Occupy Portland, part 2 - This Is Bigger Than You Think

On my first day volunteering for Occupy Portland, I verified a suspicion -- or maybe in the beginning it was just a hope -- that what we see in the camps, especially if we only watch the television news, is the tip of a possibly massive iceberg.

There are indeed a lot of regular folks who support this motley crowd, both in spirit and in deed.

And unlike an iceberg, the substance you see above the waterline is not the same as the material below. Although I saw plenty of middle-class visitors and suit-coated businesspeople who just strolled through the camp -- looking around or heading to and from work -- not a few of them meant business. I know, because they stopped to talk to me and hand me things while I was at the information desk (that's me on duty, at right).

A large middle-aged man in outdoor clothing advised me: “Yesterday the city of Portland got their property tax bills; you’ll get a lot of support from the middle if you go after the right targets.” A more sharply dressed man said he had done very well in real estate, appreciation, etc., and “I don’t pay very much taxes -- that’s why I donate so much. We’re fighting evil here.”

Carl Anderson, a military serviceman 30 years ago who since has worked “half my life” in the Wells Fargo Building, a white tower that overlooks the occupation site from the southwest, said his coffee breaks in the Occupy Portland site have gotten longer and longer. “You guys gotta stay here until the next presidential election, at least,” he remarked. He also mentioned that he has only 12 years left before he retires, and I thought to myself: I could never work at any job for that long.

In the few hours I sat at the Info tent on Friday morning:

• A woman accompanied by her small son dropped off a large, covered plastic bin
• A man walked up with a backpack full of food to donate and was directed to the camp’s kitchen
• An older, heavy-set lady delivered sanitary supplies, a bag of 300 cotton balls, and socks
• I also heard that last week, when it was raining in Portland, a man dropped off 50 bales of straw at the camp, which was now strewn all over to minimize damage to the grounds

Various people pressed cash donations into my hand or inserted them into the collection jar on the table. A couple donated $15 and the man joked, “When are we going to take over the country? Should be easy.” Asking whether any marches were scheduled for Friday, he added that he wanted to go “somewhere we can get arrested.” Another man made a cash donation, said he would shop for meat to give to the protesters on Saturday, and offered to help cook for a while.

A tall, distinguished gentleman in a dark blue jacket, slacks, and necktie walked by during my first hour there. I recognized his bright red tie as a Jerry Garcia design and said so. He acknowledged as much and said he was dressed to attend a ceremony to name a Portland building after Margaret Carter, an African-American woman who served in the state senate and now has an executive position with the state Department of Human Services.

He returned a couple of hours later and asked to what use Occupy Portland puts cash donations. We explained it’s largely for upkeep and supply of the camp. He handed me five twenty-dollar bills, saying he wanted the occupation to go as long as possible. “Good for you,” he said. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Much needed.”

Several older people showed off T-shirts they had had made to celebrate the Occupy movement. A man who gave his age as 73 showed off his shirt that sported a logo depicting a fist brandishing a rose, with the legend “Occupy Portland.” I’ve been selling them, he said, but the city won’t let me park along the block here. Maybe I’ll come back with more.

Another older couple who said they had lived most of their lives in Portland but recently retired to Salem introduced themselves as Doug and Nancy Stang. I told them I admired the work of a voice actor from the 1930s and ’40s named Arnold Stang, who used to do funny-sounding characters on radio programs like the Henry Morgan show. Although the Stang couple probably weren’t related to Arnold, they knew of him and were pleased I was also acquainted with the name they share.

Mr. Stang showed me the T-shirt he had had made, which said: “I’m a 99%er. I support government of the PEOPLE, by the PEOPLE, for the PEOPLE. Stop corporate greed.” He said he had been selling them for ten bucks, and when I offered to buy one he wouldn’t take my money but gave me the shirt off his back, literally.

When he had lived in Portland and protested against the Iraq War nearly a decade before, Mr. Stang told me, he witnessed a man on the Burnside Bridge trying to light an American flag “with a Bic lighter!” I went over to stop him and we got into a little tussle, he went on; the guy was big and burly, and I noticed he had a shoulder holster under his left arm. Mr. Stang was convinced the “protester” had been a policeman staging a bogus event that would discredit a legitimate citizen protest before the news cameras.

Mid morning, I was pleasantly surprised to see Oregonian opinion columnist David Sarasohn step up to the Info tent accompanied by a dignified African-American woman. He introduced Marian Wright Edelman. Delighted to meet the former NAACP lawyer, civil rights and Head Start activist who is best known as the founder and president of the Children’s Defense Fund, I insisted on having my picture taken with the two of them.

Sunday morning, I put in another four hours at the Occupy Portland info desk. I saw an additional $70 or $80 in cash come over the table. Several individuals passed with large plastic pallets full of bread on their way to the Food tent. A woman dropped off a pink sleeping bag and shopping sacks containing tarps, Peet’s Earl Grey tea, orange drink mix, and young adult novels.

Yet another couple delivered a tent, a camping screen room, an air mattress, a double sleeping bag, clear plastic bins with lids, whiteboards, and offered a space heater with propane. A bearded sound engineer said he had a six-line audio mixer to donate if the camp could use it.

A lean gentleman, perhaps about 60, handed me two twenties and said, “Thanks for doing … what I should be doing. This country’s gotten a free ride for so long that nobody’s protesting about anything.”

So the next time somebody tells you Occupy Portland is just a bunch of dirty, stinky kids who can't get a job, ask them how they think those kids are surviving -- several hundred of them for more than two weeks now, serving coffee and meals and first aid and warm clothes and bedding to homeless and crazy people off the streets -- all by their little, useless selves?

• Go to Occupy Portland, part 3 - Democracy is Messy

• Go to Occupy Portland, part 1 - First Impressions