For Frankie

homeless-copyPhoto by Lad Strayer

Last week at the Thursday Jam I met Frankie. Frankie lay in front of the narrow entrance door to the dance floor, his slumped and deformed body almost completely blocking the door. Everyone that wanted to enter or leave the studio had to literally step over him. He was highly visible and had drooled already a moderate sized puddle when Rajendra and I walked in.  At first, I was irritated and didn’t know if that strange behavior might be some sort of joke of one of the jam attendees. I took my time to put money in the jam box, signed my name on the clipboard and looked at the man laying on the floor a little closer. Rajendra came back and tried to communicate with him. It was obvious that he was totally drunk and definitely not a jammer. I was confused. How can a big studio full of people not realize that an entirely intoxicated, stinky as hell, probably homeless man is laying without shoes on the verge of the entrance door? Regarding the saliva puddle, he must have lain there at least for an hour.

How many people might have stepped over him, smelled him, seen the puddle? 10, 20 or maybe even 30? How come no one in our so called aware Contact Improvisation community hasn’t intervened for such a long time? Continue reading