Courage Revealed

A too familiar site.

Guided tours are helpful to visitors to get the lay of the land, learn some history and identify sites to pursue more deeply. Mike and I joined the History of Terror Walking Tour in Belfast, Northern Ireland last summer to better understand the conflicts plaguing that region. It was enlightening, but don’t ask me to explain the situation now. We did not feel at risk as the native guide contrasted his experiences growing up during the worst of it with today’s bustling inner city.  

Danger was not on our minds when we signed up to walk Marshall Shore’s “History and Mystery of Phoenix” tour with a group of friends. Although we have lived here for over 30 years, there is much about Phoenix we don’t know. That day we were to learn a bit of Phoenix history and a surprising lesson in courage.

We drove downtown on that Sunday afternoon, the streets mostly deserted, as usual, the big-city hustle and bustle of Phoenix limited to one or two neighborhoods. Approaching the vacant parking lot, we observed a young man, grimy, lanky, disheveled, leaping in the middle of the traffic lane, bounding toward an oncoming city bus. His flailing gestures and foul ranting suggested a drug-induced state. I offered a silent prayer for the man as we drove past, shaking our heads.

Walking toward the hotel where we were to meet, we stepped over and past several people lying on the sidewalk, their worldly goods on display. Many were sleeping. Is any city or town immune from homelessness? Recent travels informed us Europe faces the same dilemma.

As we waited for the light to cross the street, screams pulled my gaze to the sight of two women running in our direction, chased by a man mirroring the bus-challenging man seen earlier. When the man caught up with the women and fist-slammed one in the head, my eyes did a quick scan of the intersection as I leaped forward, shouting as if scaring off a wild animal. Mike followed. Another young man intervened between the women and the attacker as Mike tried to distract him. I called 9-1-1, clearly reporting the location, the problem, and using the word “assault” to highlight the sense of danger. Does he have a weapon? I don’t see one, BUT he has a backpack. By this time, three or four other people were attempting to control the situation, all of us running in different directions to avoid danger as the drug-crazed man continued shouting and attempting to attack. The women’s protector escorted them out of the way and the assailant headed in another direction. As the police pulled up, it was unnecessary for Mike to point out the accused: he fist-slammed a patron at a patio restaurant in full view of the officers. We watched as the two burly men worked to get control of this man, his eyes glowing yellow, resembling a feral crazed animal more than a human.

Mike and I continued to the Hilton Garden Inn to the meet the tour. That’s when I realized that throughout this incident, I had no fear. I jumped in to do what needed to be done. But why then? I am not a brave person. Too many times I have not stood up for my husband, my children, my friends, not from physical threats but emotional or false accusations. If I can’t confront situations which don’t involve danger, how could I ever handle those that do?

A friend who served in Vietnam recounted that during one battle, his comrades were in grave danger. There was no fear; he just ran in to do what needed to be done, putting his life in danger for several hours. He was awarded the Medal of Honor for that act. I always had trouble wrapping my head around his actions, surrounded by death and bullets, and becoming a hero with no thought for heroism.

My initial reaction to the man chasing the women was anger at the man for threatening women. I am done with patriarchy and was ready to tackle it physically at this point. It was heartening to see several people intervene. All were relieved when the police officers arrived. And when it was over, my heart went out to the homeless, those young men in particular. Mike and I do what little we know how to aid the homeless. It might be easier if there were a concrete being to bind and turn over to justice.

We learned a little about Phoenix during the tour and enjoyed camaraderie with friends. When it was over, we drove through the lively up-and-coming Roosevelt Row, no homeless in sight in this gentrified neighborhood. Then we turned the corner in time to see another young man, grimy, lanky, disheveled, leaping in the middle of the empty street. His flailing gestures and foul ranting suggested a drug-induced state.

What can we do?

Post Script: Big Bro and his wife who live in downtown Phoenix have learned the futility of reporting homeless people camping near the sidewalks. The Phoenix Police Department is short-handed with no time to address non-emergencies. They have learned to avoid anyone who appears to be on drugs, having been threatened more than once.