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She is like so many of the other people I have seen on Skid Row in downtown LA, and yet she is different. Men and women in a drug-induced psychosis screaming in the middle of the street, or wearing layers of caked dirt with tattered fabric hanging on open sores, is business as usual down there.
Her clothes are not clean, but by Skid Row standards this woman is well-kept. She sits in one of those half chair/half walkers that people with mobility issues rely on. I have never seen her use it to assist in walking. I have only seen her sitting on the device with her back hunched over and her eyes looking up at her surroundings.
The irony is not lost on me that she will not enter that very shelter where services abound, and where a safe place to sleep and assistance with reconnecting to her family is offered to all comers. To the best of my knowledge, other than availing herself of the food we provide, she has never stepped inside.
She always waves at me and smiles, whether I am going into or coming out of the parking lot. I smile and wave back, and that is all I do. I reason that by working at this shelter raising money to fund programs and keep the lights on, I am doing my bit to help. That is the nature of this business. The beds are here, the help is at hand, but the people those beds and services are meant for must, in the end, walk themselves through the door to access them.
There is another demographic on Skid Row that is rarely highlighted in news reports or feature articles. There are families down here and they are not homeless. They live in the dingy and ill-kept apartments and hotels surrounding Skid Row. They are the working poor, immigrants and nonimmigrants alike with the common denominator of poverty.
Mostly, the lot is full of climbers who have made the dirtbag pilgrimage to Red Rocks to climb on legendary sandstone, but there are a few eccentrics living quietly amongst the climbers, and a sprinkling of homeless locals thrown in to boot. As the spring folds into summer, and temperatures heat up, climbers tend to leave for cooler temperatures, and the place turns into a non-adventure themed car camping situation.
"My Reunion Blues cymbal case, laptop attach, and stick bag have been lifesavers on the road. The quality is amazing! They keep my cymbals & laptop safe, and my stick bag keeps me organized and ready for the shows. After all the miles we've traveled with these cases, they look just as good as they did the day I got them. I can't leave home without them!"
Rob's musical journey began at an early age in a small town outside of Buffalo, NY. After a family trip to see his first concert featuring Roy Orbison, Rob was hooked. Shortly after that trip, my parents agreed to kiss any peace and quiet in the house goodbye and get me a set of drums. I'm sure they thought I'd lose interest after a few weeks and probably trade them for a dirt bike or something... Wrong!
Later settling in Atlanta, GA, Rob has played with countless bands across the country. Rob spent many years touring and recording with Atlanta rockers Rockets to Ruin and recently toured with Wednesday 13's Gunfire 76. Rob joined Skid Row in April 2010!
Despite a multitude of efforts, the problems so visible on Skid Row are spiking: The chronic homeless population in the county has jumped 55 percent in recent years. There are nearly 47,000 homeless individuals in the county, and nearly three-fourths of them have no shelter at all, other than tents, cars, or cardboard boxes. All the while, just blocks away, downtown LA is booming, drawing trendy restaurants, a Whole Foods, and a steady stream of residents who are scooping up million-dollar luxury apartments.
Her patients are weary, damaged, and sometimes extremely dirty. They come in with gruesome infections and abscesses hugely swollen with pus. She treats them with dignity, often examining them without gloves. Partovi has been repeatedly treated for the highly dangerous, antibiotic-resistant infection MRSA, which runs rampant on Skid Row. An acquaintance who also ministers to the homeless, Rev. Andy Bales, recently contracted a flesh-eating strep and staph infection that cost him a bone in his foot.
On a recent day, Partovi sees a 65-year-old Hispanic man who lives in a nearby alley, getting by on sweeping, recycling, and keeping watch over a few businesses. He wears two pairs of jeans and has a long, salt-and-pepper ponytail.
With more than 2,000 people sleeping on the streets every night, Skid Row is a hellish city within a city. Each night, hundreds of tents line the streets for blocks, many with wheelchairs parked outside.
THE PERILS of skid row in Los Angeles can be stated in too-muches and too-fews: too much violence, too much illness of mind and body, too much crime and dirt and hunger and noise. And too few decent beds and good meals; too few safe, clean refuges, even too few private places to go to the toilet.
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