Signs of Hope

I was on my way to our weekly community meeting. It was a warm summer night, and the streets were full of people. As I rounded the corner of Euclid Street and headed up 13th, I saw a gathering crowd fixed on something in the middle of the street.

A young man, shirt off and a wild look in his eyes, was dancing up and down the center line of the street, in the middle of traffic. He seemed to be in a world of his own, making strange and violent movements and pounding on cars as they slowed for the traffic light. The signs were all too familiar--he was high on PCP.

Someone, most likely the young man, was going to get hurt unless something was done. Many people stood watching, shaking their heads and talking about how dangerous the situation was, but no one made a move to help. As usual, most of the onlookers were waiting for someone else to make the first move. When you are dealing with PCP there is good reason for caution. The drug produces very violent reactions and increases the strength of the user.

It was clear that the doped-up young man had to be brought out of the street and given medical attention. I carefully stepped into the street toward him.

Just as I did another young man appeared, riding up on his motorcycle. "Hey Jim," he said, "it looks like you could use some help."

I hadn't seen Anthony for a long time. As a boy he was always in trouble. Like too many inner-city kids, petty crime in the form of break-ins, stealing, and lying had become a way of life for Anthony. He used to live across the back alley from us and, with a couple of friends, had broken into many houses on the block, including ours. We tried to work with all of them, their families, and the police, but without much success. We later moved a block away, and we lost contact with Anthony. I hadn't seen him for years when he pulled up on his motorcycle to offer help in a tough situation.

I gratefully accepted his offer, and Anthony and I together approached the young man on PCP. As expected, he didn't respond to our words and quickly became hostile and violent. I was glad there were two of us as we struggled to restrain and pull him out of the street. My shirt was torn off before we succeeded in subduing the confused and hysterical drug victim and bringing him to safety. Once we did, others moved in to help hold him until the emergency squad arrived.

THEN I FINALLY HAD a chance to talk to Anthony. He amazed me with how much he had grown up. Anthony had gotten his life together and was now clearly on top of his situation. He had established some goals for himself and told me he was training to become a firefighter. After talking a little more, I thanked him and we shook hands and said good-bye. Quite late, I finally got to the community meeting, smiling all the way. Anthony had grown up and was turning out well. A firefighter!

Two young men had crossed my path that night--one with a serious drug problem and the other overcoming early mistakes to get his life on the right track. I was moved by watching the one who had begun to solve his own problems then help the one who was still in trouble.

It often feels like there aren't many signs of hope in the inner city. But that night I saw a troubled young boy becoming a responsible young man. I didn't stop smiling all night.

Jim Wallis is editor-in-chief of Sojourners.