PLEASE MEET JT:
With encampment sweeps up this year I did some research to understand why. I searched city websites and policy pages. Not much on the effectiveness of sweeps. In fact, the city makes scant reference to its encampment “removals”. A statement by the mayor clarifies: “We must be accountable to Seattle taxpayers about the investments we are making, what is working, and where we need to innovate.”
Meanwhile, across the tracks, tangled in the trees and nestled in the nooks. Between the bushes, beneath the bridges, the downtrodden and displaced simply seek peace and dignity. Tolerating winter, rejection, exposure and sweeps over bureaucracy, bed bugs and bullies at the crowded shelters. There’s social wreckage and souls. Gregory, Bear, Leah, Jamie, Cheryl, Blandy, Sean, Chris, Mike, Van, and JT. In a nearby clearing a disturbed woman disrobes in the cold. Clutching soap and a rag.
There’s a neatly organized collection of bike frames and parts. We’d not seen JT since the Georgetown sweeps last winter. He crawled from his tent on painful knees. He looked up. He looked older. “The DOT was here yesterday. But we haven’t been tagged yet.” His eyes weary. His smile gentle.” JT builds bikes. “I give them to people who need them. I’ve never sold one.” There’s a partially assembled frame clamped to a work stand. “This one here’s coming along.” He points to another. “This one’s my baby. It took months to assemble.”
JT was a diesel mechanic for 30 years. A gentle man who speaks Cummins and Massey Fergusson. Compression ratios and compassion. Happily married to his wife whom he loved, they raised 3 sons in a home they owned. He was a scout leader for many years. His oldest son was an Eagle Scout. “The boys loved fishing, camping, and dirt bikes. We fished and camped everywhere. Lakes, streams, the ocean.”
JT moves slowly now. It’s been two years since his second struggle with prostate cancer. Surviving chemo and radiation treatments, it was his third brush with death. “I’m ok 11 months of the year.” He looks away sadly, his voice cracks. “But December is hard for me. I don’t like Christmas anymore. I don’t understand why He took them and not me.” On Christmas day 2012 JT’s family was struck by a drunk driver killing his wife of 25 years and twin 15 year old boys.
Back at the clearing the woman finishes her sponge bath and dresses. A passing hungry man asks for food. Near the tracks a white DOT pickup arrives. A man with a clipboard gets out.
Gerogetown neighborhood | Damian
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