The Forgotten Souls of Burnside Park – Brendan Higgins

By Brendan Higgins, contributing writer – commentary

The park is located in downtown Providence. It sits between Washington Street and Exchange Terrace in the heart of Kennedy Plaza. It has a majestic water fountain. During the warm weather, the park is used for musical performances and religious gatherings. There is a playground for children to enjoy and have some fun while waiting for the bus.

There is also a dark side to Burnside Park. It has become a full-time residence for the homeless. The reason I use the word dark is because most of those who are homeless living in the park are physically challenged or ill. Some are getting by in old wheelchairs in bad condition. Others are on crutches.

The darkest issue among this community is the many who are openly using drugs – in plain sight in broad daylight – while children play only feet away from them in the playground.

I work for RIPTA. During my layover time I park the bus alongside the park and see everything going on from inside the bus. The most unsettling thing to me is the way people pass by and ignore what is going on right in front of them. The people that are living in the park have become part of the landscape. No one seems to care about them. No one seems to see them, anymore.

I ask myself what can be done? What can I do? City Hall is right there on the other side of the park. Is anyone actively trying to find a solution to this serious issue?

During my time working for RIPTA, I have observed the different stages of being on the street. There are those who are still trying. They go to work every day and sleep in a motel or shelter at night. They are doing the best they can to make a better quality of life for themselves and their families.

Then there are those who may or may not be homeless. They spend their days panhandling. We see them all over the state. From one end to the other. They are direct. Their message is simple. Please give me money. In fact, some of them are at the same place seven days a week. They are relentless. They wave at the cars like what they are doing is somehow normal. Like we are all in this together. For the record, we are not. They have turned asking for money into their profession.

The next level is the people in the park. They are without a doubt unable to work a traditional job. They are dealing with severe levels of metal health issues, addiction, and physical illness. They have lost hope. In some cases, they seem they are simply waiting around to die. In all cases, they are living in a constant state of overwhelm.

The situation is way out of control.

When it rains, those in the park pack up the necessary items they will need during the storm and get to the bus shelter on Exchange Terrace. Bus stops – or births – as they are called are all lettered. The Z stop is located at the very end of the park at the corner of Exchange Street and Exchange Terrace. The only bus that services that stop is the 14 line. This is the bus stop shelter the park residents take over during bad weather. Once they are inside and out of the rain, they will not be leaving until the storm passes.

This forces people who are paying bus customers to wait outside in the rain for the bus. I don’t know about you, but I would rather stand in the rain as opposed to standing in the shelter next to a person sticking a needle in their arm. This is not hyperbole. This is reality at Burnside Park. You can see it for yourself – if you look. To be crystal clear I do not think kicking people out of the bus shelter during a storm is any sort of solution, nor am I suggesting it. The bigger issue is these people have been forgotten.

On a recent Sunday morning I was on my break in the usual spot outside the park. It was a spectacular sunny September morning. The park was busy. I stepped off the bus to stretch my legs. About 20 feet away from me a woman was smoking crack making no effort to conceal it.

A man next to her noticed me and quickly rose to his feet. He came right up to me and said, “Good morning, sir.” I replied, “Good morning.” Next, he began vigorously moving about picking up trash. I said, “You clean the park. Nice.” He said, “Oh yes, all the time.” He was making a real effort to take my attention away from the girl hitting the crack pipe.

While this exchange took place people were out jogging and walking. There were kids playing on the jungle gym. I kept looking over at the homeless camp. I was amazed how young some of them are. I noticed a man in a beat-up wheelchair pouring some powder into a piece of folded paper. He handed it to a young girl in her late teens, maybe early 20’s. She slid it in her pocket and walked by me with a glazed look in her eyes. I couldn’t help but think “this is someone’s child.” From what I could see, the streets have her by the throat. She walked across the street behind the bus stop where other kids her age wait for the bus to go to URI. She walked up a set of stairs and sat down in plain sight.

She took out the paper and began to prepare her drug injection. I walked over to her. I had to, one human to another. I stood several feet away and said hello. She never looked up, but she did reply. I asked her if she needed help. I told her I was a friend. I reminded her that she was a young person, and nothing was over in her life. She finally looked up at me. Her eyes were full of tears. She said, ‘No, I’m good.” I told her to hang in there and walked away. I thought about the garbage she was putting in her body. People that want help, get help. She wasn’t ready. She may never be. That is between her and God.

The progression or the demise of Burnside Park has been steady. It went from walking across the park with the smell of marijuana in the air to blatant hard drug use out in the open. All of it taking place from sunup to sundown. I have no idea what the park is like at night because I don’t work at night.

I’ve heard some fun bike rides or “jams” of the biker’s advocate groups gather for their regular trips through and around Providence neighborhoods some nights at Burnside Park. They are festive, riders dress in costumes, play loud music, ride expensive, decorated, lit-up bikes. Some with children with them. Do they see? Do they notice? What do they say to the children?

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Brendan Higgins, writer and author, RIPTA bus driver, former professional wrestler (Knuckles Nelson), and North Kingstown resident.

We welcome Brendan as a contributing writer to RINewsToday.

To read a story about Brendan, from our sports department, go to: https://rinewstoday.com/knuckles-nelson-waking-up-from-the-wrestling-ring-to-the-yoga-mat-john-cardullo/

To read all stories by Brendan, here, go to: https://rinewstoday.com/brendan-higgins/

Higgins is the author of “Waking Up: From the Wrestling Ring to the Yoga Mat”

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