City scavengers, some call them. Others prefer “rats with wings,” or the shorter, “winged rats.” They are small, quick to move, nervous when approached, and can be seen looking for food at any of the city?s overflowing trashcans. I had to laugh the other day when I saw one of them inside the trash can, while his peers tried to wrestle bits of discarded food from the outside.
They can be quite beautiful, actually. Finches and sparrows are some of the cutest small birds I have seen in an urban sitting; shadowing this urban wild life are the occasional starlings and the ever-present pigeons.
For two years I was lucky to call Fells Point my “work-home.” I say lucky because the area is alive with a variety of people and sights, from “Ed” (aka Mike Sibert) the homeless man whochased his demons along Thames Street, to the well-clad tourists waiting for cabs or airport shuttles outside the Admiral Fell Inn.
Life in Fells Point during pre-college, pre-drinking hours is a phenomenal experience. Interspersed with this cornucopia of city life are the battles between homeowners and entrepreneurs trying to make a living off the city?s tourist industry and the struggles between the established and newcomers. It certainly makes for sometimes-heated debate even when it is simply a repetition of the dynamics that have made this country what it is.
I am clearly not talking about the poverty at the outskirts, the booming biotech center that has replaced dozens of vacant houses, symbols of the more depressed areas of this great city, nor am I talking about the number of stray cats fed by people not yet hardened by life.
No. I am simply talking about walking amid all of the good and the bad and stopping, just for a minute or two, to look around and see the details that are often missed in our rush to get somewhere. I am talking about a vibrant city that can also be home to a homeless man found dead recently on a lonely city street. Mike Sibert was his name, though when asked he often gave different names, “Ed” and “Doc” among them.
Here was a man who was repeatedly moved out of the Broadway pier parking garage when his living conditions had reached an extreme, a man many were encouraged not to feed with a sign outside one of the stores along Thames Street which asked, “You wouldn?t want him in your front stoop, would you?”
I called Health Care for the Homeless a couple of times last winter when the temperature was bitterly cold. I know that at least once Jeff Singer himself ? Director of HCH ? went out to try to get Mike into a shelter. But we could do nothing more since we cannot compel people ? even the neediest ? into shelters.
I never learned Mike?s story. I very much wanted to. At six feet or so, with dirty blond hair, a growing beard and beautiful baby blue eyes, Mike was an imposing figure. When screaming at the top of his lungs at no one in particular, he was frightening.
In his quieter moments, when he sat around smoking a cigarette and I?d ask him if he wanted something to eat, he could be polite, even gentle. I remember smiling once when he said in reply to my inquiry, “Yes, bagel and cream cheese ? Philadelphia cream cheese.” Here was a man, I thought to myself at that moment, who knew what he liked and was not afraid to ask for it.
I can?t say that I will miss Mike. I can say, however, that there is still great beauty in this little metropolis of ours ? but one that?s hard to appreciate when looming in the background is the face of a human being found dead on a lonely city street in a revitalized part of town.
Haydee Rodriguez is a freelance writer living in Baltimore City. She holds a BA in Philosophy from Loyola College and a JD from the University of Maryland School of Law. She can be reached via e-mail at [email protected].
