By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
At this very moment, the mayor and city council of Dallas are teetering on a precipice, dangling from a parapet, dancing on the edge, hanging by a thread from a cliff towering over jagged rocks above a cruelly surging sea--yeah, I would even say they were at the tipping point--of doing something right about the homeless. Everybody who watches this stuff has his heart in his throat and the hair standing up on the back of his neck and his teeth chattering. I can't feel my feet or hands.
This cannot come to pass. City Hall may be on the verge of doing the right thing, but that doesn't mean it will. If past is prologue, the mayor and council will find some way to un-verge themselves and mess this thing up like a junk pile after all. I mean, come on: I can't make any money writing about things going right.
But...last week an overwhelming majority of the council seemed to endorse a solution to the downtown homeless situation that would not involve trying to make the homeless evaporate. And I have to admit I'm relieved. Evaporating people is such a scary concept.
By accepting the concept of a service center for the homeless located near downtown--instead of a Soviet re-settlement camp out in some politically benighted neighborhood--the council was bowing to an almost unbroken chorus of expertise from around the country. For months experts have been telling a special commission chaired by insurance executive and former mayoral candidate Tom Dunning that trying to make the homeless disappear from downtown (poof, no homeless) will not work.
Build it, and they will not come.
One of the most telling testimonies the commission heard was from Dallas police officials: They explained that the city will never be able to use cops to enforce the poofing of the homeless downtown. I will explain more of that in a bit.
The preferred site recommended last week by the Dunning Commission is minutes from the center of downtown but isolated by freeways and the Farmers Market. Dunning is telling people that this is the way--the only way--to enforce a zero tolerance policy for noxious behavior downtown: aggressive panhandling, drunkenness, sleeping in doorways, indecent exposure.
Deal with them where they are. Give them a place to sleep, to get out of the weather and use a toilet. Put that facility in a place the police can get to quickly. Then you can enforce the rules of civilized behavior, and by the way, there are such rules.
Downtown business and property owners are not just whistling Dixie when they say the re-development of downtown cannot happen while downtown still smells like a urinal. But only when there is a viable, practical, pragmatic alternative can the city crack down on wino-ism.
The proposed site is sane and humane. It can't last. The mayor and the council will find some way to rip this up and turn it into a mud wrestling match. This is my earnest faith.
Last Friday night I attended the premiere of John Fullinwider's new play, Bridges--a story about the homeless in Dallas. Fullinwider has cleverly updated his material with jokes about shopping carts and other contemporary references, but the meat of the play is his experience 15 years ago as a community organizer among the homeless in Dallas.
The play includes some wonderfully written and acted scenes and some wooden scenes. Fullinwider writes beautifully about the homeless and less effectively about Fullinwider. But things like this play--and the national journalism being published on this issue, and maybe some wonderful novel that's going to come out of an SMU kid we've never heard of, maybe a new history of Dallas by a trained scholar--will be the enduring name and face of the city.
It's what people know and will know about Dallas. And let me tell you: I sure wouldn't want to be known only by Bridges, a dark, bitter screed that ties the city's inhumane treatment of homeless people to a curse far deeper in its soul.
Just an example: The Fullinwider character in the play speculates that maybe he didn't get beat up in jail because he has been too prominently featured on TV and in the newspaper lately. A homeless guy doubts it: "Ain't nobody more famous than John Kennedy," he says, "and even he couldn't get out of this town alive."
Think that's a cheap shot? I think it's theshot--an honest if brutal exposure of the history the city has woven around itself. This kind of thing, the way the city handles a problem with its poorest and least powerful residents, is far more important to the city's image in the world than any number of fake fandango suspension bridges we may build across the river downtown.
The better side of the city's nature has been reflected in Dunning and his fellow commission members. Very few of the people who have followed this process will say the commission has been anything but fair, square and responsible.
I spoke to Dunning last week before I saw Bridges: It was interesting to me that both he and Fullinwider made the same point. Both said that the homeless downtown, once called winos, used to have a legitimate semi-permanent rung on the socioeconomic ladder--maybe near the bottom of the ladder but a place where they could hang their hats.