That’s the cot I tried to sleep on Saturday on my assignment to go homeless for a night. I say “try” because I was so nervous around all those strangers at the Lighthouse church and so generally uncomfortable that I couldn’t drift into sleep. Plus, there were distractions through the night as several of the men had to make multiple trips to the bathroom and others snored loudly. One man kept his radio on all night for some reason. The musty, dank smell and the presence of one man’s dog nearby attacked my sinuses so sleep was generally out of the question.

Still, it could have been worse. I could have gone without a cot altogether if Ken, the assistant to the pastor, hadn’t generously put one out for me. I felt guilty, like I was being treated special. I should have spent the night in the rain, I thought.

A couple of weeks ago I decided to do my homeless assignment on a Friday night. It was the most convenient way to go about it. I could start after work and through some of my day off on Saturday. Then I could take off Monday, usually a slower day. But when I picked the Friday I stuck to it no matter what. I wanted to do this in the winter when it’s toughest on the homeless, and no matter how lousy the weather on the Friday I picked I would not reschedule the assignment.

Sometime during the afternoon when it was raining the hardest, my editor Brady Rhoades asked me if I wanted to reschedule.

“I can’t. The homeless don’t have that luxury so neither can I.”

I was tempted, though.

As the weather forecast shaped up during the week, the more nervous I grew. The storm front looked like a fierce and extended one. It looked pretty sure that I’d be out in the rain.

A week before I was to go homeless for the night I contacted the folks at Someone Cares Soup Kitchen on 19th Street. I wanted to know where the popular camping grounds were and if the volunteers knew of any homeless people who could guide me. The volunteers told me I must get some sort of backpack. They didn’t happen to  have any at the time, but I assured them I’d rather get one at a thrift store. I didn’t want to take a backpack away from a homeless person. But the Salvatation Army store didn’t have one — they were sold out. It’s a busy season for backpacks, I was told. So I went over to Target and bought a new one for 10 bucks and also picked up an emergency poncho for the rain. I considered getting a sleeping bag but figured that it would just get soaked out in the rain. Later, I wished I had gotten it. I shivered for much of the night in the cot and the sleeping bag would have helped.

Then came Friday. When I walked out the door that morning it was pouring. Dread gnawed at me until my stomach ached. After I got some work done in the office I went over to Someone Cares again. One of the volunteers introduced me to Juan, a friendly veteran homeless man who could be a good guide.

Juan grew up in Mexico City with absolutely nothing. He told me proudly how sometimes he makes a buck or two with his guitar — he’s a self-taught musician. His first guitar was hand-made — basically a box with nails and strings. As a teenager he joined his friends for a road trip to Los Angeles. It wasn’t as fun as he thought. They kept getting kicked out of bars and there wasn’t much to do. The gang earlier had a lot more fun in Tijuana where there were “girls, drugs and partying.” Ultimately, he ended up in Costa Mesa where an aunt lived. He liked it here.

He told me his life story in between bites of lunch. He was quite nonchalant about it. He generally finds enough money to get by on and doesn’t mind the homeless life so much. He’s been doing odd jobs for a man for decades and some day-labor work. Times have been pretty tough of late. The last couple of weeks he didn’t get any work, but things were just picking up again a little.

Two remarkable parts of his story included how he beat heroin and how his wife, Carrie, did not. When he spoke of his drug addiction he made gestures as if injecting the heroin into his arm. He was hard core, in other words. For 20 years or so, by his estimation. Then, one day, he was, what they say on the street, sick and tired of being sick and tired and he prayed for God’s help to stop. And he did. Carrie, who he had been with for 10 years, could not and she overdosed. That was 10 years ago, but the pain still seared his heart.

“It must hurt especially on a Valentine’s weekend like this,” I said. He looked as if he might choke up at that moment and muttered, “I don’t even want to think about it.”

I understood. It’s the kind of death that seems so unfair because it should be so avoidable.

He was mostly joyful talking about his family. His son, from another relationship, lives in San Bernardino fixing cars. Juan’s son fathered his first kid when he was just 15 so eight years later Juan has a few grandkids. With bright, amazed eyes, he tells me about how they climb all over him when they visit. Talking about his grandchildren, he seemed like any other proud grandfather.

I had to get back to the office so I left him as he chatted with another guest.  He told me he would go to the Lighthouse church on Anaheim to sleep that night because it was raining. I said I would try to see him there. I saw him moments later riding his bike away. I got the feeling I wouldn’t see him later; and I didn’t.

Juan struck me as someone who was intelligent — smart enough to pick up enough English on the street with virtually no education and then to later take English classes that had him as fluent as any of us. He’s a clever handyman who has overcome nightmarish drug addictions with help from his rock-solid faith and who is willing to work hard to make ends meet. He’s fallen on hard times as the jobs peter out, and so he’s back on the streets. He is among that class of homeless who is probably the easiest for us to help back on track if we had a coordinated effort to assist those who can help themselves.

But too much of our focus is on triage — get food and some basic necessities like blankets and coats to the homeless. Share Our Selves in Costa Mesa also offers longterm solutions like help filling out paperwork for assistance, counseling from social workers and basic healthcare.

But we need a comprehensive program that helps some folks like Juan get an apartment and job training to help him learn a craft that will enable him to hold down a steady job that can cover the rent. Aside from the Lighthouse on a rainy night, where else can one go for shelter? I haven’t heard of any other.

Next up, I’ll tell you more about the Lighthouse.

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