Out in the streets

The saga of former WSJ staffer turned free-lancer turned sort-of-homeless person Les Gapay has gotten some play in blogdom. I didn't pay much attention to it for reasons which can literally be summed up as "been there, done that": like many others, I moved to California in the late Eighties, and things went bust rather quickly, prompting me, after a period of living out of my car, to do a reverse Tom Joad, rationalizing that if I'm gonna be broke, it's less painful, or at least less expensive, to be broke in Oklahoma.

Meanwhile, Wylie is shedding no tears for Les:

"Plunged" and "crapper" do seem to go together well, I must admit.

I didn't do especially well upon my return to Oklahoma — sporadic temp work at best, and it was many months before I got a regular roof over my head — but things did eventually become, if not wonderful, at least less heinous.

Gapay also didn't connect with faith-based institutions, which draws another Wylie swipe:

I spent a few nights in shelters. Most of what I felt was gratitude, with traces of embarrassment here and there; certainly I didn't feel as though any of the sponsoring organizations owed me anything.

Wylie sums up Gapay's story this way:

And as Nanny States go, few of them are more intrusive — or more profligate — than California.