He was a talented journalist and had just been hired by our great liberal weekly. I got to talk to his siblings and have corresponded with his daughter back East. He was so loved and his is so missed.
We Close Our Eyes, A Poet Dies
Thu Sep 7 2000 We Close Our Eyes, A Poet Dies
By Terry Messman
Trent Hayward died nearly within spitting distance of the gleaming, gold-bedecked dome of San Francisco City Hall. On the evening of Friday, June 2, he laid his head to rest on a ragged patch of earth one too many times. He never arose from his final sleep. We close our eyes, a poet diesÉ. It was a lousy place for a great writer to die, a shabby, vacant lot on the corner of Larkin and McAllister that had become a last-ditch sleeping quarters for those who couldn't pay their way into even the worst slum hotel. Trent Hayward, an outspoken and prophetic writer who tried to right the wrongs of this rotten, corrupt system, slept on this street corner for months, a place where his dreams were invaded by the roar and toxic exhaust of passing traffic, his inner peace assaulted by the mind-bending chaos of street life.
The ultimate mockery is that he died in full view of the golden dome of City Hall, where San Francisco officials, in their ice-cold arrogance, invested hundreds of millions of tax dollars to build a decadent replica of the opulent Palace of Versailles, presumably so all the unsheltered, unfed, and, in too many instances, unliving bodies of homeless people sprawled on the unforgiving ground all around could be comforted by this multimillion-dollar monument to Mayor Willie Brown's ego.
Every night when he bedded down, every morning when he arose, Trent could see where the city had blown all its shelter money, its drug detox money, its mental health money - instead of wasting it on the destitute likes of him. On June 13, about 100 of Trent's friends gathered at the street corner where he slept, and dreamed, and died. We held a memorial service organized by Lisa Gray-Garcia of Poor News Network and Connie Lynch of the General Assistance Advocacy Project. As I offered flowers and a tribute to Trent, I wanted to say, "Trent still lives in our hearts and is resurrected in our struggle for justice."
But those words just wouldn't come out. His death seemed too sad for solace. All I could offer was a curse to the world of injustice where he lived and died: "Fuck you, San Francisco, for spending your money to cover City Hall in gold while your people live and die in poverty and misery on the streets all around it."
http://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2000/09/07/17562.php
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(762 posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
