Portland while you were sleeping

Portland is a very different city after you’ve gone to bed. The utopia that “just needs a little vision” the more polished mayoral candidates speak of and the “total governmental tax burdening disaster but otherwise okay town” the riff-raff decry is riddled with a drug abusing and/or mentally disturbed underclass that roam the streets causing trouble on the entire peninsula and the busier thoroughfares on the other side of 295. Usually an “innocent” travelling the streets will only run into it here and there and give it only a fleeting thought. On Thursday morning, while out delivering this paper, it was blatant, it was everywhere and the scene presented provided me a glimpse into our future.

We begin at the Jetport at 2am, where all was quiet. Approaching Libbytown inbound on Congress Street I started to notice a lot of people walking and biking. A lot for this time of day is more than two. There were five. I thought nothing of it and descended into the St. John valley.

Stopping at the Greyhound station for a delivery, I’m usually tripping or glancing over a “regular” from the homeless community. The people without homes that have lived in the city for an extended time seem to have claimed the St. John valley for themselves. The newer homeless population that moved here based on the true rumors that Portland was the cat’s meow for the almighty hand out seems to stick around the Bayside area where those dreams are realized. Instead of the usual one or two people at the station, there were seven people hanging around – and not the regular faces. The faces there looked even less savory than I had grown accustomed and immune to, so I proceeded to Union Station plaza right quick.

On my way there I passed the building at the corner of St. John and A streets that is always lit up like a Christmas tree, has no signage and always has one or two suspicious-looking people coming and going from it. This morning, business was brisk, whatever it might be they purvey.

Heading to Dunkin Donuts, I saw a man wobbling behind the Dog Fish café yelling toward the sky at the top of his lungs. I continued up Congress. I am not over-embellishing when I say that every single stoop on the portion of Congress between Valley St and Bramhall Square was occupied by two or three people I wouldn’t be having tea with, and at two buildings, entry was being granted to knockers by the way of a guy cracking the door, peering out, and sizing up the visiting company. On a typical morning, you might see two or three people in this neck of the woods total. Thursday, there were 30 peeps, minimum.

I banged a right on Bramhall St, passing three late-teen/early twenties dudes using an orange construction cone as a megaphone. They had made their way up to Maine Medical Center by the time I had exited the hospital. I saw them approach a doctor outside to smoke a cigarette and as I passed in my rearview saw them dropkick the cone in her direction.

Driving further into the West End I saw people everywhere. There are always a few bar stragglers or wayward addicts out and about, but Thursday they were on every street and around every bend. Arriving at Cumberland Farms, I was greeting by a gaggle of early-twentysomethings in the parking lot. The manager of the store, having recently lost the part-time overnight guy, was manning the store. I walked in and said “The city is nuts tonight!” He agreed, and reminded me of a fact a working guy is wont to forget. It was the first of the month, he said, “checks went out.”

“That’s right!” I remembered right then that a percentage my early morning toil went to subsidize a few nights on the town for the very people I was seeing out. I usually don’t notice that our subsidizing of the criminally inclined underclass in our city has occurred until about the eighth of the month when I try to find a snack cake in the city and can’t; It seems the Hostess guy hasn’t figured out how to capitalize on the welfare state through efficient merchandising.

Having been reminded of why the city was so busy, I had a better understanding of the grand weirdness I was witnessing. Continuing forth on Danforth Street, there were four dudes standing next to a fire hydrant that had been opened and was spewing water.

I crossed the interstate from there and headed out on Forest Ave. I nearly squished a guy laying smack dab in the middle of the parking lot at the 449 Forest Ave Plaza, saw two kids armed with felt-tip writing devices at Woodfords Corner and in my rearview, after having passed a wobbly bike rider saw him then cross in front of a cargo van which came to a complete stop to wait for him to move out of the way. Heading further down Forest, I saw four police cruisers pass me, quickly heading in to town.

The quietest part of the city Thursday morning? Riverton. Not a peep out there, which was weird in of itself.

So that is what was happening while you were sleeping and your tax money was subsidizing “less fortunate” people Thursday morning. I thought you might like to know. It’s time to start thinking about when, not wondering if, what the climate in the city will be like after the collapse of the welfare state. Will a given Thursday at around noon start to more closely resemble this past Thursday at three in the morning? Will these people be better behaved when they’re not getting their Ramen noodles and starving? And most importantly, what steps are you taking now to protect yourselves for the eventuality they will come knocking on the door of a North Deering cape near you?

Seeing Portland slowly deteriorate over the last two years in the early morning has given me time to think about these things. Let’s hope our city leaders give it the same kind of thought.