complain if the media decided to label him the Wizard of Oz. Or the Wiz, more usually, for these days everyone seemed to think they were on a first-name basis with him. Simon Lawrence was hot stuff, which made him news, which made Andrew Wren’s purpose in coming to see him all the more intriguing.
“An accomplishment,” Simon said softly, repeating Wren’s words. He shook his head. “Andrew, I’m like the Dutch boy with his finger in the hole in the dike and the sea rising on the other side. Let me give you some statistics to think about. Use them or not when you write your next story, I don’t care. But remember them.
“There are two hundred beds in this facility. With the new building, we should be able to double that. That will give us four hundred. Four hundred to service homeless women and children. There are twelve hundred school-age homeless children, Andrew. That’s children, not women. Twenty-four percent of all our homeless are under the age of eighteen. And that number is growing every day.
“Ours is a specific focus. We provide help to homeless women and children. Eighty percent of those women and children are homeless because of domestic violence. The problem of domestic violence is growing worldwide, but especially here, in the United States. The statistics regarding children who die violently are all out of proportion with the rest of the world. An American child is five times more likely to be killed before the age of eighteen than a child living in another industrialized nation. The rate of gun deaths and suicides among our children is more than twice that of other countries. We like to think of ourselves as progressive and enlightened, but you have to wonder. Homelessness is an alternative to dying, but not an especially attractive one. So it is difficult for me to dwell on accomplishments when the problem remains so acute.”
Wren nodded. “I’ve seen the statistics.”
“Good. Then let me give you an overview of our response as a nation to the problem of being homeless.” Simon Lawrence leaned back again in his chair. “In a time in which the homeless problem is growing by leaps and bounds worldwide—due, to varying extents, to increases in the population, job elimination, technological advances, disintegration of the family structure, violence, and the rising cost of housing—our response state by state and city by city has been an all-out effort to look the other way. Or, as an alternative, to try to relocate the problem to some other part of the country. We are engaged in a nationwide effort to crack down on the homeless by passing new ordinances designed to move these people to where we can’t see them. Stop them from pan-handling, don’t let them sleep in our parks and public places, conduct police sweeps to round them up, and get them the hell out of town—that’s our solution. Is there a concerted effort to get at the root problems of homelessness, to find ways to rehabilitate and reform, to address the differences between types of homelessness so that those who need one kind of treatment versus another can get it? How many tax dollars are being spent to build shelters and provide showers and hot meals? What efforts are being made to explore the ways in which domestic violence contributes to the problem, especially where women and children are concerned?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “We have thousands and thousands of people living homeless on the streets of our cities at the same time that we have men and women earning millions of dollars a year running companies that make products whose continued usage will ruin our health, our environment, and our values. The irony is incredible. It’s obscene.”
Wren nodded. “But you can’t change that, Simon. The problem is too indigenous to who we are, too much a part of how we live our lives.”
“Tell me about it. I feel like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills.” Simon shrugged. “It’s obviously hopeless,
“An accomplishment,” Simon said softly, repeating Wren’s words. He shook his head. “Andrew, I’m like the Dutch boy with his finger in the hole in the dike and the sea rising on the other side. Let me give you some statistics to think about. Use them or not when you write your next story, I don’t care. But remember them.
“There are two hundred beds in this facility. With the new building, we should be able to double that. That will give us four hundred. Four hundred to service homeless women and children. There are twelve hundred school-age homeless children, Andrew. That’s children, not women. Twenty-four percent of all our homeless are under the age of eighteen. And that number is growing every day.
“Ours is a specific focus. We provide help to homeless women and children. Eighty percent of those women and children are homeless because of domestic violence. The problem of domestic violence is growing worldwide, but especially here, in the United States. The statistics regarding children who die violently are all out of proportion with the rest of the world. An American child is five times more likely to be killed before the age of eighteen than a child living in another industrialized nation. The rate of gun deaths and suicides among our children is more than twice that of other countries. We like to think of ourselves as progressive and enlightened, but you have to wonder. Homelessness is an alternative to dying, but not an especially attractive one. So it is difficult for me to dwell on accomplishments when the problem remains so acute.”
Wren nodded. “I’ve seen the statistics.”
“Good. Then let me give you an overview of our response as a nation to the problem of being homeless.” Simon Lawrence leaned back again in his chair. “In a time in which the homeless problem is growing by leaps and bounds worldwide—due, to varying extents, to increases in the population, job elimination, technological advances, disintegration of the family structure, violence, and the rising cost of housing—our response state by state and city by city has been an all-out effort to look the other way. Or, as an alternative, to try to relocate the problem to some other part of the country. We are engaged in a nationwide effort to crack down on the homeless by passing new ordinances designed to move these people to where we can’t see them. Stop them from pan-handling, don’t let them sleep in our parks and public places, conduct police sweeps to round them up, and get them the hell out of town—that’s our solution. Is there a concerted effort to get at the root problems of homelessness, to find ways to rehabilitate and reform, to address the differences between types of homelessness so that those who need one kind of treatment versus another can get it? How many tax dollars are being spent to build shelters and provide showers and hot meals? What efforts are being made to explore the ways in which domestic violence contributes to the problem, especially where women and children are concerned?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “We have thousands and thousands of people living homeless on the streets of our cities at the same time that we have men and women earning millions of dollars a year running companies that make products whose continued usage will ruin our health, our environment, and our values. The irony is incredible. It’s obscene.”
Wren nodded. “But you can’t change that, Simon. The problem is too indigenous to who we are, too much a part of how we live our lives.”
“Tell me about it. I feel like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills.” Simon shrugged. “It’s obviously hopeless,
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