(CHELSEA NOW) John Mudd, March 23, 2018 — I try and let the name roll off my tongue with the Latin flair it deserves. Alejandro painstakingly hobbles along, huffing and puffing, and trying to keep pace with my stride. His legs do not carry him well. He is old beyond his years, and has lived a rough life. His life on the street is a secret to his five children — I find this remarkable. Brianna Mankey, Program Director of Breaking Ground (a homeless outreach service; breakingground.org) tells me this is not uncommon. I didn’t disbelieve Alejandro, but I wondered where the inquisitive voice amongst the five grown children. Did they really not know or did they not want to know. He smiles while talking about his one son, and frowns while talking about the severed relationship with his daughter. He’s been living on the streets since 2005; that’s a 12-year stretch.

When we first met, he was taking up residency under construction scaffolding for a vacant building that will eventually become a hotel. I couldn’t ignore him: I passed him often as he sat or slept on my block. Besides, as the president of the Midtown South Community Council, with a mission to better the quality of life for those who live, work, and visit midtown of Manhattan, I was obligated. I wonder how far back his rough past goes, and what steps led him to a life on the streets.

In the 1940s, the Viet Cong built underground tunnels, and by the 1960s they had built them to include hospitals, headquarters, storage, and command centers. The tunnels held numerous threats: enemies, booby traps, rats, spiders, scorpions, snakes, and more. Upon discovery of a tunnel network, a “tunnel rat”— a soldier equipped with a pistol, bayonet, and flashlight — would be sent in to kill any hiding enemies and plant explosives to destroy the tunnel.

From the little I know of Alejandro, my amateur psychoanalytic mind deduces that his experienceas a tunnel rat for around eight years could be the root of his troubles. As we walk, he points to where four bullets riddled his body. He points to where shrapnel scarred his left brow; shrapnel sent his way from a mine his buddy stepped on a few paces ahead of him. He spoke of the scarring incidents matter-of-factly, with subtle pride and torment.

Source: Chelsea Now