is the busy season, you know?” a clerk told me. I suppose she meant because the spring college semester had just started.

So I bought a cheap $10 backpack at Target, hoping no one would notice it was new. I picked up an emergency poncho as well, allowing myself to cheat a little bit.

I prepared as best I could. Long underwear, a sweatshirt, long-sleeve T-shirt, gloves, a knit hat, and a coat, too. I decided against bringing a sleeping bag with me as I figured it would just get soaked anyway. Better to just wander around, maybe I could find shelter in a viaduct or something.

But the rain kept coming down last Friday as I visited the Someone Cares Soup Kitchen in Costa Mesa in the afternoon to see if there was anyone dining there who I could tag along with in the evening. The volunteers introduced me to Juan.

I put my notebook away because I wanted Juan to open up. Later, I jotted down my recollection of his story, which fascinated me. They always do. I’ve done several stories over the years about the homeless, and, not surprisingly, they offer amazing tales.

God always provides