THE PALMER EVENTS CENTER

My first pickup was at a big multiplex off Riverside. Hana, who was working the phones, assured me that in one of the five story cubes nestled into a vast parking lot was a man in an apartment that needed a ride to the warming center. Turning into the lot, it was strange to see so many people hanging around outside on a 20 degree, overcast day. Somewhere a fire alarm blared a dissonant klaxon that echoed through the buildings. A lot of people stared at me as I maneuvered my van to a building in the back, wondering what sort of help I might provide. They seemed to lack everything: food, water, warm clothing.

Walking up to the building, the first thing I noticed was that the fire alarm was getting louder. A young woman sat on the steps, perhaps to escape the noise inside. At her feet was a basset hound wearing a knit yellow sweater, made to fit a human. At a distance, she looked like someone enjoying the day, but as I approached her, she looked up with numb eyes. I yelled over the klaxon, “HI, I’M DRIVING TO THE PALMER EVENTS CENTER. THEY HAVE A WARMING CENTER THERE NOW. I DON’T KNOW IF THEY HAVE FOOD OR SLEEPING PLACES OR ANYTHING, ALL I KNOW IS ITS WARM. DO YOU WANT A RIDE?” 

She looked at me like someone being unsuccessfully roused from a nap and slowly processed what I had said. “...oh… yeah. Yeah, that would be good.” and she started to stand up and look around, perhaps wondering if she should go in and get some things.

“Before we go, I have to get this other guy in here. I’LL BE RIGHT BACK OK?”

I followed the signs for the number Hana gave me, down an outside hallway and the alarm got louder. I turned the corner and saw two open doors side by side. One contained a large water heater. Pipes had burst somewhere above the tank and a lot of water flowed down its side and out the door. The other door led to an apartment whose floor was, as far as I could see, submerged and shining like a pond. Water from the apartment was dammed at the door threshold and trickled out underneath it to join with the water from the water heater closet in the slush outside the door and cascade off into the side yard. A hispanic man emerged from the unit, stepping carefully to avoid puddles that were deeper than the soles of his shoes. He wore jeans and a cotton sweatshirt. He didn't speak English but I got his name and this was my guy. In terrible Spanish, over the sound of an industrial grade fire alarm going off next to our heads, I tried to explain the deal at the PALMER EVENTS CENTER and failed to sell it to him. When I left, he carefully stepped back into his apartment and future skating rink.

I walked back to collect the woman and her dog, she had put on an additional jacket and gotten a bag. I had an awful thought. “Um, I'm not sure if they will let your dog into the Palmer Events Center. Is there someone you can leave him with?”

Of course there was no one to “leave him with”. My question was really “Are you ok with letting your dog freeze to death tonight so you can be warm and maybe get a cup of hot coco?” Whatever dim ember of activity had been kindled in her receded back behind her eyes and she set her bag down.

“No thank you.” I think she said under the sound of the alarm. She waved her hand and shook her head.

I drove home to eat and called in to get another address. This was a family that needed to get warm, they were nearby. My wife, Laura, came with me this time.

When we arrived, the father was reluctant to leave the apartment because he was afraid he would be unable to get to work the next day from another location. Because of the weather, he hadn't worked in a few days and was concerned about not being able to pay rent. They were Africans who spoke fluent Spanish. Not Dominicans or Hatians, but people from Africa who had lived in south and central america long enough to learn Spanish during their multi year journey to here. I couldn't imagine the resiliency required to make that journey, this was surely not the first sketchy thing they had encountered as a family, but nevertheless, they seemed apprehensive about getting in my van with their three year old boy and ten year old girl.

I went up the stairs and looked inside, the little boy was bundled up in a snowsuit in the living room. It was strange not to worry about letting the cold air in. I thought about my daughter, drawing and watching anime on her phone in our warm house on the hills across town. I try not to get wrapped up in self recriminations and guilt over privilege in such situations. I find it's distracting. I just want to get the thing done, and I wanted to get this family to the Salvation Army warming center that Hana said they needed to get to. They had called the organization because they were cold and wanted help, but now they were unsure and evasive. Unsure if the boy was ready to go, unsure if dad would be able to get to work, if there would be food, unsure about their uncertainty. In physical terms, they were not grouping together in a unit that I could address and herd into my van and I was unsure if part of my role included talking them into this. I did not do the hard sell but I let them know I had to get going and if they wanted to go somewhere, they had to get in the van.

They eventually got in, the boy had a toy and was excited. There was the kind of fear and uncertainty I sometimes felt when I traveled with my family to another country and we get off the plane and into a strange car with a strange man. My van was warm and, once they were inside, must have felt like the right choice.

When we got there, I realized, oh, that Salvation Army. The one downtown next to the police station, where there was always a line of homeless folks. It was a building I avoided walking past. There were a few people out front, but they were less expressive than usual. I double parked and we sat in the van. The family was disoriented. They didn’t express any opinions, but they weren't getting out. It wasn't clear if this was a good place, or if it was better or worse than their apartment, where it had been uncertain if they would all survive the night. No one listed pros and cons and made the hard call. We just sat there, confused about what we were all doing. Laura got out and ran into the building to see if there was a procedure to check people in, if this was really a warming center, or what. It was, they just needed to walk in. 

Driving around was dangerous. Maybe stupid. It was getting dark. People in Austin were still being courteous to each other, but It was unclear how everyone would act if the lights stayed off. I got out, walked around, and opened the big door, which slid across like a wall opening up, and I said, “OK, let's go.” and they got out. They then stood on the sidewalk looking numb. I got back in the driver's seat. Laura talked to them for a moment. I don't know what she said. Maybe she was talking them through their next steps, which were to go into the building and proceed to be processed by another semi-governmental organization, this time during a crisis. They were still standing there when we drove off.

We were driving when Hana called again. There had been a mistake, the Salvation Army was full and our family had not been let inside. They needed a ride back to their apartment, but we were out of range, so she sent another driver to get them.

This essay series is part of a project to document Texan’s experiences during the 2021 freeze. Do you have a story to share about the 2021 Texas freeze? Share it with my publication, Freeze Stories, on Medium. If its not filled with filth, I’ll publish it. Ok, I’ll publish it even if its filled with filth.