Nickelsville about to Become Ghostville

Last month when Jerry and I drove up to Canada (ugh....) we made a stop on the south end of Seattle to a little village known as Nickelsville. A small community, Nickelsville became the home of my brother-in-law just about six weeks ago. Without Nickelsville, he would have had no where to go.

Nicklesville is a community of people who do not have homes, who do not live indoors for all kinds of reasons. They are men and women, young and old, white and non-white, gay and straight, a cross-section of that great melting pot known as America.

My brother-in-law, Allen, has suffered from severe alcoholism for a number of years. It's been a roller coaster ride, as anyone who has loved an addict can tell you. But along the way God has kindly sent good hearted Samaritans who have loved and cared for Allan in ways that we his family could not. Sometimes the kindness of strangers becomes the saving grace that flesh and blood cannot provide.

Nickelsville became such a place for Allen. It has been a community of kindness among strangers that saved him for a bit longer from the demons that would have him. N-ville has a zero tolerance for alcohol, drugs and fighting. Allan towed the line, and in the context of community, he was able to do so. He has been sober these last six weeks.

The folks who make up Nickelsville govern and police themselves. There are tentmasters who help newcomers get shelter with donated tent gear. There is a security schedule, round-the-clock security watch to make sure those who would mean harm do not prey upon the vulnerable Nickelsville residents. Allan has pulled many late night shifts and heard the roar of a rich man's engine race by while drunken boys shout, "Get a job you bums!"

Nicklesville is located in a little-used park in an industrial area. It is not convenient for most people since it is far removed from urban life. The nearest bus stop is more than a mile away as well as the nearest store, which is a mini-mart. We saw this ourselves when we visited Allan.

The tents were set up orderly, like a village, a campground among a small grove of trees near by a Washington river. A shelter serves as the Nickelsville's kitchen; and there are areas designated for storage and donations. It was orderly and clean. We met a few of the residents, polite people who are just as polite as the neighbors who live on my street in Portland. People are people, wherever you go and whoever they are. People are people.

So it is with great sadness and sense of immense powerlessness that Allen has told us that tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. the hardworking police of Seattle will come to make sure Nickelsville is dismantled and that all residents vacate the park. Or else get arrested for trespassing.

I try to imagine a posse of American cowboys time-traveling to that park tomorrow, galloping in on their steeds, recognizing a camp when they see one. I imagine them asking the police, "What's going on here, Sheriff? What did these people do to get a hoard of you out here to their camp?"
And then I can hear an officer robotically replying, "These people are camped here illegally and are therefore breaking the law."

The old cowboys with their weathered faces and leathered hands would grimace. "What? Well, whose land is it?"

The city's.

And who are these people then?

They are city dwellers.

But they can't stay here, in their own city?

No, they cannot.

Well that just don't make any sense.

But tomorrow it is unlikely any heroes on horses will be able to turn back the show of force that will yet again intimidate a town's poorest and weakest members into nonsensical submission. There may be a few of Seattle's who will show up to do their best to defend the brothers and sisters of Nicklesville. Yet the sense of hopelessness is there, lying under rocks like hidden rattlesnakes in a dried up creek bed.

Power. Land. Oppression. It is an old story. A story that baffles me when those without boots are expected to pull themselves up by their boot straps or die in the rain trying.

If you think of Nickelsville, breathe them up a prayer. And if you see a homeless guy on a corner holding a sign, don't just ignore him. Think about giving him a buck. Look him in the eye. Ask his name. REach out your hand and tell him yours. And if it's my brother-in-law Allen, give him more than a buck or a name. Give him some respect.


for more about this story click HERE for a West Seattle blogger's report. The comment section is a great cross-section of those who support or oppose the rights of homeless citizens to create safe shelter for themselves on public land.

Nickelsville has website as well, last update September 23 when I checked.