Tent City, a tragedy on many levels

Tent City will be gone soon.

And while it's fine to feel for the people who called that little patch home, the idea that no one tried in any real way to help them is just rubbish.

It's been several years now since a group of otherwise homeless people decided to make camp near the U.S. 30- state Route 83 interchange. These were, we first were told, people who had no other place to go.

And that's not true.

This area is known for its abundance of social service agencies, of church and nonprofit organizations willing to offer both a hand out and a hand up. They were there.

I know this for a fact.

A man I know, a veteran, was told there were homeless veterans living in Tent City, so he went to help. He took fellow veterans with him.

Their offers were refused.

The Salvation Army shelter is within easy walking distance of Tent City. The doors are open. People from Tent City would come, Capt. Madelaine Dwier told me, to use the showers, to enjoy the free meals and the companionship.

But they didn't stay.

There are agencies in this area who focus on addiction and recovery. There are 12-step groups within walking distance of Tent City. There are mental health services, counseling services, some of the finest and most dedicated clergy and congregants I know.

They did what they could.

And still, Tent City existed.

For all the offers of help, of shelter, of a way out, Tent City existed because it was one of the only places around where there weren't any rules. No curfew, no rent to pay, no prohibition on alcohol or drugs.

Some people just sort of passed through. At least a few made the acquaintance of local law enforcement.

Tent City lasted as long as it did because there was squabbling about who owned the property, who had the right to shut it down. The idea that it was somehow an Indian ground was beyond ridiculous, though it was a headline grabber.

I wrote a story about Tent City in 2012. It took me all of an hour to go to the courthouse, the recorder's office and the auditor's office and do the research to find who owned the land. I was not the first person to do this, nor was I the first person to report what I found to City Hall.

It took a small group of private citizens to do what should have been done a few years ago: trace down what happened to the property (which had been left out of a trust established by the late owner and more or less forgotten), buy the property and clean it up.

It was as simple as that.

There are those of you who are probably thinking that I sound heartless. I am not. But we live in a society of rules and laws. Tent City had no right to be on that land anymore than it did in your backyard or on Public Square or in Christmas Run Park. It existed as long as it did because it was generally out of sight, out of mind.

Unless you were a police officer, in which case you got to go and make arrests and serve subpoenas there.

That's not a place I want the Wooster Police Department to have to go, nor any city servants.

Life is about choices. People fall on hard times; I've had some of my own. But that doesn't mean you get to pitch a tent on someone's property and live out your life there.

It's been terribly cold this winter. I can't imagine how cold it is in Tent City, in its final days. I don't ever want to hear that someone froze to death there, or was killed there or was hurt there. Because if that happens, we let it happen by giving our tacit approval to its existence. For all of their issues, the people in Tent City are human beings and worthy of our offers of help. I am glad I live in an area where so many truly good people are so invested in trying to see to it that everyone has a hot meal, food, clothing and shelter.

There is always help, but there are rules and laws; no one is above them.

Not me.

Not you.

Not the residents of Tent City.