The tunnel woman gets a home. Oh, and her name is Virginia

Posted by Heather O. | January 23, 2008 | 14 Comments

To get to Funger Hall at The George Washington University, you get off the subway at Foggy Bottom. Take the escalator up, and you will be deposited in the heart of campus, such as it is. Turn right, and walk down 23rd St, until you hit G St. Funger Hall is on the corner.

For 2 and a half years, Funger Hall was my second home. It houses the George Washington University Speech and Hearing Center, where eager grad students treat patients and families afflicted with a variety of speech and language disorders. As one of those eager grad students, I walked down 23rd St almost every day for those 2 years, rain or shine. And almost every day, I greeted the man who sat on the corner in front of his shopping cart, holding his jar of coins.

He actually never asked me for money, and I have to admit, I can’t remember ever giving him any. He would just always smile and wave, and ask me how I was. At first, I gave him a quick smile and then put my head down, hurrying along, torn by the common conundrum of wanting to be polite, but not really wanting to engage with a homeless stranger. But when your schedule starts to match with somebody else’s, and you see the same person every day, it becomes impossible not to notice one another, and we struck up a tentative, conversational friendship. If my schedule changed, or a class got canceled, and I failed to walk down 23rd in the morning, he would ask me where I had been. At one point during the year, he disappeared for a few weeks, and when he returned, I couldn’t help myself asking where he had been as well. He never gave me details about where he went, or, indeed, his daily life in general, but he was always pleasant, and he became a fixture of my grad school experience. I was not surprised to learn that some of my other classmates felt the same way, with one girl calling him her homeless buddy. Yet none of us ever learned his name.

I thought of this man as I read this story about a homeless woman who lived in a Metro tunnel for 12 years, give or take. The story is an amazing example of what can happen when a community doesn’t give up on a woman who, it would appear, is more comfortable living in a tunnel, surrounded by boxes of stuff, than in an apartment. Yet with some love, patience, and yes, some government funding, somebody was able to pull her out of the tunnel, and give her a place to call home.

I imagine that like my grad school homeless buddy, this woman was something of a permanent fixture for the regular subway commuters. Hibernating in her house of cardboard, chatting with passersby, I’m sure she was familiar to many. But I wonder how many of these people knew that her name was Virginia.

We often fall into relationships borne of schedules, of proximity, of habits. In one of the biggest cities in the country, I came to know the man who always checked my groceries, because he worked during the time my son was at preschool, which is when I always shopped. When I worked a job that required a commute, I found myself looking for the same car with the “Go Perot” sticker who showed up at the freeway entrance light every day at almost the exact same time I did. But as we share these bits of life with others, I think it is a rare thing to go beyond the meeting, and find out what lies beneath other people’s lives.

I’m not saying that we all need to be best friends with the panhandler on the corner, but I did love this story that reflects what can happen when somebody takes the time to get to know the woman in the tunnel.

Have you ever had an experience where you have formed a bond or a relationship with a stranger who you meet because he crossed the same path you did? How did it happen, why were you together, who initiated the connection?

When I think of my homeless friend, I think I am kind of glad that our relationship wasn’t about money, that he didn’t speak to me only because he thought he could get a coupla bucks. But in retrospect, I wish that I occasionally had bought him a cup of coffee.

Category: Daily Special

Comments

14 Responses to “The tunnel woman gets a home. Oh, and her name is Virginia”

Mormon Mommy Wars » Do you know the Tunnel Woman….
January 23rd, 2008 @ 10:51 pm

[...] apartment in Silver Spring, Maryland.Â We’re talking about her and some other stuff over at Segullah. Come share you [...]
Kalli
January 24th, 2008 @ 11:35 am

YES!
5 years ago I was sitting in the SLC airport waiting for my sister’s flight coming in from Newark, NJ. The plane was delayed for almost 2 hours and I found myself stuck since it would have been worthless to drive all the way back to Provo and was so cold outside I couldn’t go downtown. So I sat and waited. A woman sitting across from me noticed I was alone and struck up a conversation. She had an English accent and told me that she and her husband were there waiting for their son who was on the same flight. Turns out she was English, married to a retired French cuisine chef named Jean-Pierre with two children, a daughter Cecilia and a son Jason who worked in NYC and whose flight they were waiting on. They were in the US on vacation and headed down to Zion’s National Park to enjoy the sights.

We had a great time chatting and the two hours nearly flew by. When the flight finally arrived Kathleen handed me a slip of paper with her email on it saying she would love to hear from me. I sent her an email a few weeks later and we have kept in touch off and on since.

We’ve talked about everything from religion to cellos (her daughter plays), to family history, to sports and quilting (one of her passions). I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our friendship and our correspondence through the years and I hope it continues for many to come. I’m so glad this woman struck up a conversation with a bored 21 year old. It just goes to show that you never know the kind of friendship that can grow out of a passing conversation.
Justine
January 24th, 2008 @ 11:38 am

There’s a homeless man that I see almost every day — he lives along a trail that I run on regularly. He keeps a very predictable schedule, and I always know exactly where on the trail I’ll see him at what particular time. He is always walking somewhere, and I always wonder where exactly he’s going, because he always seems to be walking purposefully.

I think I’ve been nervous to start a conversation (or even a pleasantry) with him because it’s kind of a remote and isolated trail in spots. Maybe when the thaw happens and I hit the trail again I’ll have to say hello.

Oh, and I love my Day’s Market check-out girl, who knows my name and doesn’t think I’m freaky for using my own canvas bags.
cheryl
January 24th, 2008 @ 12:17 pm

It happened all the time while I was in college. I became friends with one of the custodian girls that cleaned our dorm. Later on I even ended up working with her brother. I once had some classes with an hour break in between, so instead of going home, I would wait outside my classroom door in the hallway. Another girl who had a class in the room across from mine did the same thing. To be honest, I can’t remember her name, but we talked about all kinds of things that semester.

It’s funny, but I’ll run into someone I recognize immediately, they’ll recognize me, but we cannot figure out how. A lot of times it’s just been “Oh, I walked past you every day for 4 months on campus!” or “You worked at ______, didn’t you? I went there all the time!”

There are some “receipt-checkers” at Costco that my children recognize immediately. They are the ones who will draw smiley faces on their hands after they mark the receipt. They are always disappointed when it’s a “new” person.
pjb
January 24th, 2008 @ 12:22 pm

There was a homeless man that lived in a cardboard box by the freeway when our children were young.

One Thanksgiving I decided that teaching the children compassion for others would be a significant opportunity with this homeless man.

We took and loaded up part of our Thanksgiving dinner into a disposable container. Covered it significantly to maintain the heat.

We then drove to his cardboard home not even 1/2 mile down the main street from us. I was trying to teach by word and by deed the beautiful concept of serving the *least of these* to my young children as we drove the short distance.

My husband got out as the children and I watched from the car, he placed the container of food next to his cardboard home as the homeless man was not in his home presently.

Wanting my family to experience those feelings of kindness by serving this man who to this day is still walking around town almost 22 years later and yes, homeless.

Small moment for the act, hopefully large moment for teachings of the heart.
annegb
January 24th, 2008 @ 12:53 pm

I have two words: Elizabeth Smart. Your post is wonderful, Heather, and, as one who speaks to perfect strangers all the time, I appluad the sentiment. But I would urge caution, also. Justine, have your pepper spray ready. You never know, you young girls.

Once when it was raining cats and dogs, I stopped and asked a guy carrying a couple of bags of groceries if he wanted a ride and he was flabbergasted.

“You don’t even know me!” He said.

“Well, I’m not an axe murderer and you look okay to me, get in out of the rain.”

And I took him to his home, he was living at the trailer park temporarily in town for a job. Very nice young man.

I did that a lot after James died, partly because my heart went out to young men, and partly because I didn’t care what happened to me.

It’s kind of a sad commentary on society that we must be so careful how and who we help these days.
Heather O.
January 24th, 2008 @ 2:57 pm

Annegb–You make a good point, and hopefully we will all approach these kind of relationships with strangers with some caution. Justine, my interaction with the homeless man happened on a crowded street in the middle of the city–I’m not sure I’d be as friendly on an isolated path alone. Maybe you should get a dog?
Justine
January 24th, 2008 @ 4:07 pm

I always run with my friend and longtime running partner so I’m not completely alone, but the sentiment is well taken.

I am fascinated by this idea, though, because there are many people that have come into my life as the result of random or continued “running into” each other. Perhaps it’s all not as much a coincidence as it appears. Some of the people that have impacted me most in my life have been the result of this kind of beginning.

Well, I guess in truth, isn’t this how we ultimately meet most of the people in our lives? Aside from family, the closest people to me all happen to be ones that moved into my life in some unexpected, but entirely blessed, way.
Bookslinger
January 24th, 2008 @ 6:06 pm

“Have you ever had an experience where you have formed a bond or a relationship with a stranger who you meet because he crossed the same path you did?”

Yes. I have a lot of them. However, I don’t often meet the same people over and over, but sometimes do. But I posit that a bond or a relationship, or at least the potential for one, can come from just one meeting.

“How did it happen, “

They happen when I generally do three things: 1) shop, including buying gasoline, 2) eat at restaurants, 3) do laundry at laundromats.

“why were you together, “

I bought something from them; was standing in the checkout line next to them; they were my waiter/waitress; they parked next to or near me in the parking lot; they used the washing machine or dryer next to mine, I passed them in the hallway of the nursing home; they were attending the person whom I was visiting in the hospital/nursing home.

“who initiated the connection?”

I usually do. I ask things like “Where are you (or ‘your family’) originally from?” “What languages do you speak?” “Would you like a free book or video in your language from my church?”

The foreign language angle is my excuse for speaking or the conversation starter. I still get terrible stage fright and often chicken-out (ie: disobey) when the Spirit tells me I need to speak to a person who only speaks English.

Out of hundreds of encounters, there has only been one baptism that I know of, and he already had LDS friends in other cities. I have maintained a relationship with him, though he has moved from Indianapolis to the West coast.
Kate
January 24th, 2008 @ 7:28 pm

I always want to give rides in my car to the people who are waiting at the bus stop. It drives me crazy that literally hundreds of cars will pass 3 people who are obviously going the same way.

Seems like a couple of decades ago it was no big deal to hitch a ride. I wish it would go back to the way it was.It drives me crazy how big shows like Law and Order SVU have become. I feel like they’ve fostered a culture of fear and suspicion. It really cuts down on our communal compassion and brotherhood.

I worked at a gas station for about a year in a rural area and I got to be a part of a lot of people’s routine. It amazed me how friendly some of the roughest, toughest looking folk could be.
Bookslinger
January 24th, 2008 @ 9:19 pm

Kate,

I’ve actually done that. There was a period of time when I didn’t have a car and I rode the bus. I got to have a nodding acquaintance with some people. I didn’t have a regular 9-to-5 job, so it was not a daily-same-time-of-day commute thing with me.

But one day, after I had obtained a car, I saw one of the regulars standing at the bus stop. I stopped and offered her a ride. She recognized me and accepted.

The vein or over-arching point which I see in Heather’s original post is that even just a polite verbal acknowledgement of someone’s existance means a lot.

The person doesn’t have to be down-on-their-luck or homeless. Even everyday Joe’s and Jane’s plodding along with their often self-admittedly boring lives have a need to be recognized.

I used this program to teach myself a few words (hello, thank-you, you’re welcome) in about five languages. One day while going through the check-out line at Wal-mart, the cashier was dressed in traditional clothing of India. With a tired expression, no eye contact, and a weary voice she said the “Thank you for shopping at Wal-mart” mantra as she handed me my change.

In response, I said “danyavad”, which is “thank you” in the Hindi language. Her expression changed into a smile, she made eye contact with me, and I felt a small warm rush of having made a small positive effect in someone’s life with something that cost me nothing.
Heather O.
January 24th, 2008 @ 10:04 pm

“The vein or over-arching point which I see in Heatherâ€™s original post is that even just a polite verbal acknowledgement of someoneâ€™s existance means a lot.”

Wow, thanks for describing it in such wonderful terms.
TG
January 26th, 2008 @ 6:41 am

These comments remind me of a memorable experience I had on a plane. My kiddos were being horrible and a kind woman helped me. Since it was a flight out of SLC, I assumed she must be LDS. She seemed exactly like your typical LDS sisterly type.

When we parted ways, I thanked her and she said, “well, I believe in helping others, I belong to a religion that teaches me to reach out…” I’m nodding, nodding, waiting for her to say LDS, but instead she said, “I am a Christain Scientist.” I was humbled. Bless you, Christian Scientists.
denise martens
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