GOING DOWN TO THE MEAN STREETS OF PHOENIX

I GO WITH SOME RELUCTANCE

 Because I'm very happy on this hilltop outside Sedona, Az.  

 Looking south, I see the fascinating/ghost town of Jerome perched on the side of Mingus Mountain.

And almost every day I have visitors from the sky.

Sometimes they land only yards from my camp.

And here, I am in easy reach of friends who drop by.  This is Joseph Smyth, an important architect whose imaginative design work you may have seen in the childrens hospital of Washington, DC.

 I am so thankful for my friends--That's Kat on the left and her visiting sister Bronwen.

who come this day bringing dinner.

 So I leave my cozy campsite and go down toward Phoenix, spending the night here at a side road north of  town.

Then settle in here in the parking lot of the American Legion next to this law office.

The prices alone should tell you the kind of neighborhood I'm in.  I'm within a fenced area so I'm secure enough. 

A walk around the block shows I'm living near the homeless. This carefully constructed "den".....

was torn apart the next day by vandals.  

Parked near me is this fellow RVer , bold enough to live on the street.

On the back of his rig is this bit of profundity:  "You are the universe experiencing itself" --which I regard as truth.  I wanted to ask him:  and therefore---what?

Here's an interesting work of art right behind me.  A Jackson Pollock piece?

And nearby is this patriotic work of art.

And down the block this noble Indian.

And this classic work on a flower pot.

Here's an appealing coffee shop/ tattoo parlor

next door to a philosophy shop.  I meant to come experience this place but didn't get around to it--

because I had to take care of this little hospital chore--a colonoscopy.
Meet one of my oldest travel friends---Brenda Harris---who drove across town to shephard me through the process.  Some years ago, Brenda took a week out of her life to teach me how to operate a computer.  There are two poems about her in my book.

Next day--while walking the mean streets , I came across this lump of stuff on the sidewalk,

laid back a flap and discovered a body--it was totally unresponsive to voice or touch.  Eventually I saw that it was breathing.  I have a friend who'se an expert in these matters, so I called him for advice on what I should do.  His very surprising answer was:  NOTHING.   "As tempting as it is to rescue or get cops involved, or even buy him a meal---ANYTHING you do to ease his situation is ENABLEMENT and you become part of his problem."

I returned later in the afternoon--and he was still totally unresponsive.  I took my friend's advice and did nothing.  The story of the good samaritan crossed my mind---can it possibly be that alcoholics are a special class of (self?) victimized people that (when the whole picture is considered) should be left alone to die on the street.
That may be my best option but I believe society has a better option:  If I had my way, we would gently, humanely, educationally restrain him in some lovely place ---for years if necessary--until we could be aabsolutely sure he was over his alcohol addiction.  (how could you ever be sure?--easy--put small amounts of alcohol within easy reach.  When he could resist for months on end--we could release him)

RANDY PHILOSOPHIZES:  I'm not done with the streets of Phoenix---I want to show you the glitzy side of things in my next post.