The City Weekly staff returned about 30 minutes ago from the bomb scare across the street at the Wells Fargo Building. Details are still trickling in, but there appears to be no bomb.
The call to evacuate Wells Fargo came at 2:30. We left obediently at 3:15 p.m. — one of the last office buildings (along with our neighbors, the Sam Weller’s Books crew) to be ordered to leave the area. Most people stood around a safe distance from the danger zone. But it was hot. So our publisher Jim Rizzi — ever the generous sort — sent us all two blocks south to Port O’ Call, where he bought a round of drinks for everyone. At least it was air conditioned. And we’re on Tuesday night deadline, no less! (Don’t count the typos in the paper on Wednesday, please.)
Also on this very day during lunch hour I broke up a fight between a drunk homeless man and his drunk homeless girlfriend. I learned later their names are George and Julie. What went down was this:
I was walking into the front door of our building at 248 S. Main when shouting broke out. Shouting and some genuinely awful profanity aimed at the woman, Julie. George was screaming at her, running in and out of traffic and standing on the TRAX tracks. Most bystanders were uh, standing, on the sidewalk, mouths gaping open. Suddenly, George ran up to Julie, who by then was standing on the Gallivan Plaza TRAX platform. He took a swing at her, but missed.
That’s when I ran over, stood between the two of them, looked him square in the eye and shouted: “You lay a hand on her and you’ll have me to deal with.”
He grabbed his crotch, told me to fuck myself. I told him I had called the police, and I would not be leaving till they came. He spit at me. Got my shirt. But it’s black, the spittle didn’t show and besides, it’s washable.
I walked with Julie to the benches at the TRAX stop. We talked. She lives on the street. She just got out of Volunteers of America Detox. She was drunk again. I told her it didn’t matter whether she was drunk or not, I wasn’t going to stand there and let that guy hit her. She said “thank you.”
It took more than 15 minutes for the cops to arrive. I called 911 twice. The second time, I was angry. Why should it take two calls, I asked the polite dispatcher, to a downtown incident? There was violence, there was disruption of traffic. What else did the scene need for police intervention?
Two minutes later, Officers Snipes and Conrad arrived. Snipes is a bicycle cop. His bike was on the back of the squad car. They were very professional. I told them I’ve written a lot about homelessness. I know it’s a cycle, I told them. You’ll take George away, but any day now he’ll be back and so will Julie. She doesn’t have the tools to leave him, neither of them can be drunk and stay at the shelter, so here they live, on Main Street.
Gwen Springmeyer, of the Mayor’s Office of Community Affairs, told me she’ll communicate with the City Council and Police Department about the problems. No one here at CW wants a sweep of the homeless off Main Street. This is city life. The sidewalks are free and open to all. But I don’t want women getting beat up out here, either. No one — of any stripe — should have to worry about that.