Homeless people roam the 98 degree streets of Las Vegas,
some going through trash cans, some sitting there with signs asking for money,
and some just sitting. Las Vegas is not kind to those in hardship or homeless
on the streets. Ministries have been sited many times for feeding and giving
water to the homeless as they believe it only encourages them to hang
around. Hard times are hard times it not
a choice to sit on 110 degree heat. Come on American this is what our country
is founded on to help one another. Once again many are only one pay-check away
from this happening to them.
Kenny
No one seems to pay a whole lot of attention to them. They
might almost be part of the scenery. During a recent trip to Las Vegas with
friends, I found Kenny on Fremont Street.
According to Wikipedia, “Fremont Street is … the second most
famous street in the Las Vegas Valley after the Las Vegas Strip. (It was) named
in honor of explorer John Charles Frémont and located in the heart of the
downtown casino corridor.”
With all of the bustling activity, liquor, vendors and
casinos, experiencing Fremont Street was something akin to spending a concert
night at the Hard Rock Pavilion, the State Fair and all of our casinos rolled
into one. It’s known as the “Fremont Street Experience.” Kenny’s a part of the
“experience” not talked about so much.
I asked Kenny, who was in a wheelchair, if he was hungry. He
said he was, so I gave him a gift card for a fast food restaurant. He agreed to
talk with me for a few minutes about being homeless in Las Vegas.
He said he is surviving, but life is difficult. Kenny said
he’d been in Las Vegas for 18 months; homeless for about five years total, and
came there because he believed he could find work. He’s been in a wheelchair
for about six months.
Being homeless in Las Vegas, he said, “Sucks. Pardon my
English but it sucks … I shattered my ankle, lost my job, and of course I ended
up losing my apartment cause I couldn’t pay for it. That’s what happens when
you work under the table; you don’t get no benefits.”
Kenny described a typical day. “Panhandling to survive; to
eat. To have a drink so you can go to sleep on the bare ground.”
He added, “I have a lot of health problems all of sudden and
I won’t take pills so I ended up drinking; ended up getting addicted to that.
(I) should have took the darn pills, ha ha … ”
Kenny said he has been attacked and robbed three times –
close to where I was talking to him.
He said, (I was) “trying to find a place to sleep … cause I
try to stay away from all the others, because they’re the ones that steal from
you. They’re the ones that attack you. You have no friends out here. You just
have people that want to take from you.”
Kenny said he gets moved on a lot by the police. (It’s)
constant. It depends on their moods, and which officer, but yeah.. They make me
move.”
I asked Kenny if there was a law against panhandling. He
said, “Yeah, but there’s not supposed to be a law against flying a sign that
doesn’t ask for money but they gave me a ticket for it. Oh, they’re gonna give
me probably five days (in jail).”
I wondered what Kenny would say to people who would say he
could get help if he really wanted to.
Drinking, he said, makes some area homeless services
inaccessible to him. The alcohol he uses to numb the pain has now resulted with
him waking up with the shakes.
“So I have to have a drink to calm down and cure my stomach
and I can’t use the services,” he said.
As our conversation continued, I learned that Kenny had
worked all his life. He said he’s been a carpenter, an electrician, a painter
and a gardener. He said he’s fighting for disability benefits.
I asked Kenny if he had one wish what it would be. He said
it would be to get a bus ticket back to Santa Cruz, Calif. While he doesn’t
have family there, Kenny said he does have friends, access to health care and a
place he can get a job. Tears were running down his cheeks as he’d been
talking.
I asked Kenny if I could pray with him. He gladly accepted.
Will you also say a prayer for Kenny?
After leaving Kenny and continuing my journey down Fremont
Street, I passed the Heart Attack Grill, where anyone over 350 pounds eats
free. I couldn’t help but thinking that this was somewhat ironic. Only in
America, right?
