A Gift of Hope: Helping the Homeless by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online Page A

getting hurt, and we all kept a watchful eye and tried to cover each other’s backs whenever we could. It wasn’t always possible, but at least we tried. Despite that, we split up at times or found ourselves alone, surrounded by sometimes hostile homeless men. But we were both sensible and lucky, and I’m deeply grateful that none of us ever got hurt.
    We agreed that if anyone ever attacked us for the vans or what was in them, we would give up the vehicles immediately. There was no point dying for a van full of sleeping bags. So we would hand over the keys with no argument, no questionsasked. It never happened, fortunately, but at least we were all clear on our priorities and had a plan, if things went wrong.
    We tried other safety measures over the years, none of which really worked. A few years into it, we decided to add two-way radios, since we so often split up and strayed from each other when we got busy. We tried to stay in pairs but often got spread out. There were always a few of us at the vans, handing things out, but most of the others wandered off to round people up, and make sure we found everyone we had gone there to find, in hidden doorways, in dark alleys, or under freeway ramps. Being able to communicate by radio in the event of danger or injury, or just to say how many people were in a camp around the corner, would have helped us out a lot and made us both safer and more efficient. The first time the people on the streets saw us with radios, they ran like mice: They thought we were all cops. I don’t think we used the radios, in all, for more than an hour, if that. Bad idea. Forget that. What we eventually settled on as our only safety device were whistles, worn around our necks to use in case of emergency, which was a sensible idea. We never had to use them. The team, however, did use theirs at every opportunity—every time I reached into the doughnut box. It did not deter me, unfortunately. I managed to scarf down two or three doughnuts every time we went out. I ignored the whistles andfigured the doughnuts were worth it! And I got hungry jumping out of the van all night. So I endured the humiliation of them whistling at me, and ate another doughnut.
    A new element that the two police officers had added on their first trip was the addition of a greeting, “Yo!” I don’t know if it’s a cop thing, a guy thing, or a street thing, but their form of greeting as we approached people was “Yo!” A very loud “Yo!,” in fact. One of our cautions was not to startle people. People on the streets are wary and sometimes frightened. They live in danger, and mental illness is no stranger on the streets. You don’t want to tiptoe up on people discreetly and scare them to death at close range, or wake them out of a sound sleep by frightening them. Their reaction could have been dangerous. So we gave lots of warning that we were approaching, so people had time to evaluate the situation and feel comfortable with it—or, rarely, tell us not to, if they didn’t want us around. They had that right. It was their space, not ours. And Bob and Randy’s “Yo!” definitely did the job of warning people when we approached. I have one of those mouse voices that even when I think I’m shouting, people say “What?” And when I’m talking normally, no one can hear me. I am painfully shy in real life, and have a very soft voice. My first “Yo!” was beyond pathetic. It was a baby whisper that sounded like half of “yoyo,” said by a six-year-old. It took me awhile to grow my “Yo” into something impressive. By now I have a “Yo,” I am proud to say, that could knock you flat on your ass.
    “Yo!” is a greeting familiar to people on the street, and they use it to catch your attention and stop you in your tracks.
    We were getting back into the van on our first night out as a team, after one of our stops, when a man came running down the street as fast as he could, to stop us before we left. I saw him coming