Homeless ride out Harvey with upbeat fatalism

Despite the pouring rain from Tropical Storm Harvey, a homeless person panhandles under the Westpark Tollway at Chimney Rock on Monday, Aug. 28, 2017, in Houston. Despite the pouring rain from Tropical Storm Harvey, a homeless person panhandles under the Westpark Tollway at Chimney Rock on Monday, Aug. 28, 2017, in Houston. Photo: Brett Coomer, Houston Chronicle Photo: Brett Coomer, Houston Chronicle Image 1 of / 119 Caption Close Homeless ride out Harvey with upbeat fatalism 1 / 119 Back to Gallery

From his makeshift bedroom under the Southwest Freeway, Garrett watched his new neighbors toss and turn in their yellowed mattresses.

For hours he had dozed in and out of sleep, curled up under a tattered green blanket and paying little mind to the torrential downpours that pounded the concrete above.

He arrived in Houston a week ago, having spent $160 for a one-way Greyhound ticket from Jacksonville, Fla. He hated the weather there. Even now, as Tropical Storm Harvey continued to drench Houston, flooding homes and forcing the evacuations and rescues of thousands across the area, he doesn't miss it.

Still, to be destitute amid disaster brings all the regular hurdles of poverty, but with new challenges sprinkled in. Public transportation has been suspended. Grocery stores are shuttered. No evening strollers cough up spare change. Rain floods shanties. Shelters are overwhelmed.

Garrett, 60, kept his head high, if not dry, finding comfort in the charity of Houstonians, homeless and not.

On Sunday he scarfed down free burgers at the Fiesta Mart on San Jacinto Boulevard, his first meal in a while.

Monday morning he ate pears and stood by his move to Texas, blissfully unaware of this storm's staying power, cut off from the forecasts, doom purveyors and social media.

No water to his name, two Pop Tarts in a plastic bag, bug-bitten, happy.

Had he ever seen a storm like this? "Nuh-uh."

Is he going to be OK? "Yuh-huh."

He is not alone in his optimism.

Optimistic outlook

On Sunday morning, a man who calls himself "Jamaica" leaned against the yellow brick of the former Delia's Lounge at the intersection of Emancipation Avenue and Holman Street, yelling at speeding cars and taking drags from a fast-dwindling cigarette.

"Aint a thing we can do to change what the man upstairs has in store for us," he said.

He has a bike to move around - he calls it his "baby" - and a palm-sized radio that plays Michael Jackson or, when he cares enough to check, updates him on chaos around the city.

He's not worried, though. After 24 years bouncing around southeastern Houston, he's "seen it all."

"All I need is this radio to tell me what's happening," he said.

Besides, it was cool that day - the man upstairs was looking out for him, he believed.

His concern was directed at the homes across the street - at the tall, new residences that have in recent years rapidly encroached the northernmost reaches of the Greater Third Ward.

"I call those pinboxes because you could throw a pin through 'em," he said, his tone spiteful but worried for the newcomers to his old neighborhood.

In his mind, they are the unlucky ones.

Farther south, where boarded windows outnumber "pinboxes" and a faded sign for Donny Hathaway's 1972 Astrodome concert juts into the tree line, the bus stops have become pop-up refuges.

A young man, maybe 25, was sprawled out across one of the glass-encased benches, elevated a few critical feet above the curbside flooding and napping on a damp Yellow Pages.

He barely moved when called. He didn't need to.

"We welcome everyone spiritually, and with open arms," said Scott Arthur, of the Star of Hope homeless shelter.

Mission over capacity

By Monday, Star of Hope's men's shelter was housing nearly 400 people - 100 more than their maximum capacity - with some of its 10 staff members staying overnight to help. The facility for women and children, meanwhile, has been running at capacity since last week.

In the prelude to the storm, city homeless organizations worked around the clock to get men indoors, an "all-hands-on-deck situation" that was made easier by a years-long decline in the number of unsheltered Houstonians, Marc Eichenbaum, special assistant to the mayor for homeless initiatives, said Friday.

But not all were willing to go.

"My mom always said not to worry about what you can't control," Austin Lee Stevens said Friday. "I'm leaving it up to God. So, why should I be worrying?"

Since then, Scott said, an increasing number of first-timers have arrived at Star of Hope.

"We're seeing more than we've ever seen," he said. "A good percentage of these guys have never been in a shelter before."

That, too, has its perks. Scott said he hopes some of the men who previously have stayed away from shelters finally will use the programs offered there.

For now, though, they're focusing on the storm, as are the residents.

"Everyone keeps looking out the window," he said.

Marialuisa Rincon contributed to this story.