Joy Farrington reflects on her encounter with a collapsed man in New York

Joy Attmore

We walked along at a brisk pace, arm in arm against the cold East Coast wind, the street well lit by the many lamp stands that lined it; the bordering avenues also illuminating the dark night sky and the sidewalk that we travelled upon. A mound of what looked like trash appeared ahead of us, slumped up against the railings of one of the many brownstone apartments we were passing. I wasn't sure whether we were about to stumble across a body or just a bag or two of cast out clothing. Within seconds however, we realised that it was the form of a man collapsed and laid flat out on the pavement.

"Is he breathing?" My husband's voice was full of concern and shock as our steps came level with the man and we quickly assessed the situation.

The man stirred, his eyelids fluttering open as he responded, "I'm alive, I'm alive." His words were slurred, disappearing into mumbles, as he began talking to us, his eyes looking back at us from a world of substance intoxication.

"What's your name?" I knelt down beside him and took hold of his hand, keeping my eyes locked with his as I did so.

"Anthony," came the reply from thick, heavy lips.

"Anthony, my name is Joy and we want to help you. Can you get up?" I put a hand under his elbow and began to assist his efforts to stand. It became obvious very quickly however that he had lost all control and function over his body, every limb was heavy resulting in a mass of dead weight. Phillip and I then tried to coax him back to the safety of the ground but determination to stand had become his primary thought along with scoring some coke. Before too long, we were acting like pillars on either side of Anthony to prevent him from either collapsing face forward to the floor or falling backwards over the low railings.

The question of what to do with this young man now fell heavy between us, filling our hearts with concern and honing our minds in on the immediate needs to be met. In dialogue with him, Anthony just kept asking for coke, becoming almost aggressive in his stance, brushing aside all other forms of assistance that we held out as an offering. Eventually we decided to step away and call for an ambulance, keeping an eye on him the whole time. As we waited on medical assistance, he then face-planted into the sidewalk and lay sprawled out, blocking the way for anyone passing by. Realising that he was safer from gaining any further injuries when he was laid out, we stood by and waited, the cold night air whipping around us.

Minutes ticked by and person after person walked past, stepping over the still, drugged out body that we watched over, only a couple of people stopping to ask if he was ok. I was actually surprised by the amount of passers-by who did nothing to help, barely even glanced down or acknowledged that someone was in need. The story of the Samaritan comes to mind now as I play it all back over in my mind, a parable told thousands of years ago that is retold every single day all over the world, and that we bore witness to in the middle of New York City.

We were still waiting on the welcoming sounds of an ambulance coming to our aid a little while later when two guys stopped and attempted to drag Anthony to his feet. They succeeded, only for him to slam to the ground again and I found myself on my hands and knees trying to still his thrashing body as he tried of his own accord to raise himself up. His head was now bleeding and his eye was quickly swelling as he had crashed into a stairwell on his last fall. Soon Phillip was holding him, along with another man who stopped to help, both acting as body guards to help prevent him from gaining any further injuries.

Another ten minutes went by as five of us now stood attending to Anthony and gratefully received the aid of the paramedics who arrived to take him to safety. Within minutes he was helped into the ambulance and we all parted ways with smiles and words of 'thank you's' to each other. We had all encountered both the beauty and the brokenness of humanity in that short time of connection and, as Phillip and I scurried away to get out of the cold, I couldn't help but reflect upon this.

In a place like New York City, you constantly interact and encounter people from all sorts of backgrounds, belief systems and cultures. It can be a challenge to stay present and open to responding to cries for help, in whatever form they come, when there is always someone vying for your attention or there is always something to do and somewhere to be. It's incredibly easy to devalue a person, a life, our delicate humanity with a split second of selfish ignorance.

The words from an old Delirious? song began to resonate through my mind again.

'King or cripple, they were the same to you,
You took a broken man and you treat him like a king'.