Standing on the banks of the Cuyahoga River I watch a homeless man fish. A giant factory is a quarter of a mile up the river and I wonder how it caught on fire. But it did. The banks are blanketed in deep forest and after walking a path through the woods is a glade. Tarps and tents and fireplaces make a camp. This is the home to several men, a couple of women ... one of whom is pregnant ... and a dog. A quarter of a mile in the other direction is downtown Cleveland.
"HA!" he screams pulling out a catfish.
The people I am with are treating medical conditions of the people who live here. I'm introduced and Brenda immediately starts talking to me. Originally from western New York she wants to know all about me so we talk until it is her time to be examined.
Louie, the camp's Chief ... he's Native American and a Vietnam veteran tells me to take the path to the river so I do and watch the fishing.
My I-phone vibrates and old habits die hard. I whip it out of its holster and snap it to life in lightening speed. I used to get hundreds of emails in the course of a work day and tried to deal with all of them in real time. That is no longer my life but the habits remain.
It's an email that takes me by surprise. It is from my past. A lengthy collection of words that ranges from wishing me well to inquiring about my life now to telling me what I need to do.
I sigh.
The fisherman is standing in front of me showing me the catfish. He is grinning yellow teeth and dim blue eyes. Teeth are first sign of downward mobility in the United States. If they are taken care of you're doing all right. If you're not doing so well, teeth are the first thing to be ignored.
Putting my phone away, I smile and examine the fish.
We return to the camp where the doctor and nurse have finished their work. It is time to hike to the next camp.
They come to these camps regularly and develop relationships with the people who live in them. Over time they convince the folks who live in them to get treatment, get sober, move into a shelter then on to housing. Find a job. Pay taxes and live the American Dream that the rest of us chase.
There is something holy and spiritual about the work. The doctors and nurses explain how it has changed their lives. The homeless folks learn to trust again. There are no prayers or sermons ... just the divine acts of being kind.
"All we have is one another to get each other through," is how one put it.
So that is the work. It is happening from Calcutta to Cleveland. Unfortunately it is needed in too many other places.
Walking up a steep hill to another cap, my phone vibrates and I whip it out. It's a text message inquiring whether I got the email.
I stop and the entire team stops with me. Below is a beautiful view of downtown Cleveland. We still have another several hundred yards to climb so I keep everybody in limbo. They are all looking at me with concern.
"One sec," I say as I type ... "I did."
Then we get back to work.
And I'm struck how the same concern and compassion given to the sick, the hungry, the poor ... is given to me.
