I noticed him immediately upon entering the computer lab. The presence of a middle-aged man wading through the sea of youth would have been sufficient enough for seperation. However, what caught my eye was the worn business suit, reminiscent of the corporate 80s, combined with some thick black spectacles that reminded me of scrawny Paul’s glasses off of The Wonder Years. A faded tie was strung loosely about his collar. Intently, he kept glancing from the scrap of paper that was laid flat on his lap to the irridescent light of the computer screen, frowning slightly.

He was obviously a man on a mission. If not for the odd attire, I would have pegged him for a professor, or at least a business-major-come-lately.

We had typed beside each other for a good 20 minutes when I decided to ask him if a word I wanted to use seemed appropriate. He seemed intelligent enough.

He blinked, eyes magnified by the large lenses. In that moment, the floodgate was opened.

After answering my question, somehow the topic of conversation gravitated towards social problems – specifically, the mentally ill in society. Barely speaking above a whisper the entire time, the man – who I’ll refer to as Paul, since we never exchanged names – began a lengthy tirade on the subject. I was enraptured, nodding my head rhythmically like a velvet Chihuahua car ornament. I don’t know how much of what he said can be validated, since bits and pieces of the conversation were marred by the ever-present murmur of our fellow typists and the constant whir of the printers.

Much of what he said seemed extreme – he described in detail conspiracy theories that spanned from the U.S. government’s involvement in the drug trade (specifically, heroin trafficking into the U.S. by government officials) to the real driving force behind the present economic situation.

President Reagan, Paul explained, is to blame for the rising tide of homelessness in America.

During the 1980’s, Reagan shut down the nation’s psych wards and state instituions, literally leaving these people out on the street. How could these former wards of the state, who had been cared for nearly all their lives, possibly “make it” in the harsh reality of the world?

Unfortunately, I can’t remember much of the conversation. I was occasionally distracted by the way his hands shook, and I distinctly remember trying not to stare at his yellowed fingers. I learned later that this was a classic sympton of heroin addicts who are weaning themselves off the drug through methadone treatments.

Ah. So that may help explain why this fellow was himself temporarily homeless. I wished him the best of luck, thoroughly relieved to end the conversation.

As uncomfortable as this man’s piercing stare and his vehemence against “the system” were for me, some of the scraps of information that I was able to glean from the whispered dialogue was intriguing. Did Reagan turn out the nation’s wards defenseless?

In fact, there was a surge of reform that swept Reagan’s America. There were people released into society that did not possess the skills needed to survive.

But I don’t really think that is the best explanation for why so many people end up in the streets in the world’s most affluent country.

My own theory? I think it has something to do with the presence of economic elephants.

That is my own term to describe the imbalance between the “haves” and “have-nots.”

As anyone who has attempted to live on a minimum wage income can tell you, it is simply grueling.

If you are uneducated – which, again, may simply not be an option for you, when you’re more concerned with day-to-day living expenses – the jobs that are offered to you are low-paying, high-risk and definitely dead-end. You are pressured to work overtime with no compensation, such as time-and-a-half. If there are transportation or child-care concerns, much of your paycheck may be drained by these arrangements.

Often, you are not offered health insurance or sick leave, despite the nature of the work being physically exhausting or even dangerous.

To make ends meet, people often work two or even three jobs. The emotional toll on the psyche of these folks is devastating.

With never a day of rest and with the tendency of the management to treat their employees like children, one cannot help but feel frustration and depression. Many people turn to drugs and alcohol to block out the meanness in their life – like the jaundice-fingered ex-businessman.

I used to be in the very same boat. For a few months, I lived in Portland, Ore., far away from home and terribly frightened. The work demanded by my two full-time jobs were mind-numbing and exhausting, and the money was never enough to pay rent and eat anything more substantial than peanut butter or ramen noodles.

I have learned my lesson all too well – for God’s sake, to stay in school and get my degree so that I can do something that I love and live how and where I want to.

But not everyone has this choice. I thought I might remind myself and my fellow students here at ETSU – be grateful.

Yeah, it gets really old, doing papers and struggling through tests and rising early in the morning to hear professors lecture about things you may not have a personal interest in. But be grateful. This life is cake, compared to the squalor that you could be fighting for survival in. It’s easy to get burnt out on school this late in the year, believe me, I know. But education is your ticket up and out. And maybe,s on your way, you may be able to extend your hand to someone else.

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