Another day in Paradise
The sun is rising, the fog is lifting, the beginning of another day here in paradise, but it’s not paradise for everyone. Rolling hills of grape vineyards, beautiful ranches, with horses or cows grazing in the pasture. This is Sonoma County and Santa Rosa is the hub for the wine and weed business. There is an enormous amount of money in this region, it’s where the Googles come to play in the Russian River and taste the wine at the best wineries in the world. The cost of living is astronomical and many can’t afford it and are not enjoying paradise, like the rest. Here in the North Bay of San Francisco, it is impossible to ignore the enormous amount of homeless people on the streets. Every single one of them, has had an individual, unique and personal journey to where they are now.

We all enter in the same way, created equal, given no orientation, no hand books or how-to guide. We cannot program our GPS for life, there is no map to help us navigate through this experience. Nobody knows why we are here and what we are supposed to do. We all get directions from others to guide us, from the people who are close to us, to wherever that destination might be.

Having freedom, liberty and free will to make our choices brings us to the street of our own choice, and since we made the decisions and choices, we own our destinations. When others’ imposed will dictates the ownership of our journey, we may not own it, but in that case we must still live with it. Every one of us is given different directions, none of us knows what the destination is, and we hope to own the directions and place on Happy Street.

This story is about the directions that led to the streets that have no name.

This is a place nobody wants to go to and nobody asks for these directions. The directions to these streets can be tougher to accept and handle than the street itself. No matter who we get them from, no matter how bad they are and how much we protest the wrong turns, we arrive and we have only ourselves to find our way back home.

Those that gave these directions are impossible to find at this destination, which will leave you sad, lonely, and searching for new directions. On these streets, most would tell you, they aren’t having fun or finding happiness. It’s a hard life, none of the comforts of life most people enjoy exist out on these streets. The people on these streets are constantly in harm’s way, their well-being is not secure and constantly at stake. They are judged, defined, persecuted, punished and misunderstood. They are targets for the label-obsessed society we live in, labeled as bad, lazy, drug addicts or mentally ill but that’s not always the case.

Getting out of the situation is next to impossible without the love and support of family, friends and society, who can give the directions back home, to Happy Street.

Out of the dissipating fog rides a man on a bicycle.

His name is Eddie. They call him, “Fast Eddie” on the street. He’s been on these streets for five years. Riding his bicycle on the avenue, his headset on, playing U2, “Where the Streets have no Name,” just like these streets. The music continues in his ears, as he rides fast on his bicycle past the homeless camp the County Sheriff’s Department is closing down. Finishing up with the night’s work, they are removing the people. It’s either moving day or jail for them. Left behind are their piles of former life belongings, clothes, pictures, whatever they had in their camp, now a pile of garbage to be gone through by other homeless.

The homeless are the favorite target for police. They are easy and everyone on the street has, at one time or another, been engaged by them.

“Fast Eddie’ has, so, he moves fast by them.

Eddie is unique on these streets. To start, he grew up in New Jersey but has traveled the country and spent significant time in several states. Over the last ten years, since his wife passed away, he’s been exercising and exploring his free spirit, even exploiting it.

Eddie hates labels and would deny he’s any that are placed on him. He’s a happy-go-lucky guy, slightly autistic and neurologically impaired, a worry wart, like Atlas, he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He prefers to live and let live, and love one another, but has strong beliefs and he doesn’t shy away from letting them be known. He’s an activist for anything he thinks is a righteous and just cause. He stands up for what is right and selflessly puts himself out in the process, which has cost him. He doesn’t like to be serious, if he doesn’t have to. Always trying to make life fun, he maintains a great sense of humor and can definitely be misunderstood.

With exceptions, he has some firm beliefs he won’t compromise. One of them is authorities. He exercises his rights and they find that he is difficult to prosecute. He’s different in a lot of other ways, as well. He doesn’t steal, rob or take from anyone or any store, as some out here do, and he’s had all his belongings stolen ten times over.

He cleans up after himself and never leaves a mess, he encourage others to do the same. He’s considered weird by these streets, but those that know him, like “Killer Pat,” will tell you the truth.

“From what I seen and know, out here, on these streets, Fast Eddie’s not weird at all,” says Killer Pat. “I know him for a few years, and we hung around that internet café and casino. They all think he’s weird ‘cause they see he cleans up after himself. He even keeps his cigarette remains and any candy wrappers in his pocket until he finds a garbage can. He does the right thing, all the time, never f—s anybody and will help you if you need help. Once I saw him carrying some old ladies’ groceries down the Avenue and up the three story buildings stairs to her door. He gives the police no reason to engage him. I see him work hard, he got several part time jobs. He waves a sign for that mattress store on the avenue and caters part time. He’s a referee, yea, he officiates sports but not as much as he once did. In my opinion, ‘Fast Eddie’ is a righteous brother, once you get to know him.”