Over the years we have developed a “route” for our annual delivery. A week before we deliver, I used to hunt down a homeless man named Tony and let him know when we were coming. Tony then would spread the word that we would be at McDonalds bright and early that Saturday morning. In 2004, Tony went to live with his sister because his health was deteriorating. Sadly, we learned in 2005 that Tony passed away. We had known him for a good number of years. He was a little man, a gentle man, a sweet man. Breezy and I were especially fond of him, and he is sorely missed. We also lost Margie this year. Margie was a Native American in her seventies, who lived in a shed behind a hair salon called the Clip Joint. She had a terrible limp and would hobble through a very busy intersection to McDonalds for coffee, that is, until a young homeless man, whose name I never learned, took it upon himself to bring coffee to her every morning so she wouldn’t have to make the painful trek. (Many of the homeless become like family and take care of each other as best as they can.) The lady who owned the salon (which is gone now, too) is a big advocate for the homeless. She gave them free haircuts and hosted a Christmas party for them every year. And she kept an eye on Margie. I understand that she even went as far as to track down Margie’s family in South Dakota – but Margie chose to stay on the streets; and then we lost her.

  Even though Tony isn’t around to spread the word anymore, we still start at McDonalds where, more often than not, there are a few homeless people inside – escaping the cold December morning. In 2005, Breezy and I arrived before Kate and made our way to the Ladies’ Room. A couple of men, who I suspected were homeless (contrary to popular belief, not all homeless people are panhandling or “flying signs” – many have jobs or collect aluminum, and many work very hard to blend in and don’t necessarily look homeless), were sitting at a booth drinking coffee. When I came out of the Ladies’ Room, they were gone. I saw through the window that they were standing outside, so I went out and asked if they knew anyone who could use a blanket or a backpack. They responded affirmatively and enthusiastically, and one of them even remembered us from previous years.

  When we got to my car, I saw that Kate had parked right next to me. She saw us from inside McDonalds and came out to greet us – followed shortly thereafter by Breezy. Kate had all the blankets in her car, and I had everything else in mine. We opened up the two cars and told them to take whatever they needed. One of them asked if we would be there for awhile because he wanted to go tell his buddy that we were here. We were able to help about a dozen people at that stop. One was a girl who couldn’t have been more than 20 years old. She was very timid and, at first, she wouldn’t take anything at all, but eventually she took some gloves and socks. There was an older woman, as well. She told us that when she was 39 years old, a doctor said she had an aneurism in her brain and that she wouldn’t live to see 40 (she is now 53 and living on the streets). She talked and talked as she sorted through the tubs of clothes and coats – and with every item that she picked up, she would interrupt herself to ask if she could have it. We kept telling her that she could have as many of whatever she needed or wanted, but she still insisted on asking – every time. She said that being homeless wasn’t going to stop her from behaving like a lady.

  When everyone had moved on, we packed everything from my car into Kate’s so the three of us could travel together to the next destination, Republic Square, where we usually find a number of people in need. We had forgotten that it was now being used as a Farmers Market, so the homeless who frequented that park were forced to move on. From there we headed to Wooldridge Park where we came across four men. One of them tried on every coat we had, but none would fit him. He was very nice and cheerful, nonetheless, and gladly took a blanket and a couple of muffins. Another man was sleeping under a tree without so much as a blanket. It was obvious that he was “newly-homeless” because he was sadly ill-quipped for the freezing weather. Breezy woke him up, brought him over to the car, and loaded him up with a sleeping bag, toiletries, hat, etc.

  After Woodridge Park, we drove around downtown some more, handing out blankets here and there. We noticed a man sleeping in the doorway of a downtown club. Kate parked the car and we quietly got out. She placed a blanket at his feet, being careful not to wake him. As Breezy was putting out a backpack and I was digging around for sweats to leave for him, he woke up. We apologized for waking him – and he seemed a little confused. From the car, it had appeared that he was sleeping under a mound of blankets, but when we were standing next to him, we realized he had one thin blanket on top of a piece of cardboard. He was so cold that he couldn’t even get up. We gave him another blanket and some sweats, which he gratefully accepted. Breezy gave him five muffins that he quickly devoured. He was very humble and very thankful, and obviously surprised that someone cared enough to stop and help him out – he even asked if we were with a church.

  At Waterloo Park (yes, yet another downtown park), we only found one homeless man. All he wanted was a better jacket because he was going to be hitchhiking to San Antonio and the weatherman was predicting freezing rain in the next day or so. He had gone to the ARCH (Austin Resource Center for the Homeless), but they didn’t have one to give him. We didn’t have a jacket for him, either, but we did give him a sweater and a hoodie that he could layer under the jacket he was wearing, plus a hat, gloves and socks. We gave him all the muffins we had left, as well.

  From there, we headed to Palm Park. On the way, we saw a lady walking down the sidewalk talking to herself. Kate asked her if she could use another blanket. She declined, and in fact, didn’t really want to talk to us at all. Kate and I told Breezy how we had watched this lady spiral downward in a few short years. The first time we saw her downtown (near where we work), she looked like any other professional woman. She was impeccably dressed in a business suit and heels. Her make-up was carefully applied and she had not one hair out of place. She confidently walked down the sidewalk pulling a beautiful tapestry suitcase with wheels. Anyone would have thought she was catching the downtown express bus to the airport. But then we saw her again the next day, and the next, and the next. Months went by and then years; and we continued to see her. Her clothes became soiled, then worn, and then tattered; her hair uncombed, her face unwashed; her heels replaced with house shoes. Like her clothes, her ever-present suitcase deteriorated. She began carrying her things in shopping bags and wearing layer upon layer of dirty, tattered dresses over dirty tattered pants. We started seeing her openly eating out of trash cans and talking to herself. She would splay herself over an entire bus bench talking loudly to herself, whereas before she would sit quietly on one side of the bench with her back straight and her chin high. We often wonder what could have happened to cause this impeccably-dressed, confident woman to end up broken and on the streets. There are thousands of stories just like hers and, I suppose, thousands of answers to the questions why and how?