ESSAY

JOIN ME IN THE BOOTH

Learning that the perfect story arc doesn’t always exist

BY HANNAH HERNER

When I was in elementary school in Norwalk, Ohio, my Grandma Jan would pick me up and bring me to Berry’s Restaurant, on Main Street in my 20,000-person home town, for an after school snack. Sometimes I’d pick mozzarella sticks, sometimes fries with ketchup squirt in a crosshatch pattern, sometimes a quesadilla. At least a few times we had a guest join us, Bill, a local who slept on the library steps less than a block away. He’d slide in the booth next to Grandma Jan and we’d share our after-school snack with him.

In true small town fashion, my grandma knew his family, and had acquaintances in common. She told me about how he used to be a lawyer, was still really smart, and read a lot. She talked to him about his interests, and never really asked what brought him to sleeping on the library steps.

A dozen years later, I decided to study journalism because I wanted to interview artists. Focusing on the Arts department, I was relieved not to have to cover stories of inequity and suffering.

I never thought I would find myself working in a nonprofit, and definitely not covering homelessness. But I started freelancing for The Contributor right out of college, and eventually came on staff in June of 2019, two years later.

In my writing, I’ve delved into the complexities of public housing, the criminal justice system, social work, mental and physical health, and generally how the city and nonprofits care for those living on the streets. There are always disagreements on how to best serve people, and never enough resources in the most resourced country in the world. I sought to balance all this in my mind by looking on an individual level — what changed the game for this one person sitting in front of me? Or what would we need to change the game for them?

And with all the 50-plus vendor spotlights I wrote, I zeroed in on the ways they’ve changed, the ways they’re strong and resilient, the movies and music and hobbies and former jobs in which I thought the readers would find a common thread in. It was all true. But it’s all more complicated than that.

I was looking for a beautiful story arc. That someone simply was in a season of struggle and were able to access what they needed and make it to the other side. I wanted to believe they were having a hard time, and they’re doing better now, permanently. I found some beautiful story arcs — one who quit drinking, another who bought his own home, another started his own business, all with help from The Contributor.

But more times than not, it’s a cycle. It’s not satisfying, it’s frustrating, and things don’t necessarily improve the moment people get a roof over their heads. We may lay out opportunities and find that vendors blow them off. They’ll threaten to quit the paper or forfeit their housing. You’re not always going to see many redeeming qualities in the people you meet who live on the street. But it’s only because they’ve lost trust in humanity, they don’t believe that your care will remain consistent, as they’ve been let down so many times already.

The two biggest common threads that I’ve observed is that people who are experiencing homelessness do not have family support, or struggle with some level of mental or physical disability, or both.

But there’s another common thread that gives me hope. Relationships can slowly and surely break the barriers. People become less destructive when they know someone will notice when they’re not on their corner selling the paper. They become more comfortable when they get to

talk about normal things, like sports or movies, outside of their stories of trauma. They start to trust someone who shows they’ll be consistent in their lives, even with a wave each day on the way to work.

In every interview with a vendor I’ve asked, “what is something that your customers do for you that means the most?” I hoped that if I put it out there in print, they’d get more out of it. It was without fail, the kindness and attention of regular customers. They told me about people who stopped to talk at a red light, even if they didn’t buy a paper. People who waved, who made jokes with them, who found out what would be helpful, who asked them questions.

My Grandma Jan already knew some of Jim’s story, and saw his value. I was lucky enough to have many of those who’ve experienced homelesness share their stories with me through The Contributor. I’ve seen how much those relationships count, even if they doesn’t change a person’s circumstances. Jan didn’t know that she was modeling that for me.

It’s so tempting to attempt to ice the tug on your heart when you see someone who’s clearly having a hard time, by telling yourself that they will use your money for drugs, or that they aren’t really homeless or want to be homeless, or don’t really need it. It’s important to remember that a lot of things had to happen to this person to put them in a position that they would ask strangers for money. If anything, they’ve lost pride and stability, and they need the $5 more than I do.

If you feel a tug on your heart to give, do so without condition. To go a step further, ask people what they need. Accept that it may not be what you had in mind. In my nonprofit years I’ve learned that helping others isn’t always going to make you feel good. More times than not, it made me feel worse, and I didn’t know what to do with all of the suffering I became so aware of.

It’s been heartbreaking to see people struggle to find stability and happiness firsthand for these last few years. But I’m heartened to know that none of us will have a perfect story arc — it’s a reminder that relationships are the only thing that can ease the toughest parts.

I can’t solve homelessness, but I can invite someone to join me in the booth.