NOTE FROM THE LECTURER DAWN TROOK: Writing 10 is a required freshman composition class at UC Merced, one that causes many groans. During Spring semester I had my students perform community-engaged research. My goals were to connect students with the city of Merced and to encourage them to see their writing as impacting and reaching an audience beyond the classroom. The Downtown Project started when I took my morning section on a downtown tour. One of the most striking things we realized was how many helping agencies are located within this shopping district. These students' essays celebrate the diversity and persistence of this locale.

Words by Belen Becerra

My first two months at University of California, Merced were spent primarily on campus and driving down Bellevue Road, which took me straight home. I only went into the actual city of Merced for food and hardly went past Olive Street. I had no idea that if I had only turned on Main Street instead of getting right on the freeway, I would have been within walking distance of Thai food and some of Merced's best tacos. Main Street always looked so scary to someone unfamiliar with the area, so when I drove through town, I made sure my doors were locked. Now it has been almost a year and I am a regular of the downtown scene. For every week, I go downtown at least twice or thrice, and there is always someone asking for spare change.

Most of the time that I am asked for spare change, I always revert back to the tall tale that all people who pan-handle use the money given for drugs. With that stereotype in mind, I typically apologize and say “Sorry, I don't carry cash.” Many times, they ask when I have just bought food, and I feel most guilty in those situations. No matter how hard I try to not have remorse that I am better off than someone, there is always a sense of guilt.

Recently, I have attempted to ask what kind of help is offered to the homeless people of Merced to get them back on their feet. I went to the Rescue Mission on Canal Street to find that answer. I asked around, but no one gave a clear answer, and was told that I had to talk to the “boss.” All I wanted was an opportunity to see good will at work. After asking around, a few members of the community told me that sitting downtown right outside of Starbucks would surely give me the opportunity to talk to a homeless person. I was excited that I would actually be able to talk to someone who was on the other end of the pan-handle.

I arrive at Starbucks and almost bumped into a lanky looking man who had a cup of coffee in his hand. There was no need to go inside, so I sat with my paper and pen outside in the rain waiting. I don't know what I expected to happen. A friendly talk with an interesting homeless stranger would have been ideal. Yet, as time progressed in the rain, my hopes of meeting a homeless person faded. After about twenty minutes of looking blankly out at the puddles, I saw the same man that I had almost bumped into earlier coming to sit at a nearby table. Cartoon like tattooed eyebrows and layers of clothes led me to believe that this man was homeless. I did not know what I expected him to do, so I just sat there.

Sitting there, I wondered what I was going to ask. All this in my head while we sat in silence. What was he thinking? Not knowing if he was really homeless or not. I had no choice, but to wait what might or might not happen. How is it that you can be positive that someone does not have a home? There is no way of knowing unless you see them sleeping in an alley. I sat there not knowing what to ask. “Do you come here often?” would have been a good starter, but something in that question said it would be awkward to ask. What questions should I ask? How should I ask the questions? Its been about thirty minutes since he has sat down and I feel my time is running out and he has somewhere to go. My chances of finding out his side of the story will be lost.

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