Portland walks: North on NE 20th Ave to NE Broadway

I took a walk the other day to Broadway Books to pick up my friend Mindy’s new book. As I set out, I was thinking about how welcome I’ve always felt walking into that bookstore, both under the past ownership and the present. How good it feels to walk into a place and be greeted by name, and to know that the person asking how you’re doing really wants to hear the answer. When I was in the store a few weeks earlier, the current owner, Kim, talked about how the community that’s formed around the store was buoying her emotionally in these dark, dark times we’re in. She didn’t feel alone, and she knew that if things got really, really bad she would have people to lean on. That’s exactly what we all need, isn’t it? Those third spaces where we’re known and welcome and cared about. We need community. We need it desperately, now more than ever.

Let’s start our walk at the corner of 20^th Ave and East Burnside, across from the hearing aid store that went out of business a while back. As I stood, waiting to cross, I was thinking that I would show you its neon sign, as well as the neon sign of the vintage store across the street that used to be a dry cleaner. I was thinking about how glad I was that the vintage store had taken on the name of the dry cleaner and kept the sign, because I like old neon signs and because it’s just a cool bit of the past to hang on to, right? And so I was wondering if whoever buys the hearing aid store building would maintain that sign. But the way that things tend to go in Portland, and probably in your city as well, is that the building will be demolished to build another cookie-cutter luxury apartment building that will sit half empty. That’s how things seem to go in Portland. We have a surplus of new apartments that very few people can afford and not nearly enough affordable housing. It’s probably like that where you live, too.

Funny (not funny) how these walks always lead me to thinking about housing, or the lack of it.  

So I was thinking about that neon sign, and I took a picture of it to show you, even though it was full daylight and the sign was unlit, but the camera also captured evidence of the person who camps behind that column and planter. I walk past them pretty frequently, and they’ve often got a hostile air about them when they’re awake. On guard, might be more accurate, and who could blame them. They clearly don’t want to be bothered. I don’t bother them, but of course I notice that they’re there, tucked into their sleeping bag almost every time I go past, and this day was no different. That got me thinking about community again. Does that person have people somewhere out there, wondering where they are and if they’re okay? What community did this person come from? How did it fail them? What kind of community do they have now that isn’t visible to me? Something, I hope. Some kind of something.

Here’s the old dry cleaners sign:

Then I came across this, speaking of community and things you might do to foster it:

I passed by the Musicians Union and crossed Sandy Blvd. Does anyone know what this building at NE Sandy and NE 20^th used to be that there’s this delightful diver medallion on it?

Oh look. It’s a new apartment building with vacancies.

Yes, charming little old apartment building, I, too, am aging and a little worse for wear and wish that I was in Spain.

And then another new apartment building, soon to also have vacancies. Want to place bets on the likelihood of affordable units in it? I’m a broken record on this, and I’m starting to bum myself out. Onward.

And then it was time to cross over the highway and consider once again how powerful intrusive thoughts can be and how little I must trust my fellow humans that what scares me about bridges and overpasses is the possibility of someone trying to toss me over the railing.

You do get a good view of some ambitiously placed graffiti, though (and more vacant apartments).

(And a couple of tents tucked away in the trees on the slope above the train tracks)

Okay, that’s all pretty grim, but along the way there are also trees doing this:

And this

And this

Speaking of intrusive thoughts… You see that funeral home there on the corner?

I can’t pass it without cringing in shame. When my son was six and my daughter was two, I took them both there to attend a memorial service for my son’s kindergarten teacher, who had gotten sick while he was in her class and died the following school year. My little one was getting fussy, so I handed her my silenced phone to keep her occupied (rookie mistake). Do you know where this is going? Her chubby little fingers managed to hit just the right combination of buttons to make “Abel” by The National play out at full volume into the silent room of mourners, screaming “My mind’s not right!” for several seconds that felt like two hours until my mortified, fumbling brain could turn it off.

Yeah. So… That happened. I’m sure I’ll let it go any day now.

Anyway, I turned on to Broadway and ran into a road crew (ubiquitous)…

…and a nonexistent temporary walkway…

…but the detour turned out to be a good thing because I cut over to Weidler and was able to snap a photo of this mural for you

And then I walked around the corner, back to Broadway and I finally got my hands on Mindy’s book.

The way back was the same thing in reverse, except when I passed by the hearing aid building again, the person who camps there was gone, their empty sleeping bag left behind like a shed skin.

If you’re interested in learning more about housing and homelessness in Portland, check out Welcome Home and the work they’re doing.

You can also listen to this radio interview with Welcome Home’s Molly Hogan.

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