The Invisible Citizens

By Richard Hannibal

I wish to comment on the invisible souls who live among us. Lately I'm hearing more and more people (including myself on occasion) referring to the less fortunate folks who live year-round in Morro Bay as "transients." Whether we like it or not, acknowledge it or not, these folks are as much Morro Bay citizens as the cop on the beat, the person living high on the hill, or our most distinguished city leaders. These "Morro Bay citizen's" are not transient. The dictionary defines "transient" as "Passing with time; transitory; remaining in a place only a brief time; decaying with time; one that is transient, especially a hotel guest or boarder who stays for only a brief time." These invisible folks have shabby but year-round homes in our otherwise perfect paradise.

Many of the "citizens" I am referring to not only live, but also work in our community; they are not just passing through. Whether it is mental illness, substance abuse, choice, or plain bad luck, these folks are living on the edge of our society, but they are citizens  nonetheless. We can look through them, look past them, or pretend they are not there, but they are. You might say they have a responsibility to integrate into our society, but I ask, "What is our responsibility as a society?" Don't we have a responsibility to reach out and help, and not only when the season is right or when we are feeling particularly benevolent?

As a patrol cop, I'm often touched by the plight of these Morro Bay citizens. I'm the one they come to when they are sick with the flu, have a severe toothache, or when they break their reading glasses. Just remember back to the last time you were so sick you could not make it to work. You were miserable, but you were in a heated home with a loved one to care for you. Now imagine yourself ragged and sick, needing to flag down a passing police car in hopes that you might get a ride back to your creek-side hovel where you will suffer silent and alone and hope you survive. And if you don't, no one will miss you until you are discovered decaying among the weeds and remnants of your shabby existence.

I plead "guilty" for sometimes judging these folks and placing them in one of the societal boxes that I detest so much. But, as a police officer, I have reminders that bring me back from the brink. Not too long ago I was on patrol and approached a dirty, shabbily dressed man with a ragged pack on his back. The man was walking down Main Street at Highway 41. I like to stop and talk to these folks. Their stories fascinate me and I want to show them respect and let them know that they are not invisible. And, as a cop, I will usually ask for identification and occasionally must arrest them for an outstanding warrant or other offense.

On this occasion, the man gave me an old, crumpled up, and expired California Driver License. The photo on the license showed a smiling man in his 30's, clean-shaven and wearing a business suit; I could see, in spite of the long beard and filth, that the man shown on the license was the same man I was talking to. With as much respect as I could muster, I pointed to the photo and asked the man, "What happened to this guy?"

The man told me he used to be a promising and upwardly mobile aeronautical engineer. He had a family, a modest home in a nice area, and was looking forward to a long life with those he loved. The man paused, as a tear left a trail down his dirty cheek. He then went on to tell me that he went to work one bright and sunny day. When he returned there was a police car in front of his home. The officer told him that his wife and two daughters had been killed in a traffic collision. The man and I lost eye contact when he looked down and wearily said, "I walked away that day and I've been walking ever since—that was twenty years ago." I left the man and spent the rest of my patrol shift in stunned silence, thinking, "There but for fortune goes I."

This is the reality that a police officer sees on a daily basis. Our resources in this part of our county are either limited or non-existent. The most a police officer can hope for is to be there when one of these citizens yields to excess substance abuse just to lessen their pain. We can be there to momentarily pick up the pieces as we handcuff them and transport them to a warm bed, hot shower, and a meal. That of course is just a short-term solution. We better start thinking of a better remedy for "they are us—we are them, and there but for fortune . . ."

If you are interested in helping the Morro Bay homeless citizens, write to Officer Hannibal.