Visiting Silver City a few years ago, I learned that the town had a homeless population of two alcoholic brothers who lived in an abandoned bus. I met one of them – an intelligent man who frequented the public library. A librarian bought him a new jacket, partly out of compassion and partly because the old jacket reeked.
Homeless people in small towns have names, faces and histories. Homeless people in Albuquerque just have numbers – there are thousands.
Now two of them have names – Tiffany and Ty Toribio.
We’re inured to crime reports, but every now and then one seizes our hearts and demands attention. The mystery, the tragedy of little Ty’s death, and his young mother’s reported confession poked a public nerve.
It’s about time.
About 10 years ago I was a volunteer at a homeless shelter for several years. It was eye opening. Each person had a story, but a few common threads were alcohol, drugs, mental illness, and poverty.
I saw lots of Tiffanys.
There were days when I wanted to burn down every bar in downtown Albuquerque, like one of those old time prohibitionists. Those of us who can enjoy a drink without it taking over our lives don’t quite comprehend the ravages of alcoholism, the way it grips people in its talons and fogs their brains. It was a shock that many people at the shelter simply accepted that they would die an alcoholic on the streets.
One day I was working the counter when a young man came in and asked if his sister had been there. I knew her – a pretty girl like Tiffany, who wouldn’t stay pretty for long. “We’d like her to come home, but she chooses to live this way,” he said.
It was a rare visit. Most of the people had no contact with their families. Many, like Tiffany, had been kicked out because their families had experienced too many alcohol-fueled fights and unruly behavior. The difference between us and them is money. Families with money, or functioning alcoholics with paychecks, can afford rehab – or hide their secret.
On another occasion, I saw a woman come in with another little Ty. He had a big bruise on his face. As the mother of an energetic boy, I knew what bruises look like from falling out of trees, bicycle crashes and other boy-type mishaps. This wasn’t one of those. I alerted the volunteer coordinator. The next time the woman came in, the boy wasn’t with her.
The reason we don’t hear about lots more Tiffanys and Tys is because of a handful of sorely stretched charitable organizations and their volunteers. One thing that angered me about coverage of this tragedy was the Albuquerque Journal’s smug listing of charitable organizations. It gave the impression that there’s plenty of help – if only Tiffany had made a little effort. The Newspaper of Record didn’t ask any of those organizations if they had room for yet another woman and child or if they could feed two more mouths.
One of the organizations on the list was Joy Junction, a faith-based shelter that doesn’t receive government funding. It was in the news just months ago pleading for food and money. All of these charities are struggling with rising demand and dwindling donations, the result of economic fallout that began long before the recession was declared. Every food bank in the state is in the same straits.
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Tiffany Toribio isn’t a monster. She’s a young woman taken to the depths of depression and despair by circumstance and personal history laced with booze and drugs. Who are we to judge?
© New Mexico News Services 2009