RIP, Jordan Neely. RIP.

Jordan Neely was a handsome and talented young New Yorker.(He was familiar to many subway riders for his Michael Jackson impersonation.)

Jordan Neely was also a homeless and mentally ill New Yorker.

Jordan Neely is now a dead New Yorker, killed on the F Train by a fellow passenger who thought Neely - who was supposedly ranting about being hungry, thirsty, and unhoused - posed a threat to riders. So the fellow passenger - Daniel Penny,  a 24-year-old former Marine - jumped up, jumped in, put Neely in a chokehold, and - with the aid of a couple of other passengers - kept him in that chokehold until he died.

I live downtown in a big city. I ride public transportation. I volunteer in a day shelter.

Not a day goes by when I don't see homeless folks. Rarely does a day go by when I don't have some interaction with at least a couple of homeless folks. 

When I'm out walking, and someone asks me for money, I generally stop to chat for a minute or two. I ask them whether know about St. Francis House (the shelter where I volunteer), and - if they don't - let them know about the services and hours. And I usually give them $5. Enough to buy a cup of coffee and a donut at Dunk's. Or anything else.

I know, I know. That's possibly aiding and abetting someone who's going to take the money and buy booze or drugs. But to me  - and to plenty of social workers, case workers, substance abuse counsellors I've spoken with  - giving someone money provides them with agency and choice. Which to me - and to plenty of the social workers, case workers, substance abuse counsellors I've spoken with - outweighs the negative that someone will use the money to buy booze or drugs. 

That said, I pick my spots.

If someone is obviously strung out or drunk, I tend to avoid them. Or - if I make that assessment too late to avoid them, and I'm near a Dunk's - I'll ask them what they'd like and buy them a coffee and donut. 

And if someone appears to me to be having some sort of psychotic episode - screaming, throwing things, banging on windows, kicking trash cans - I stay the hell away. I cross the street. I definitely DMEC. (Don't Make Eye Contact.)

If it looks like the person is a danger to themselves or others, I have been known to call 9-1-1. But who knows? I'm a civilian, and I sure don't know.

But I do know that the person screaming, throwing thins, banging on windows, kicking trash cans, could be violent. And if that's the case, I'm in over my head. Way over my head. DMEC, indeed.

I wasn't on the F-train when Jordan Neely died, so I don't know how he was acting, how scary he was. 

Were people cowering in their seats? Or where they being typical New York subway riders and ignoring him, sticking their heads in their phones, just hoping they made it to their stop before things got any worse? 

According to authorities and witnesses, Neely and the former Marine, 24, got into a verbal altercation that escalated into a physical fight and ended with the man putting Neeley in a chokehold. Neely lost consciousness and never recovered, police said. Investigators interviewed the former Marine after Neely's death but did not detain him.

...A witness told The New York Times that Neely had been screaming on the train that he was hungry, thirsty, fed up and "ready to die." (Source: USA Today)

Ready to die. 

Oh, boy.

Jordan Neely's death has been ruled a homicide. As of this writing, no charges have been filed against Penny. 

Oh, boy.

Many of those who are homeless suffer from mental illness. Maybe even most, because even those without severe diagnoses like schizophrenia suffer from mental health issues precisely because they are homeless. Who wouldn't be depressed and anxious if they didn't know from one day to the next where they were going to be laying their head down that night?

I think about the some of the folks I've come to know at St. Francis House.

J is brilliant and beautiful, and I love talking to her. She makes it her business to learn the name of every staff member and volunteer she works with, and she uses those names. I love talking to her. When she's good. When she's on her meds. And when she's not, she may be stuffing paper towels down the toilet because she thinks someone's coming out of it to get her. Or she's taking all her clothes off and screaming in the streets.

B is mannerly and quiet. Shy. Although he's in his thirties, I think of him as a sweet boy. He's a sweet boy until something sets him off, and then he's hurling a chair at someone's head. 

I haven't seen K since before covid. A highly intelligent man, he would often tell me that someone or other sitting in the Resource Center was trying to kill him. He also told one of my fellow volunteers that he thought I was a spy for the CIA. (Needless to say, I didn't let him know that my late husband had actually worked for the CIA a kabillion years ago, when he was doing what he needed to do to avoid getting sent to Vietnam.)

I don't know what happened on that F-train, on that day.

How scary was Jordan Neely on that F-train, on that day?

How and why did Penny get into it - a verbal spat, push came to shove? -  with Neely, a spat that escalated to a deadly physical confrontation?

Did Penny start out by aggressively telling Jordan Neely to STFU, or did he start out offering a kind word that was rejected?

Would I have talked to Jordan Neely? Given him five bucks or a kind word or a Kind bar? Or would I have burrowed into DMEC mode until I could scoot into another car. A safe car. One without the ranting homeless guy.

(Would I have spoken up, yelled at Penny to back off once he had Jordan Neely down? That chokehold lasted a long time...)

I don't know what happened on the F-train, on that day.

All I know is that Jordan Neely is dead. The other guy may or may not be facing serious charges. 

And, oh yeah, I also know that there's got to be a better way to take care of those in need of our care. And, while we all can be doing a better job of taking care of our fellow man, we can't keep relying on the untrained kindness of strangers, however well-intention. Or on the untrained (in matters psychological) instincts of a stranger on the train to jump in and play the hero.