I first saw her when I was waiting for the crosswalk light and she started across the street toward me -- against the light and in front of the cross traffic that had just gotten the green. The cars paused for her to totter to the far side. I looked back a few times before stopping to observe her progress. She was young, and she was weaving.
I don’t think I saw her fall, but I did see her briefly crumpled in the gutter before she got up and continued down the block. I started to follow and watched another couple stop to talk with her briefly before they continued on. She must have told them she was okay, but I didn’t think she was. I was afraid she was going to get hit by a bus, car, or light-rail train, all of which were passing by either next to her curb, across her path, or within a block. Or perhaps a less scrupulous person might take advantage of her in her vulnerable state.
So I continued to backtrack, and caught up with her on the second block where she had stopped to lean against a wall. It’s cold and rainy today, and she was not exactly dressed for the weather: leg warmers on her calves, sure, but a short skirt above her knees, and a thin blouse or tee. She was not wearing her cheap pink imitation fleece jacket against the cold, but had it draped over her head against the rain, and she was lugging a backpack and a shopping bag. I seem to remember a hole in a stocking.
I leaned against the wall next to her and said, can I help you get where you’re going? “I’m fine,” she said, “I’m just resting.” That’s all she ever said. You don’t look like you’re resting, I said, which was not exactly true, but she was so much more. You look like you’re in danger of hurting yourself, I continued, and I’m worried about that, so I’d like to accompany you to a safe place, wherever that may be, but I don’t know where you’re headed. She didn’t say anything or move, so I just continued to stand next to her. Passersby looked at us, perhaps thinking we were together, perhaps even thinking I was bothering this young woman hidden under a pink jacket, but there was no contact between us and no noise of distress from her, so nobody stopped. An older black man was on the other side, almost as close to her as I was and talking on his cell phone, so I kept an eye on him in case he made any sort of move toward her.
She needed a more professional examination. I called home, thinking that Carole would know what to do -- whom to call to get her the proper attention -- but there was no answer. (My wife was out walking the dog, it turned out.) After another moment, I decided to dial 9-1-1. Once she heard me talking and trying to bring more attention, the girl started to move … and I moved with her, keeping the emergency dispatcher apprised of our location for the next 6-1/2 blocks (a right turn, two blocks; a left turn, three blocks; and another left, crossing all the streets in between).
I had a sense of unreality, strolling alongside her, giving a detailed description (dark olive skirt, black blouse, pink jacket, about 5'4", late teens/early 20s, slight build, apparently intoxicated, weaving and walking into traffic, trying to get away from me) on my mobile phone and occasionally moving to block her way and stay between her and the curb.
She walked right into a sidewalk sandwich board on the first block, and would have proceeded into traffic against the light at least once again if I hadn’t stood in her way. At one point I apologized to her, and said I only wanted her to be safe. I remember looking into her eyes and thinking they might be dilated, but I didn't know enough to be sure. I kept expecting her to grab me, shove me, shout at me to leave her alone, but she never did any of those things. She just kept passively moving, weaving, trying to get away from me and whatever else lay behind her.
Finally two police cars pulled up to us and three officers got out to talk to her. I started to walk away, thinking my task was done, then decided I’d better stick around to see what followed, keeping a discreet distance from them, out of hearing range. One of the officers looked over at me, miming a phone call, and I nodded. He came over to note down my name, phone number, and a basic description of why I had called. He instructed me to keep my phone on in case they needed to take her into some sort of protective custody and would require more details. That was two hours ago. They have not called.
I think I did the right thing. Perhaps I’ll phone the police station tomorrow to find out what happened. It’s a hard thing to intervene in a stranger’s life, even a scary one. But what would you have done?
Posts
I'm not sure what to make of this post. It seems rather self-congratulatory. Rather than meditating on what it means to behave compassionately, as I believe the post purported to do, it is ostensibly, a retelling, albeit modestly, of one's choice to assist this young woman, where others may not have done the same.
ReplyDeleteBut in that modesty, and the attempt to portray the post as a consideration of intruding, for better or for worse, in another's life, I find a disturbing narcissistic streak that negates the philanthropic intention, rather serving only as an outlet for the author to relate his own heroism.
Further, I am disturbed by the necessity to draw attention to the fact that the man on the cell phone was Black. Is that an important distinction to make? Does it make the author more heroic by "protecting" this apparently vulnerable young woman from a "predatory" Black man? Had the man been white, should we have drawn the same conclusions? There was no mention of the girls' race.
Finally, were the individual not a young woman, but rather, a 60 year old man, would the author have done the same? There is a certain tendency by some men, one that cannot be denied, to feel protective of women who appear vulnerable. But does this same compassion extend to everyone, regardless of age or sex (or race)?
"But what would you have done?" the author finishes, challenging the reader's apparently narrow and selfish habits while espousing his own selflessness.
I take no issue with someone wishing to pat themselves on the back for doing something they saw as compassionate, but it is offensive to the readers' intelligence when the post is presented in such a way as to feign modesty, so as to illustrate the author's selective benevolence.
David, I think you did that young woman, and whoever cares about her, a solid. I agree with Jeff about the description of the one person who you felt might threaten her, but it seems to me as if you almost put that in as a tongue-in-cheek reference to racism (he was talking on his cell phone, after all: the image I got was of a black man in a cashmere coat holding a Ralph Lauren umbrella).
ReplyDeleteThis was by no means a display of narcissism, or self-congratulatory do-gooding. In this age, individualism in the vein of "mind your own business" is almost taken to religious-extremist levels. I think it shows tremendous social risk-taking to intervene like this. After all, how many times have I passed someone on the highway who needed help, because I was late or didn't want to bother? How many times have I walked past a lost person and choose not to offer assistance? I like to think that I help when I can, but I don't remember the last time I did.
Yes, I thought the first comment on this post was a bit harsh. Yes, David likes to tell a story that makes him look good; is there anyone who doesn't? If we wait for "pure," unconditional compassion to arise in each of us before we act, who's going to get helped? Can we all get better at caring more for others than ourselves and our images? I bet we all could.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure what to make of your comment, Jeff.
ReplyDeleteFor the most part, I tried to describe the incident in neutral terms -- to put the reader into the scenario. But I hope I communicated my growing sense that this person was extremely vulnerable and in clear and imminent danger.
Nevertheless, most of us hesitate before intervening in the life of a stranger; I even saw and described two people who tried and gave up too easily, I felt -- never mind the dozens of people who passed her by before and during the time I observed her.
And why should I avoid any hint of self-congratulation, if I think I might have saved someone's life by doing something I didn't particularly want to do, was somewhat afraid to do, and many other people wouldn't have done?
Why should it bother you if I come across as a conceited fathead? It sounds to me as if, as a reader, you do protest too much.
Perhaps I was too harsh in my initial assessment. However, it would seem that my statements were misinterpreted.
ReplyDeleteI did not feel in any way that the actions taken by the author were narcissistic or self-congratulatory, rather, that the post itself was. The actions seemed to stem from a place of genuine human compassion, and I believe it is important to feel proud of such an action taken. If we did not feel pride in the actions we take on others' behalf, less people would take such actions.
The author asks in his response "why should I avoid any hint of self-congratulation...?" I never said he should. In fact I explicitly stated that I take no issue with someone wishing to pat themselves on the back.
I was simply struck by, what I perceived to be, a masquerading tone present in the article.
To "Anonymous," I did not sense any tongue-in-cheek elements in this article.
To the author, Mr. Loftus, well put, I do protest too much.
Living where I do, in the "TenderNob" of San Francisco, I have, on multiple occasions, had to call the police or EMT's on the behalf of strangers. Some were conscious, some were unconscious. Some reacted with rage towards me, some -- well in one case, a man who had attacked his girlfriend in an adjoining apartment made the enormous mistake of stabbing the police officer who responded to the scene -- which brought 26 squad cars, a SWAT team armed with automatic weapons and a helicopter to my block. I've stopped a sniper, a rapist, a racist attacking a Muslim woman, even, perhaps, a suicide astrid a rooftop, simply by turning a hostile crowd of gawkers by yelling "Don't do it! We Care About You!" and getting others in the crowd, by the grace of God, to follow my example.
ReplyDeleteAlla which simply goes to show that you have to get involved. For me, it's a karmic thing. And I've been helped by others...when cornered by an intoxicated "police detective" who flashed a badge and confronted me and my service dog, a Black Muslim Brother, made a point of stopping and just witnessing. Not saying a word, but not budging either. The "detective", made uncomfortable by the fact that his bullying wasn't going unnoticed, left, and I thanked the man profusely for his help. "Just helping out a Sister in need." he said, and smiled. So, yeah, I believe what goes around comes around.
Thank you for your gracious followup, Jeff. Thanks to the rest of you for your comments.
ReplyDeleteAs I say, I tried to write this account neutrally, which means I attempted to portray my feelings and fears as they were at the time, as well as what happened physically. I could have made a misstep, events or the young woman might have turned against me at any point. Rather than self-congratulation, what I would have hoped to leave the reader with was (I think) my tremendous sense of relief . . . that I hadn't misjudged the situation much, or made a poor decision.
It is rather a scary thing to call a bunch of police down on a stranger -- particularly a small, vulnerable stranger who wasn't objectively harming anyone. Normally, you call the police when a stranger is being loud, threatening, violent, obnoxious, or (occasionally) intrusively filthy. This woman was none of those things.
This gal did not look like someone you normally call the police about or avoid because of her appearance. She didn't look particularly scruffy, or prickly, or dirty, or homeless. I responded to how she was ACTING, not how she looked.
I called Central Precinct this afternoon. The person who answered my call said the records indicated that the girl had been taken to a youth shelter. I requested that one of the officers who had spoken to her give me a call, perhaps in a few days, because I am curious to hear his assessment of her state of mind.