Homeless Alcoholics
To drink and die on the streets of Providence. What dreams once filled the heads of the homeless alcoholics who wander the city were replaced by cheap booze and the constant need for more years ago. They know each other from chance meetings in homeless shelters and emergency rooms. A wary friendship exists as long as the alcohol flows. Once the bottle is empty the quest begins again and friendship forged from desperation become secondary to survival. These are lonely lives lived by lost souls, an existence sane people cannot imagine.
Has society failed them, or have they failed society? It is a question I often ask as I transport one after another to the area emergency rooms. Time and time again the ritual is performed. Through the years I have come to know them, their faces imbedded into my memory. Cowboy, after years surviving on the streets finally found dead in a dumpster. Sivine, a Vietnamese refuge who dined in the trash cans that line Broad Street dead in a field. Armand, whose frostbitten fingers and toes were amputated after spending a night unconscious under the stars one sub zero January night found floating by the pier near the hurricane barrier. Russell, a living corpse who survives on the streets by using Rhode Island Hospital as his personal hotel and the Providence Fire Department his taxi service. Curtis, who stayed sober for a year or so has returned, drinking with a vengeance. Deb, who manages to put on her make-up at the shelter every morning; by afternoon she is drunk again, her tears leaving black trails down her cheeks. Chris has been missing for a while. I wonder if he is dead, sober or waiting to make his triumphant return. John has been sober for years now. I see him from time to time. He is pleasant, a little reserved but sober. His drinking career ended the night he drank furniture polish looking for more when the booze ran dry. There are many, many more. Desperate men do desperate things. There is a lot of desperation lurking beneath the polished surface of the Renaissance City.
Why are these people allowed to roam the streets? Their behavior is habitual and reprehensible. Every day the emergency rooms treat the “regulars.” The cost to the health care system is astonishing. The homeless alcoholics drink until they can drink no more, then either they or a concerned citizen calls 911 for help and a rescue is sent. Nearby, a true medical emergency could and does occur, the victims wait for help while a drunken person is given a ride to the hospital to sleep it off. Day after day, night after night they call. There is no rehabilitation. There is no cure. There is no easy answer.
Who is responsible for this disgraceful situation? I am a guilty part of the machine allowing this debacle to continue. It is easier for me to put them in the truck and dump them off at the hospital than drive away and leave them to suffer the consequences of their actions. It is also true that I could lose my livelihood if one of them was injured or died as a result of their self inflicted condition. The hospital is also guilty. Day after day the patients are treated and released. The game is played over and over and has been for years. The Department of Health shares the blame. It is easier to maintain the status quo than develop a plan that will cure them or have them committed. The police department is also complicit. Why aren’t the repeat offenders arrested for being drunk and disorderly or public drinking? Social services such as Crossroads try to help but simply cannot be held responsible for the actions of those who will not help themselves.
The fact that the drinking is funded mostly by taxpayer money is another truth contrary to rationality. Disability payments for alcoholic behavior fuel the very fires that caused the disability. Giving people cash who have proven again and again that they are incapable of handling the responsibility is plain wrong.
Who has the courage to end the handouts and put these people where they belong; either prison or committed to a psychiatric facility? Apparently, none of us.
