Exhausted from a busy week, I lay in bed upon awakening and scrolled through Facebook until my attention was grabbed by an old Court TV video of the 1992 testimony of Tracy Edwards, the only victim of the serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer who escaped. It was painful to watch Edwards relive his horror story, detailing how he wound up literally in the hands of someone who committed the murder and dismemberment of seventeen men and boys.
Edwards, 32 at the time, seemed to win his unlikely chance of escape by maintaining a non-anxious presence while convincing the very lonely and disturbed Dahmer that he was his friend. Edwards testified that his demonstration of kindness under such horrific circumstances was God-inspired.
Intrigued, I Googled his name to find out where he is today. I had hoped to see that he was in a better place and living as a productive member of society. Instead, I learned that he has been un-housed and moving between shelters since at least 2002 after several criminal offenses. He spent a year-and-a-half in prison for his involvement in throwing a man to his death from a bridge. He is also guilty of theft, drug possession, property damage, and failure to pay child support. Nobody knows where he’s at today.
He came to mind as I reflected on the moment I almost stumbled into a houseless man while walking two and a half miles with my brother Eric from our hotel in California to the train station. We were heading home after attending our Uncle Blaine’s funeral. The plan was to enjoy a walk along the shoreline where we would enjoy the sight of watercraft, seagulls, pigeons, and palm trees. That was the case for the first half a mile.
Eventually, however, the sidewalk veered away from the bay and into a run-down neighborhood. We encountered a dead rat and its bloody guts smashed onto the sidewalk, litter strewn across the grass and along the curbside, graffiti haphazardly scrawled over street signs, a make-shift house from a parked vehicle with missing tires, small homes enclosed by high fences and locked gates, old RVs parked along the streets, guard dogs, and various tents pitched along the fence lines.
Ironically, while we walked through skid row, I was complaining about Jeff and my underwhelming financial status. I recounted our humble financial history and lamented that many of my classmates are enjoying early retirement, some lavishly. I rehashed my dismay that we have been stuck with a $38,800 medical bill right after we downsized to a house a third the size of our previous home to prepare ourselves for retirement. My whining continued while I noticed what initially appeared to be a heap of trash on the sidewalk a few yards before us.
Pushed up against the concrete wall was a grocery cart filled with clothing stuffed into a plastic bag, a pair of tennis shoes, crumpled aluminum cans, and a bundle of wire. Underneath the cart was a grocery bag filled with canned goods. Upon a closer look, I saw a pair of bruised brown legs extended from cardboard chardonnay boxes that had been reassembled to shelter the person’s torso, arms, and head. The person was clad in army green shorts and a pair of untied gym shoes. Wanting to document the scene, I quickly stopped to take a picture and moved along.
Shortly after I walked past the person whose house is a cardboard box, I realized how ridiculously blessed I am, even rich by comparison. And then I wondered at his state of existence. How did he get there? What was his story? Maybe he was Tracy Edwards.
I find the state of the world so depressing. Yet, when I get stuck in my sadness, I stop short and count my blessings. So many have it so hard. Your image and story are so moving. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for sharing Kareen. We should all be thankful for what we have as there will always be those worse or better off. I had the same thoughts during our recent floods. I stopped complaining about our drenched yard and leaky roof when I watched the widespread devastation on the news.
