Hope Springs

Progress not perfection in resolving mental health crises.

There is never a dull moment at the Hotel Cecil. Late Thursday evening, I got a call from one of the on-site property managers, asking if I could come in to participate in a case conference for a resident who was experiencing a mental health “episode”. I was shocked at first, but my answer was an unwavering “Yes.”

The person, who I’ll call M, is an interesting person. He is genuinely nice, but its pretty clear that he’s got a lot going on. He’s been at the Cecil for about a year. We have chatted at my post in the lobby quite a few times, everything from the loss of his daughter (who he claims he sees from time to time on the mezzanine) to chasing down invisible invaders from the SRO hotel down the street. He has even seen Mary Magdalene around Skid Row.

The case conference felt good, it felt like we accomplished something. The movement was slight, but tangible. M left the meeting with a sense of direction.

M’s concern was that he could hear people screaming for help. Thursday evening, he was seen on security cameras going door to door late at night, ostensibly to find out the source of the screams. The only screams he got was from residents who he woke up close to midnight.

He also was concerned that he would hear pleas for help coming from the second floor emergency landing. He would go into the restricted area to see who needed help.

In M’s addled mind, he was doing the right thing. M was trying to help people avoid whatever danger he perceived. It was fascinating to see this level of concern emerging from the cobwebs of whatever mental disorder plagued him.

The Cecil has become the backdrop for a new narrative on Skid Row — resilience, recovery and strength. Cases like M’s, where property managers (who are more like case managers, but that’s an article for another day), case managers, social workers and clergy gather early on a Friday morning to support those experiencing all levels of crisis, are the voices of hope for the residents of the Cecil.

We didn’t cure M on Friday. But we gave M a plan, one that he probably could not have made on his own, and we gave him a glimmer of hope. Mental health crises can be isolating and scary. We gave M a sense of belonging. We gave him connection, compassion and support. And we laid a foundation for healing for M — and set a precedent for others in similar places on their journey.

My work at the Hotel Cecil is community supported. Please consider giving a monthly or one time gift to support our ongoing efforts to destigmatize the Cecil and help our residents and our community look forward to a bright and empowered future.