Yesterday, on a lark we made the half hour trip to a nearby community. The town that we visited is Racine, Wisconsin. It is an old industrial town that has a population of about eighty thousand. There is some interesting architecture there, including some Frank Lloyd Wright structures. We like to go to their zoo and stroll the beautifully restored main street, ducking into an occasional interesting shop. There is also a fabulous 1880’s lighthouse at nearby Wind Point. Patty was off and the weather was beautiful beyond the calendar for the upper Midwest, we couldn’t resist a spontaneous little outing.

We were headed for a legendary hamburger joint called, Kewpee’s downtown. Before I had the chance to feed the meter, I was panhandled. I hate being panhandled for a couple of reasons. One, it disrupts my plans and I am a selfish, focused sort of person. Two, I never know for sure the right thing to do.

Kimberly was sort of cherub looking though missing several teeth in front. She was loud and talked a lot. Upon asking me for a few dollars, I told her that we were on our way to eat and she could join us. The proprietor of the travel agency that served as her panhandling station came bolting out of the shop, asking if she had asked us for money and threatened to call the police. I told her that she was with us and in response received a hardy, mean scowl. Apparently, our Kimberly was a reoccurring annoyance for some local merchants. I can understand their perspective, but thought the owner of the travel agency over did it a bit.

Since we had no cash, she helped us to locate an ATM, walking with us to the bank and back to Kewpee’s. It was cheeseburgers and root beers all around! Kimberly kept talking. While, not drunk; she was inebriated. The more she talked, the more she lied. She lied about how many beers she had. (The number kept changing.) She lied about her husband. (Sometimes he was a husband and sometimes a boy friend.) She lied about her doctor. (His phone number was unlisted, then it was listed.) We tried to get her to schedule a rehab appointment. She made the call, but the office was closed. O.K., now that I think about it, maybe she was drunk.

I had an appointment to make a long distance call at 2 PM. So, I excused myself to go outside and kept glancing through the window to check on Patty upon whom I has just unloaded Kimberly. Then I saw Patty motion me in, pointing at our check. I had all of the money. I thought that was kind of ironic and funny, but then I have a warped sense of humor.

What do to with the world’s Kimberlys? Since she isn’t ready for real help, there isn’t much to do. Even if she were ready for help, her chances wouldn’t be too good. She is, perhaps mildly mentally disabled, an alcoholic, and apparently without family or an advocate. Maybe, everyone who knew her got disgusted and gave up on her.

What if she really wanted help? How would she find her way through the maze of our system of very limited services? Where would on begin? Alcoholism, job training, housing, financial management? My wife who is a health care professional, said the options for someone like Kimberly are rather limited.

My mind jumped to all of the mentally ill people that have been tossed out of institutions to crummy half way houses or to the street in the last several years. They are among the vast multitude of “the least of these.”

I am not sure that we have come so far in caring for those who need some help!

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