For years, driving by, I would see her lonely figure sitting on the bench. I never stopped but in time I grew used to her presence there, looking to touch base visually when I passed. Huddled inward and completely covered, she had erected a shell between herself and the outside world, perhaps retreating to the safety of her own thoughts to live in a world of her own choosing. I could identify with that on some level.
I don’t recall ever seeing what she looked like, for in my recollection she was always completely covered. She was consistently there for years, eventually becoming a part of that corner. And then, without realizing when exactly the transition occurred, I began noticing that she was no longer there. The bench was empty. A part of the corner felt missing.
The corner has long called to me to come photograph it some night. The street corner itself is stylish as street corners go, now that the utility box near the bench has been painted as part of Eureka’s utility box beautification project (its handle is at the right edge of the image). The curved wood and iron bench is fashionable and smart. There is a small shade tree, which was out of view behind me, and beneath everything a classic brick sidewalk ties it all together. I had thought to photograph the scene in its entirety but looking into the camera’s viewfinder, it felt like something was missing from the composition. It was the woman on her bench. What ever became of her? I didn’t know. And then oddly, almost by necessity, everything fell away as the mystery of the empty bench drew me to it. The missing element became the subject and I photographed an empty bench.
I shared the image on one of Humboldt County’s Facebook pages, thinking maybe someone would see the empty bench and remember the person who used to occupy it. I was amazed to find an outpouring of heartwarming stories from people who had noticed her there and remembered her. In a flood of personal tales, people told their stories of meeting the woman or simply of being accustomed to seeing her there. Many shared feelings about the empty bench left behind. It touched the humanity within me that so many people had noticed her and that she had become such a part of that place for so many. The corner without the woman is an outdoor art exhibit, a living installation with its shade tree, a brick sidewalk, a three-dimensional mural and a pretty bench — for a long time a living human was a part of it, and her absence was felt by many.
The Fourth and E streets’ corner seems to be having some kind of vortex moment of confluent thought energy (who ya gonna call?). The same night I photographed it, two people mentioned thinking about the woman who had sat there. Others had recently been thinking of her. Then David Heller wrote a historical piece about Eureka in the 1800s for Redheaded Blackbelt that came out on Jan. 3, just two days after I had photographed the corner. His piece included an undated photograph of Fourth and E streets in Eureka from long ago when the area was part of what was called “Chinatown.” Without knowing, I would guess the photo is at least 100 years old, possibly from the 1800s. I’m guessing from the look of things in the photo that it was taken before automobiles were popular.
See more of David Wilson’s photography at www.northcoastjournal.com, on Instagram at @david_wilson_mfx or on his website mindscapefx.com. He prefers he/him pronouns.
This article appears in The Whistleblower.
I remember her and think of her often. I used to buy food gift cards and hand them out randomly and I’d slip one to her when she was asleep so she could sit inside at Denny’s and get some hot food when she woke up. She was always gentle and kind.
Has the woman passed away? I heard otherwise, but both options are sad.
That’s Beautiful. Did she pass away or relocate into her own Apt.?
Are The dead are not without peace when their living presence is remembered and shared. Nice photo. Sad story. Same ending for us all.
While this story is touching, I’m curious if anyone ever reached out to her to help, or did we all just walk past her? Is it only sad now that she’s gone? Could she still be here if we had offered a helping hand?
I work in eureka and used to pass her often, wondering if she was still even breathing. She had disappeared for a while earlier this year (late summer time?) and I started wondering where she went, and hoped she was somewhere doing better. Then one day, I saw her sitting there, uncovered. I was shocked to see her uncovered, and back in her spot, but relieved to see that she must have been recently up and moving around. Then she disappeared again. I hope she is somewhere, in a better place than that bench.
A few years ago my husband was on a paint crew that painted the building catty-cornered to ‘her’ corner. He said that some mornings she wasn’t there, and then they would see her slowly walking along the sidewalk and then go sit on the bench (as if to ‘start her day’), other mornings she would already be there when they arrived. He said that he and his co-workers would bring her food on occasion, she would never accept it, so they would just leave it on the bench for her…she would never speak to any of them (or even acknowledge them).
I once knew a millionaire who had his house burn down and his family in it. He would still live at the property, only the house wasnt there, many belongings were. This went on for years, he would ride around the town on his bike. I was about 10 years old. Finally I heard a neighbor gave him a room in their house. He lived their. Sometimes people are hurt, confused, and feel lost. We are all human, we need to help each other and not hate. People that talk bad about the homeless sicken me and shouldnt be allowed to live on this earth.
Did anyone finally figure out if that woman went into safe quarters, or did she pass? I also tried to give her food items. And she would never accept them. I do want to comment that I don’t feel the title vacancy at 4th and E streets, is appropriate.
If you took 2 minutes out of any day in your life to speak with her your story might be relevant. She was Proud and intelligent. If she ever asked for so much as a lighter or a cigarette she would always offer a trade in money or a story.
I know her first name and a little of her story. I saw her often from windows where I worked. A sad presence in a society that should be doing so much better for our people than we are.